Kia Ora...

The end of March is approaching fast and with it comes the early morning chill that hints that winter won't be far off either. It also means that Easter is getting closer too, though Easter eggs and hot cross buns were in the supermarkets no sooner than they'd tidied away all the Xmas decorations...

Updates

Not Invisible to Me.... The story is now finished with only the little fiddly bits left to do such as the blurb before I can hit publish!

Next on my writing list will be book three in the Tokyo Nights series. This will be the final installment for this series, but won't be the last we see of Tatsuo, Hisato, Masanori and Angel as the Smoke and Shadows series and the Case Reports series (planned for later in the year) all take place in the same universe.

I will also be working on a couple of shorter novellas: Flex and A Knight for Two (The Moutram's 3).

Flex is a story that I had to abandon last year because of COVID as it revolved around two gymnasts trying to qualify for the Olympics. It will still involve gymnasts, but will now be set in the same world as the Crime Lords series. It will be a best friends to lovers story with a caught up in a dangerous situation plot line...

A Knight for Two (The Moutram's 3), continues on with my Medieval Mpreg series with this one focusing on the twins who find themselves responsible for the care of a knight injured during a jousting tournament.

Caught (Smoke and Shadows 1)

Previous chapters can be read here

Chapter Four

Takeshi drifted on the edges of sleep, not yet wanting to wake up and face the reality of the world around him. Wanted to stay here curled up in Yoshitake’s lap and forget the last four years had happened… forget that a huge responsibility now rested on his shoulders. But Yoshitake didn’t appear to be of the same opinion, pressing a soft almost tender kiss to his forehead before gripping Takeshi’s chin hard and forcing him to meet the older man’s gaze.

“No more time for lazing about Keshi, you’ve got an organisation to regain control of.”

“Fuck. Can’t I just stay here a little longer?”

“No. You’ve got a meeting with the three major players vying for the job that is rightfully yours in an hour… and we still need to find you something to wear.”

He groaned and clambered off Yoshitake’s lap. Walking across the room, he yanked open the closet doors and stared at the suits inside it. He wasn’t even sure if any of them would still fit, while many of the colours spoke of youth and inexperience which wasn’t the image Takeshi needed to convey. Yanking out a dark charcoal grey one, he gave it a sniff and discovered the next problem… he’d not worn any of these in the last four years and they’d all gotten musty sitting in the closet.

“Well, I can’t wear any of these-” waving his hand at the closet full of suits “-so, have you got any better ideas.”

Yoshitake grinned and rose from the armchair and stalked across the room toward him, eyes filled with a predatory darkness that pinned Takeshi in place. “I have plenty of ideas, Keshi. Many of them not… suitable for right now.” His gaze once more running heatedly over Takeshi before sliding sideways toward the desk Takeshi had spent many hours doing his homework at… and he shuddered, arousal dancing down his veins instead of the fear he should have been consumed by. All those lessons, the rules he’d needed to abide by were beginning to take on a darker meaning and yet, all Takeshi could think of was… What if Yoshitake had fucked me over my desk back then?

A snap of fingers in front of his face, pulled Takeshi out of the wishful fantasy. Narrowing his gaze Takeshi stared at the garment bag dangling from Yoshitake’s fingers and wondered where it had been hiding. Had he disappeared that far into his fantasies that he’d never noticed Yoshitake leaving the room?

“Get dressed, Keshi. You have business to attend to and we must not make our guests wait.”

Takeshi stripped the garment bag off the suit before laying it on the bed and staring at it. The navy-pinstriped, double-breasted suit was reminiscent of the outfits he remembered his grandfather wearing to important meetings where power and fear reigned. He brushed a hand over the fabric, no expense had been spared in acquiring it and Takeshi wondered for what purpose it had been purchased for.

“Keshi… the clock is ticking,” Yoshitake growled.

He pulled in a long breath, quietening the clamour of voices in his head until only one remained. Takeshi picked up the undershirt and slipped it on before stepping into a pair of briefs. Grabbed the blood red shirt paired with the suit and slipped his arms into it, turning to face Yoshitake as he fastened the buttons.

“Who are we meeting with, Take… and can they be forced to align with the Matsumoto family once more or will I be ruining this new suit tonight?”

“If you want to mess up your suit tonight, I won’t stop you. You always did look good wearing red. But don’t think that the men coming tonight will be so easily threatened or allow you to get that close to them.”

“Yeah, I guessed that would be the case,” he replied, zipping up his pants. “But you still haven’t said who is attending this meeting.” Takeshi snatched the tie off the bed, not missing that it bore the crest of the Shirokawa-gumi—one black koi and one white swimming in a pool of red.

“Fujita, Inoshita, and Shimodaira.”

Takeshi winced at the very familiar names falling from Yoshitake’s lips. He’d grown up on the stories of how his grandfather had swept through the streets of Osaka, cultivating dissent against the American occupiers with his left hand—Fujita—while taking their money with his right—Innoshita—and rose to power that had looked impossible to steal. Shimodaira was the younger of the three, but his family was no less entwined with the Matsumoto and had devoted his life to Takeshi’s father.

“What about those from other organisations… such as the Seikawa-gumi, Kurokawa-gumi or the Araki-gumi… will they be attendance?”

“No. They all agree that this is an internal matter of the Shirokawa-gumi… until it is not of course.”

Takeshi sighed. Those would be bridges he’d need to mend, and he didn’t look forward to lowering his head to men far older than him even if apologies for his family’s actions needed to be given. Imagined that many of them would look down on him due to his age and flat out ignore him…but then Takeshi hadn’t been expected to take over this role until many of them were already dead and the politics of this world had become second nature to him. However, the death of his father so soon after his grandfather had changed all that and Takeshi was about to get a crash course in diplomacy…

Dealing with the chaos that was the Shirokawa-gumi didn’t need to be dealt with quite so diplomatically. But he had to agree with Yoshitake, killing the men outright wouldn’t achieve anything. Might even cause him more headaches in the long run.

“And this meeting… it is being held here, right?” he asked, buttoning up his suit jacket.

“Like I’d allow you to step foot into unfamiliar territory.”

“Good.”

Takeshi strode across the room to his desk, opened the third drawer and pressed a button unlocking the hidden drawer. He stared at the contents, pleasantly surprised to find his collection of knives had remained untouched. Running his fingers over their hilts, Takeshi quickly pocketed two of them. While his guests would be forced to enter the house unarmed, he had no intention of meeting with them such like.

****

Takeshi stepped into his grandfather’s office and paused. This room too like every other part of the house he’d seen so far remained unchanged. He glanced at his grandfather’s desk, saddened and yet, relieved not to see the man who’d ruled over Osaka through fear no longer sat behind it. And maybe it was wrong to think it, but if Takeshi could he’d shake the hand of the man who put the bullet in Koijiro Matsumoto.

And maybe this place wasn’t supposed to have fallen into his hands yet, but it had, and Takeshi had no intention of shirking his duties. He had no intention of letting a few old men and their fan clubs to wrest control of the Shirokawa-gumi from him. This was his birth right…what he’d been trained to do.

He strode across to the desk and ran his fingers over its surface, every groove telling a story as familiar to Takeshi as the fairy tales read to him as a child. Grinning he spun around and leaned against it, hands gripping the edge while he stared at the door and waited for his guests to arrive. Guests who were already ten minutes late, but that didn’t surprise Takeshi. Infuriated him, the blatant show of disrespect shown by men who’d once followed his grandfather’s orders without hesitation.

“Are you sure I can’t just kill them? Might save the hassle of dealing with them.”

He glanced in Yoshtake’s direction and huffed frustratedly.

Yoshitake chuckled. “Don’t underestimate the power Fujita, Inoshita and Shimodaira wield.”

“I know—” his words cut off as footsteps padded heavily down the hallway toward them and he turned his attention to the door.

Fujita strode through the door first, sweeping into the room as though he was already planning the changes to the décor when the house finally came to him along with the control of the Shirokawa-gumi. Cigar smoke clung to every fibre of the man’s clothing and rings burdened down his fingers. Ostentatious, arrogant and a dangerous glint in his eye as Fujita approached him, only fading as his gaze caught the menacing presence of Yoshitake behind Takeshi.

“My condolence Matsumoto on the death of your grandfather and father… their presence will be sorely missed.”

“But you haven’t wasted much time in trying to capitalise on their deaths,” he retorted, narrowing his gaze.

Fujita hid his surprise at Takeshi’s bluntness well. “Just trying to protect what is left of the Shirokawa-gumi… what remains of your grandfather’s legacy.”

The insinuation in the man’s words were clear, but now wasn’t the time to call him out on it. Takeshi, raised an eyebrow and gestured for the man to sit before turning his attention back to the door as Inoshita and Shimodaira walked in. They too were surrounded by bodyguards and offered up their condolences while not apologising for being late. Takeshi acknowledged them with a nod of his head and watched them take a spot on the opposite side of the room to Fujita which was interesting.

Takeshi drew in a deep breath and stared at the men gathered, the arrogance pouring off them only made him want to slip a knife out and slit their blasted throats. “I think you all know why you’re here, so I’m not going to bother with fancy speeches on loyalty… but I will say this-” waving his hand at the four cup and the bottle sake next to him “-the leadership of the Shirokawa-gumi has remained in the Matsumoto family for generations… and I have no intention of rescinding my claim on it. So, the question is… are you going to swear your loyalty—and that of those who follow you—to me or will you become my enemies?”

Fujita cackled. “It doesn’t work like that young Matsumoto. Your father might have won the support needed to continue your family’s line at the head of the Shirokawa-gumi… but I can’t say the same will be true of you. For one, your too young… too inexperienced and don’t have the necessary connections to win. Never understood why your father thought a Tokyo university was better than an Osaka one. At least if you’d stayed here, then you’d have continued to walk in our world… four years away from it, is a lifetime of missed opportunities that you can never get back.”

Takeshi gripped the edge of the desk tighter. He didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse that these men didn’t know that his heading to Tokyo had involved making connections with the yakuza organisations there. It did show just how far his father had trusted the three senior members of the Shirokawa-gumi and Takeshi wondered if one of them had been the one to kill his father, utilising the chaos in the wake of his grandfather’s death to put a bullet in his brain. And it had to be someone whom his father would have trusted, or they’d never have made it past the armed men who’d never been far from his father’s side.

“Does that mean I can take your answer to my question… as being a No, Fujita?” He stared the man down, eyebrow raised in challenge.

Fujita narrowed his eyes and smiled at him, before rising it his feet and striding toward him, gesturing for his guards to remain where they were. Watching him approach, Takeshi picked up the bottle of sake and unscrewed the lid, filling two of the cups. He slid a cup toward Fujiata, putting some distance between them, and yet not far enough that Takeshi couldn’t reach him. Not trusting Fujiata not to try something, Takeshi shoved a hand into the pocket of his pants and palmed the knife he’d hidden.

Arrogance guided the man’s actions as he stopped in front of the desk and leaned in toward Takeshi, his body half-turned toward the other Shirokawa members present. “Swear loyalty to a young sapling like you?” Fujita shook his head with a derisive laugh. “No. I don’t think so.” He picked up the cup and tipped it on the floor, but no sooner had the last drop of sake dripped from the cup then a blood curdling cry broke from the man’s throat. Eyes widened with surprise and panic flickered between Takeshi and the hand Fujita had rested on the desk… a hand now pinned to the desk by Takeshi’s knife.

“Oh, I’m sorry… did you really think I’d accept your refusal that easily?” he withdrew a second knife and sent it hurtling toward the floor, digging hard into the polished wood but only after it had first gone through Fujita’s foot. “And I might have gone to Tokyo, but I never once removed myself from this world… when I wasn’t hitting the books, I was working for Tatsuo Ogawa—oh, you’ve heard of him?” He sniggered as Fujita’s panic increased and a quick glance at the others present said that their confident posturing had taken a hammering. Ogawa’s reputation was well-known outside of Tokyo, more so than the Shinjuku Ward Boss realised. “And I might have learned a few tricks.”

Fujita’s men rushed forward, anger and loyalty to their boss driving their footsteps. But they halted at the sight of the blade being pointed at their Boss’ throat by Yoshitake. Takeshi pushed off the desk, shoved his hands into his pockets and strode forward. “Now… does anyone else believe that I’m not the right person to lead the Shirokawa-gum?”

Inoshita and Shimodaira shared a glance, conferring silently between themselves before returning their attention to Takeshi. “Our allegiance will remain with you, young Matsumoto… for now at least.”

He raised an eyebrow and stared at them before nodding sharply at them. For now, wasn’t ideal, but it would give Takeshi the time he needed to prove himself. Time to root out those who sought to kill him… and uncover whoever had killed his father.

Takeshi turned back to Fujita, the arrogance that the man had carried into the room had long since fled him and left only an old man filled with fear. Fear that was currently making a mess of his floor. He wanted to kill him. Wanted to use his death to send a message through what remained of the old guard of the organisation warning them not to underestimate him. But maybe this pitiful excuse of a man would serve just as well.

“Have you changed your mind, Fujita?” Takeshi asked, yanking out the knife lodged in the man’s foot and wiping the bloodied blade on Fujita’s suit. He grinned broadly at the man’s rapid agreement. Pocketed the knife before removing the one lodged in Fujita’s hand and wiped it across the front of the man’s suit deliberately slow. “Good. Good. But next time you see fit to disrespect me like that… and my blades will find themselves a new home in your stomach.”

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