Broken Angel Page 18

  “This isn’t sabotage. It’s insurance.”

  “It will ensure your downfall.” Jenner glanced at him. “Besides, I am certain the boy does not need enhancement to win.”

  “What makes you so sure about that?”

  “He’s right. I don’t need that shit.” He straightened and stared calmly at Slade. “I’ll get your damned money without it.”

  “Oh, really?” Slade returned the gaze, his ice blue eyes piercing and intense.

  He stood his ground, refusing to move, to breathe, to even blink as long as Slade scrutinized him.

  At last, Slade laughed. “Yes. I believe you will, boy.” He shook his head. “My instructions still stand, Jenner. You’re not to interfere. Apollo, stay with me. The rest of you leave.”

  Jenner exited first, with he and Doc close behind. Doc pulled the door shut and released a long breath. “Damn. That was close.”

  “No closer than you allowed, doctor.” Jenner started down the corridor.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  The lieutenant stopped. “It means precisely what I said. You would have allowed this nonsense to continue.”

  “You son of a bitch! Do you think I wanted to—”

  “Doc.” He gripped his shoulder in what he hoped was reassurance. “Come on, Jenner. We all have our reasons for doing what we’re told. Including you.”

  “You are far too forgiving, angel.”

  “Maybe. At least I’m not a heartless bastard.”

  For an instant, Jenner seemed to stiffen. Must have been his imagination.

  “Perhaps it is better to be a heartless bastard than a doormat.” Jenner spoke softly, though his anger came through loud and clear. “And perhaps you have learned nothing after all.” He strode away to disappear around a corner ahead.

  Doc cleared his throat. “Uh, Gabriel? Maybe that was a little much. I mean, I hate Jenner just as much as the next guy, and he did insult me...but he also stopped Slade from drugging you.”

  “Shit.” He stared down the empty corridor. “Do you think I hurt his feelings?”

  A strangled cough that might have been a laugh escaped Doc. “I doubt it. Jenner and feelings are active enemies. I think he’d rather swallow broken glass than admit to having them. Still, you were a bit harsh.”

  “Yeah. I guess.” He frowned. Jenner had intervened, but he’d also made it clear that his intentions had nothing to do with him. If it were anyone else, he might have suspected the lieutenant had clarified just so Slade wouldn’t have a reason to refuse. With Jenner, he just as likely meant what he said.

  Besides, heartless bastards didn’t appreciate apologies.

  Chapter 23

  Full dark had fallen by the time the yacht reached its destination. Behind them, the lights of New York’s famous skyline were tiny jewels embedded in the silken backdrop of night.

  Before them, House Pandora’s private island loomed like the setting of a Grimm Brothers fairy tale.

  Two other boats bobbed and swayed on the ends of their tethers, moored to a long wooden dock that would have looked at home spanning a ravine in Tibet. A stone path wound onto the island from the end of the dock, snaking under a tall black wrought-iron gate to disappear into a forest of lush greenery. Small, colorful lanterns dotted the walkway, extending up from the grass on black poles.

  Rising above the trees, dominating the center of the island, stood a palace.

  Illuminated from the ground up with muted spotlights, the four-story structure appeared to consist of individual buildings stacked on top of each other, from widest to smallest. Polished ebony slats of wood formed the low walls, and the tall tiled roofs, blood red in the wash of light, bore the distinctive curvature of Japanese architecture.

  A shiver of awe swallowed him. This island, with its terrible beauty, was Akuma’s world—and he felt like an intruder.

  Slade and Jenner approached—the former impatient, the latter oddly relaxed, leaving him no time to contemplate his feelings. “Come on,” Slade said to him.

  He followed the pair down the gangplank and onto the dock. They stopped, and Apollo and Sol soon joined them.

  Near the iron gate, two black-clad men stood to one side. Both young and lithe, they looked off into the distant darkness with identical bored expressions, occasionally addressing each other in brisk Japanese.

  “Good evening, Mr. Slade,” one of them said when the group reached the entrance. The other glanced at Jenner and inclined his head slightly. Jenner returned the wordless greeting in similar fashion. Another figure, this one in black silk with red piping along the sleeves and legs, dropped silently from the branches of a nearby tree, turning his curiosity at their interaction to full fledged shock. The man approached them, stopped in front of Jenner and bowed deeply at the waist.

  “Konbanwa, Jhyaneshwar-jana-sama,” the new arrival said in a low, satiny voice.

  “Konbanwa, Serizawa-san.” Jenner bowed in return.

  They regarded each other somberly for a moment—and the other man burst into rich, rolling laughter. He spoke rapidly, eliciting a smirk on Jenner’s placid face. When he paused for breath, Jenner replied in Japanese, his soft voice barely carrying, and the man laughed even harder.

  One of the guards rolled the gate back to admit the Ulysses group onto the pathway. Jenner’s companion fell into step beside him, and his booming voice accompanied them to the house.

  Up close, House Pandora took his breath away. Sections of the lower levels, unseen from the edges of the island, had been constructed of glass panels, showcasing a series of open rooms inside with burnished wood floors and ornate bamboo panels. Two smaller buildings flanked the main house, each single-floored and made of the same black wood and red tile.

  Many people had arrived ahead of them and stood in loose groups scattered across the front lawns. Some were obviously guests with no House affiliations, others he recognized as belonging to Dionysus or Pandora. He didn’t see anyone from Prometheus or Orion yet.

  Scanning the crowd, hoping for a familiar face, a shadowed alley between the main house and one of the smaller edifices drew his attention. The third time he looked there, he made out the form of a man standing in the shadows, arms crossed, leaning against the wall.

  The figure stepped into the light and glared directly at him. Captain Wolff.

  He suppressed a shudder at the malevolence in Wolff’s eyes. The Orion leader appeared impressively frightening. Tall, muscular, with an angular face and square jaw bristling with salt-and-pepper growth, his buzzed jet-black hair sported wide stripes of white along his temples. Dressed in jeans faded to the color of gunmetal and a silver-gray tank top, the collection of steel dog tags on the chains around his neck and the gun at his side warned of his profession.

  “How interesting.”

  The voice at his ear sent a stab of panic through him before he recognized it as Akuma’s. Tearing his attention from the brutal cop’s stare, he turned and said, “What is?”

  Akuma grinned. “It seems the illustrious Captain Wolff has noticed you.”

  “Er, yeah.” He shrugged. “He’s noticed me, all right. I don’t think he likes me much, especially after that little meeting the other day.”

  Akuma’s brow lifted. “What meeting?”

  “The one where I accused one of Mendez’s fighters of cheating, and the rest of them agreed. Eventually. Some time after Wolff threatened to shoot Mendez, and before Mendez promised to make me dead.”

  “Aré! You have a knack for finding trouble, my friend. Or perhaps it is that trouble finds you?”

  He didn’t answer. The word friend reverberated in his mind. He’d beaten this man unconscious, if only for a moment—and still he’d called him friend. He wasn’t sure he deserved the sentiment.

  “Gabriel?”

  “Sorry.” He shook his head. He’d almost forgotten he’d shared his name with Akuma...with Shiro. “I’m pretty sure it finds me. Hey, uh, Shiro?”

  “Yes?”<
br />
  “I’m sorry. About the fight. My being—unclothed and all. You didn’t have to do what you did, but I wanted to thank you. I never did get to do that.”

  “It was nothing.” Shiro’s gaze hardened. “Though I do not know precisely what is going on, I am aware your choice of attire was not your wish.”

  “You are?”

  Shiro nodded. “Do not worry, my friend. I will not jeopardize your situation.”

  “Thanks.” I think. At this point, a little jeopardy might be the answer. He still didn’t know how he would get Lillith away from Slade. For now he intended to win the tournament. He’d worry about the rest later. “Is there somewhere I can hang out until the fights start that isn’t quite so crowded? I’d like to get away from Wolff, at least, and things might not be pretty when Mendez gets here.”

  “Of course. Come with me.”

  He followed Shiro toward the house and turned for one last look at Wolff. The captain remained in the same place, his enraged stare burning the air between them.

  * * * *

  At the back of the main house, Shiro stopped before a wide, smooth door with no windows and no handle. He knocked and stood back. “Many have gathered on the main floor,” he said. “We will use the back stairs.”

  An elderly Japanese man in a long white coat pushed the door open and peered out. A frown surfaced. “Kuroda-kun, nani o wa?”

  “Konbanwa, Hoshi-san. My friend and I wish to avoid the crowds. May we pass through here?”

  Hoshi’s gaze flicked to him. He grunted and turned away, leaving the door open. Shiro gestured for him to enter first, and closed the door behind them. “This is our medical facility,” Shiro explained, taking the lead across the large open room lined with hospital beds in curtained sections. “Hoshi and Endo, our physicians, have worked with the Harada family for many years. They are quite skilled.” Smiling, Shiro called across the room to Hoshi, who had opened a cabinet and stood searching its contents. “Are you prepared for the evening, Hoshi-sama? No doubt you will be quite busy.”

  Hoshi responded with a smattering of clipped words, baka among them.

  “Hey.” He laughed. “He just called you an idiot.”

  Shiro flashed a bemused smirk. “He did. I am impressed, Gabriel. You speak Japanese?”

  “Not really. I just know that word, from—”

  “Jenner?” Shiro said softly.

  “Yeah. He called me that once.”

  “I see.” Shiro’s features relaxed, grew serious. “And he told you what it meant?”

  “I asked him.”

  A strange look clouded Shiro’s face, at once concerned and intrigued. “How unusual,” he said. They reached the opposite end of the room, and Shiro opened one of the double doors onto a well-lit, silent corridor. “Come. The stairs are just through here. We will...hang up, did you say?”

  He suppressed a laugh. As smooth as Shiro’s English was, he apparently didn’t have much practice with slang. “Hang out,” he said, and managed not to smirk.

  “Yes. We will hang out on the terrace.”

  If Shiro knew he was amused, he didn’t show it. They walked to the end of the hall, ascended three flights of stairs, and emerged in a corridor similar to the second floor of Slade’s hotel—many rooms on either side. The fighters’ living quarters. Shiro led him to a sliding wood panel door and out onto a spacious tile-floored balcony, devoid of furniture or decoration and bordered with a three-foot stacked stone wall.

  Shiro crossed the space, settled on the wall and motioned for him to follow. He approached and looked out across the lit grounds below. A worn path led between bushes to a rock-bordered square of gleaming white sand with swirling patterned lines raked carefully on the surface. Wrought-iron benches had been placed beneath shade trees alongside the sands. Beyond this, a pond glistened darkly in strategically placed artificial lights, and a stone bridge arched above the surface. More forest covered the land, presumably to the opposite shore.

  “Harada-sama spares no expense for his gardens,” Shiro said when he noticed where Gabriel’s attention lay. “One may find tranquility there, if one were so inclined.”

  “Sure. They’re nice.” He sat with a sigh. “I guess we don’t have much time, right?”

  “A few hours yet.”

  “Well, that’s something.” He frowned and stared at the floor. “Thanks for bringing me out here, Shiro. You don’t have to stay with me. You probably have better things to do.”

  “On the contrary. I find you far more interesting than most gaijin.”

  “Gaijin?” he echoed.

  Shiro chuckled. “Sumimasen. I did not mean it as an insult, though many Japanese do. The word means...foreigner. Outsider.”

  “Oh. I guess I am that.” Gabriel shifted aside to view the gardens again. “Sumimasen. Does that mean ‘I’m sorry’?”

  “It does. You are quick to learn, my friend. Are you certain you have not studied?”

  “Nope. I’ve just been listening. Does it always mean that?”

  “In most cases, though it depends on the circumstances. It can also mean ‘I beg your forgiveness.’”

  “Hmph,” he muttered. “I doubt that’s what he meant.”

  “Jenner has said this to you?”

  He nodded. “And to Harada. But I think he was being sarcastic, there.”

  “That is likely.” A slight frown creased Shiro’s brow. “Gabriel, how did you come to join House Ulysses?”

  “I...can’t. Can’t tell you that. Shit.” For the first time, keeping his secret hurt like hell. He had no lies ready, no story concocted to cover the glaring fact that here was the last place he wanted to be. He suspected Shiro knew that much already.

  “Gomennasai. I should not have asked.”

  “It’s all right. Long as you don’t mind me not answering.”

  “Perhaps we should discuss something else.” Shiro resumed his relaxed demeanor. Anger lurked beneath the surface, but Gabriel knew it wasn’t directed at him. “I am certain you have many questions. Ask me whatever you would like.”

  What could he ask without betraying himself? Nothing came to mind.

  “Are you not permitted to question?”

  “That’s one way to put it.”

  “Very well. I shall tell you what I please, and then you will not have asked.” Shiro smiled. “You see, I have learned to interpret some of Jenner’s behavior—though I do not believe anyone knows him well, other than Ken Serizawa.”

  “Serizawa. He met us at the front gate, and went off talking to Jenner.” He shook his head. “Shocked the hell out of me. That Serizawa guy actually seemed happy to see him.”

  “Yes. I am not certain of their history, but they have been acquainted for many years. Longer than I have known...well, anyone here. As for my involvement, Jenner is my sempai.”

  “Your what?”

  “Sempai, superior. A mentor of sorts, though the relationship between sempai and kohai is a bit more complicated. You know he is a psychiatrist, yes?”

  He nodded.

  “I am as well. I work in his office, and he shares his methods and his knowledge with me. In a sense, he is grooming me for the field.”

  “So you’re going to be like him? You actually want to be cold and cruel and calculating?”

  Shiro laughed. “I admire Jenner’s professional work. He is quite skilled, and his methods are very effective. Personally, I do not wish to divest myself of emotion as he has. He finds sentiment a nuisance, and believes emotion clouds judgment and perspective.”

  “I’ve noticed that.”

  “It is difficult not to notice.” Shiro lowered his gaze and released a pent breath. “I will explain one other detail that may help you to understand the situation. Jenner used to belong to House Pandora.”

  He blinked. “That really shouldn’t surprise me. It does explain a lot, though.”

  “More than you know, I believe.” Shiro regarded him with the same strange expression he’d displayed whe
n he first mentioned Jenner. “He had been something of an advisor to Harada-sama. However, a few years ago, there was a falling out over one of our fighters, and their relationship was strained. When Marcus Slade joined the organization, Harada-sama gave Jenner to him. Soon after that, the fighter involved in the problem...left.”

  “Wait a minute.” His stomach clenched. “What do you mean, gave? He can’t... I mean, that makes it sound like—” Like Jenner is just as trapped as me.

  “The Japanese do not view business in the same light as Americans. Also, Jenner is gaijin, and not afforded equal respect,” Shiro said quietly. “I do not know the details. I know only that Jenner serves Marcus Slade against his wishes. He will not speak of it with me.”

  He hadn’t wanted to feel sorry for the bastard. Was this why Jenner had forbidden him to talk to Shiro about him? He didn’t seem the type to welcome sympathy. But maybe he could do something without tipping Jenner off to his knowledge. Struck with a sudden inspiration, he turned to Shiro and grinned.

  “Will you teach me Japanese?”

  Chapter 24

  A cheer went up from the gathered crowd when Lonzo’s opponent, J.C. of House Orion, stumbled and fell off the platform. On the outskirts of the ring of spectators, Gabriel smiled at Lonzo, who flashed an exhausted grin and limped from the arena.

  In order to get through the dozens of fights involved in the tournament, two matches occurred at the same time—one in each of the smaller buildings, which had turned out to be spacious practice dojos. In the vast center room of the main house, two theater-sized screens broadcast the simultaneous bouts to a roomful of guest spectators enjoying the comforts of House Pandora’s assorted delights: food, drink and women.

  Most of the organization’s members divided themselves between the two dojos, preferring to see the action live. He’d been relieved to discover the qualifying rounds used ring-outs to determine the winners. The raised platforms used for the initial fights had no walls or rope borders. Knockouts would only become necessary in the final rounds the following night.