With idleness, I remain perched by the leather cushions of the seat trying to make out, to decipher conversation made between Tsumibito and the two fancy old geese. The meeting commenced minutes ago and through-and-through, they opted to speak so fluently in their mother language, in the native tongues, leaving me to console myself in the lonely.
One of the men, not the shorter but the plumper of the two turns to nod head in the direction of the bodyguard stood to his far left, and the bulky fellow pads over to where he sits, two briefcases in hand. Handing the cases over, bodyguard returns to assume his position by the corners of the room, and the man turns again to gaze upon Tsumibito, fake smile painting his ragged facial features.
He rests each case by the softness of the glass table, pops the locks but never opens them to reveal the contents within. The men continue to exchange words sophisticatedly, acting entirely oblivious to anyone else's presence until Tsumibito, mimicking the plumper man's actions, reaches for his suitcase and rests it by the glass table.
He works with fluidity, pops the locks, reveals rows upon rows of Yen notes neatly piled and bound in rubber band. Never have I seen the man operate with such seriousness, and I come to realize that I prefer the smiles and the smirks that are always curving or tagging on his lips.
The other two appear pleased by the sight, each man lifting open a case. In the first case lies several glistening diamonds and several glimmering rubies and several gleaming emeralds and several bars of glinting gold, and nylon bags sealed and filled with white powder in the second case. Still, the stoicism faithfully remains on Tsumibito's face, no hint of merry at the beauties that sit before his very eyes.
Then, he turns to face me, eyes me with poison, clenches his teeth.
"Princess Saida, you are no longer under my hand or protection. You belong under their custody now."
I stare at him, simply stare, as the vile words he just spoke imprint in the back of my mind.
My eyes nearly roll to my feet at how harshly they bulge, my heart races and pounds in my ears, my mouth falls ajar, runs dry as a bone.
"What are you...Tsumibito? Tsumibito, please," I begin, drawing closer to where he sits, desperately gripping for the sleeves of his garment.
One bodyguard, two bodyguards are by his side in under a fraction of a minute, reaching for my arms to pull me from the man. He remains eerily mute, his eyes roaming my face, a mask of void blankness caking his facial features.
They draw me from him entirely, roughly pinning my arms to my backside and kneeling me by the hard granite floors of the room.
"Tsumibito! Tsumibito, I beg you don't do this!" I scream, I battle against the restrains that are the palms of evil men, I plead for mercy.
It dawns on me that in this moment, he is my only source of refuge. The tears spew, my hiccups bouncing off all four walls. He stands on his feet, a look of deadness faithfully sat on his face, reaches out an arm to shake those of his colleagues, before he proceeds to face down at me once more.
"Tsumibito, Tsumibito listen to me," I strain to voice my thoughts, then hiccup, "I swear I will be good. I won't disturb you or talk back anymore, please, please! Don't abandon me with these people," I mutter with lips that quiver, the streams furiously sliding down my ashen cheeks, down the skin of my neck, down to the cleavage of my bossom.
He says not a single word, simply turns and voices in Japanese. The two mens' smiles dissipate instantaneously, and just like that, Tsumibito is on his way, slipping past doors that glide open and leaving me trembling from the very hairs of my head down to my numbing heels.
"Tsumibito! Tsumibito, please! Don't leave me!" I scream louder but with futility.
Two of the armed men hoist me to my feet, drag me by my forearms so that now, I am face-to-face with plump man and short fellow. The shorter reaches an arm, caresses the tears from my face. I cock my head aggressively to the side, repulsed by the mere stench of him.
YOU ARE READING
Red As Snow...(BWAM, Yakuza Romance, 18+)
Romance"Growing up, my mother always told me one thing; bad company corrupted good morals. I didn't believe her, didn't believe those words she'd always said to me with such conviction. I'd always thought myself strong, always thought myself good enough to...
