that. And fuck, Sunshine, I’m not even your goddamn type.”
“Yeah, see—” Ichiro’s breath hitched in his chest. “—that’s the problem. You’re every damned bit of my type—including being a big fucking mistake. So yeah, if that’s how you want it, then okay. I’ll walk out of here.”
“Just promise me, you’ll… you can count me as a friend, Sunshine.” Bobby skimmed his fingertips over Ichiro’s mouth. “You can come here anytime if you need something.”
“What I needed was to get fucked—preferably by you, Dawson.” Ichiro let go of Bobby, dropping his own arms to his sides. “But sure, I’ll keep that in mind. Especially when I need a pat on the ass and to be sent on my way.”
“Baby, better a pat on your ass than you kicking mine,” Bobby shot back. “Because that’s what you’ll do to me if I break your heart.”
“Still so fucking cocky, Dawson,” Ichi sneered. “What makes you think it’s my heart that’s going to be broken?”
Chapter 7
I T WAS so different than in the movies.
So much quieter. So much more orderly.
And with a fuck of a lot less terror.
It was supposed to be a simple trip. He was going to talk to a Vietnamese woman named April, hoping to glean some information for his brother, Cole. A brother who was now crouched in against him, covering him tighter than any hug Ichiro’d ever been given—including from their mother.
To be fair to their mother, she’d also never shoved him facedown into greasy, filthy black asphalt speckled with glass fragments and cigarette butts.
Cole had his reasons. Small, deadly reasons cutting through the air above them and puncturing through cars and windows with little regard for the throngs of people cluttering the Los Angeles streets and sidewalks.
Fear tasted like blood. It filled his mouth with its thick, viscous cloyingness. Ichi thought he’d been shot through the lungs, but when he spat to clear his tongue, his saliva clung to his lips and face and was startlingly clear.
Because from the terror pouring through his marrow and choking in his throat, Ichi could have been bleeding out through his pores.
They’d just gotten out of the Rover when the first shots went off, and Ichi’d stumbled to the ground, panic driving him to cover. Cole shouted at him to get to the back of the car, and he’d half crawled on his hands and knees to find his brother waiting for him as more shots punctured the street’s normal chatter of traffic and city noise. People were screaming in some kind of Spanish, panic puncturing through their words as messily as deep, booming pock-pock sounds of a gun going off. The windshield of an old Toyota parked behind them crackled into tiny, sharp pebbles as a bullet struck the car. A glassy shower sprayed through the air, a few far-flying specks striking Ichi in the face.
“Ichi! You okay?”
He put his hand up against the Rover’s bumper, running his fingers over the stinging spots on his cheek. His brother met his stare, and Ichi wondered if his eyes were as glassy as the windshield’s remains scattered at their feet. He couldn’t focus on anything but the silence rippling over the street. He caught a sob in his throat, closing in on the sound before his brother could hear him, then flinched as another report of gunfire echoed through the broken calm.
His heart beat frantically, trying to keep up with the heaving breaths his lungs kept pushing out. Ichi put a hand to his chest, moving his fingers in small circles to calm himself down. It was no use. His heart tripped into another foxtrot and then swung into a full mosh when Cole pulled a gun out from under his jacket.
Cole patted Ichiro’s shoulder and peeked around the end of the Rover. “Stay here.”
“What are you going to do?” Alarmed, Ichi grabbed his brother’s arm, his pulse racing and erratic. “You’re not going out there.”
“Kinda gotta.” The amiable, charming brother he’d come to know and love was
“Yeah, see—” Ichiro’s breath hitched in his chest. “—that’s the problem. You’re every damned bit of my type—including being a big fucking mistake. So yeah, if that’s how you want it, then okay. I’ll walk out of here.”
“Just promise me, you’ll… you can count me as a friend, Sunshine.” Bobby skimmed his fingertips over Ichiro’s mouth. “You can come here anytime if you need something.”
“What I needed was to get fucked—preferably by you, Dawson.” Ichiro let go of Bobby, dropping his own arms to his sides. “But sure, I’ll keep that in mind. Especially when I need a pat on the ass and to be sent on my way.”
“Baby, better a pat on your ass than you kicking mine,” Bobby shot back. “Because that’s what you’ll do to me if I break your heart.”
“Still so fucking cocky, Dawson,” Ichi sneered. “What makes you think it’s my heart that’s going to be broken?”
Chapter 7
I T WAS so different than in the movies.
So much quieter. So much more orderly.
And with a fuck of a lot less terror.
It was supposed to be a simple trip. He was going to talk to a Vietnamese woman named April, hoping to glean some information for his brother, Cole. A brother who was now crouched in against him, covering him tighter than any hug Ichiro’d ever been given—including from their mother.
To be fair to their mother, she’d also never shoved him facedown into greasy, filthy black asphalt speckled with glass fragments and cigarette butts.
Cole had his reasons. Small, deadly reasons cutting through the air above them and puncturing through cars and windows with little regard for the throngs of people cluttering the Los Angeles streets and sidewalks.
Fear tasted like blood. It filled his mouth with its thick, viscous cloyingness. Ichi thought he’d been shot through the lungs, but when he spat to clear his tongue, his saliva clung to his lips and face and was startlingly clear.
Because from the terror pouring through his marrow and choking in his throat, Ichi could have been bleeding out through his pores.
They’d just gotten out of the Rover when the first shots went off, and Ichi’d stumbled to the ground, panic driving him to cover. Cole shouted at him to get to the back of the car, and he’d half crawled on his hands and knees to find his brother waiting for him as more shots punctured the street’s normal chatter of traffic and city noise. People were screaming in some kind of Spanish, panic puncturing through their words as messily as deep, booming pock-pock sounds of a gun going off. The windshield of an old Toyota parked behind them crackled into tiny, sharp pebbles as a bullet struck the car. A glassy shower sprayed through the air, a few far-flying specks striking Ichi in the face.
“Ichi! You okay?”
He put his hand up against the Rover’s bumper, running his fingers over the stinging spots on his cheek. His brother met his stare, and Ichi wondered if his eyes were as glassy as the windshield’s remains scattered at their feet. He couldn’t focus on anything but the silence rippling over the street. He caught a sob in his throat, closing in on the sound before his brother could hear him, then flinched as another report of gunfire echoed through the broken calm.
His heart beat frantically, trying to keep up with the heaving breaths his lungs kept pushing out. Ichi put a hand to his chest, moving his fingers in small circles to calm himself down. It was no use. His heart tripped into another foxtrot and then swung into a full mosh when Cole pulled a gun out from under his jacket.
Cole patted Ichiro’s shoulder and peeked around the end of the Rover. “Stay here.”
“What are you going to do?” Alarmed, Ichi grabbed his brother’s arm, his pulse racing and erratic. “You’re not going out there.”
“Kinda gotta.” The amiable, charming brother he’d come to know and love was
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