Page 146 of Chains of Recompense
Tatsuo steps closer, raising his katana. “Any last words?”
“Yes.” I look straight at Aisling. “Run.”
Her eyes widen.
The blade flashes toward my neck, coming from the side.
I duck, rolling forward as the katana slices air where my head had been a mere second before. The zip ties bite into my wrists, joints straining as I twist, forcing my hands beneath my hips,then feet until they’re out in front of me. I slam into Tatsuo’s knee hard enough to make him grunt.
Chaos explodes. Gunfire erupts. Shouts echo.
The Murray brothers surge forward as one. Aisling screams my name as I scramble to my feet, adrenaline roaring through my veins, and I catch a glimpse of her glancing over her shoulder toward me, fear written across her face as she sprints for the door.
Riley is clutched tight against her chest as her brothers form a wall around them, shielding my girls as they fight savagely to form an opening for her.
“Stop them!” theoyabunbellows behind me.
With a victorious smile, I turn back to Tatsuo.
He’s faster than he looks, rage sharpening his movements as he swings again. I barely avoid the blade, feeling the wind of it against my throat.
I have no weapon, no room for error as I grab a chair, hurling it at his head.
One of his men bats it aside with a snarl.
“You should have stayed down,” he spits.
“You should have learned your lesson when we killed your son,” I reply.
We circle each other.
He lunges, and I sidestep, slamming my elbow into his ribs, making him grunt.
His blade slashes wildly now, age and fury betraying him.
I catch his wrist with both hands, pain flaring as the katana’s hilt digs into my palms, and we struggle, muscles burning, boots scraping against concrete slick with blood.
He’s stronger than I gave him credit for. But he’s well past his prime. I knee him hard in the stomach, and he stumbles.
Seizing the opening, I wrench the katana free from his grip.
“Bet you’re wishing you didn’t send all your men after my girl now, aren’t you?” I taunt as Tatsuo looks at me, realization dawning too late.
Then the gunfire erupts outside.
The front doors blow inward, blasting off their hinges, and Miko’s roar shakes the walls as he charges in, Sandro a blur of violence at his side.
The Italians flood the space, driving back the Yakuza line in a matter of seconds.
But I barely see any of it.
There’s only Tatsuo as he charges, madness in his eyes. He dives for the katana, and I swing it like a baseball bat.
The blade slices clean, final, decisive.
And with one sweep of the blade, I cleave his head from his shoulders. It rolls across the bamboo slats and into a corner, blood pooling beneath what’s left of his body.
Silence crashes down, broken only by distant shouts as the last of the Yakuza are cut down or flee.
