She had only ever known one man her husband. Life had been quiet, unremarkable even, until their daughter Yui was born and gave it purpose. She had thought she would see out her years in that ordinary peace. Never had she imagined this. With nothing at hand to defend herself, even ending things on her own terms felt impossible.
Her mind skittered to a desperate rumor: bite through your tongue and you'll drown in your own blood. A terrible way to go.
But what choice did she have?
Scarface froze when the housewife stopped struggling, then brightened, mistaking her stillness for surrender. Up close, her face stunned him smooth as a peeled egg, nose straight and fine, lips naturally vivid, a beauty that felt both dignified and devastating. The nearer he came, the more his thoughts unraveled.
Share her with Shorty? he thought, feverish. What a waste.
He crouched and reached for the front of her blouse.
Pain like a hook tore through his throat.
His strength collapsed in an instant; a ragged "kh kh " scraped out of him as he turned in disbelief. Shorty stood behind him, knife buried from the back into the side of his neck.
"W why…?" Scarface worked his mouth, eyes wide with despair.
Shorty yanked the blade free. Blood sheeted. He shoved Scarface with a boot; the man toppled, flattening a swath of corn.
"Don't blame me," Shorty said, grinning.
He squatted, watching Scarface claw his ruined throat. "You should've known some things aren't for sharing. Food, water, fine. But this? A woman like her? No."
Scarface's breath came in panicked, fading bursts. His vision tunneled. He spat out the last of his voice. "You… son of "
Shorty sighed, almost dreamy. "Truth is, I fell for her at first sight. Not your kind of 'like.' I mean marry-her like. Before all this, my life was a fog. I married a woman I could never admire. Even that little starlet the other day I thought she was the prettiest I'd ever see. Then I saw her. Compared to this woman, that 'celebrity' isn't worth a pile of dog crap. You think I'm letting you lay a finger on her?"
He drove the knife straight into Scarface's forehead. The body twitched twice and went still.
Mrs. Yuigahama had pushed herself upright, one hand clamped to her torn collarbone and chest, stunned that the pair had turned on each other.
Shorty finally looked her way. He rolled the knife in his palm, tucked the pistol back into his waistband, and smiled. "Now you see how serious I am, don't you? For you, I'd give up a 'brother' without blinking. I know there's no one else in that house you're alone. It's not safe. Even if I let you go today, someone worse could come tomorrow. Stay with me. I'll stay here and protect you. As long as I'm breathing, no one lays a hand on you."
He lunged.
She cried out. A scarf was suddenly in his hand; he jammed it between her teeth, bound her wrists with cord, and chuckled. "Sorry. Can't risk you doing anything foolish. After tonight, you'll love me back."
He hefted her easily.
She fought, but the bolt in her thigh sent lightning up her leg, and though he was short he had a wrestler's strength. An iron band clamped her knees; she couldn't move. Shame, fear and a fresh terror struck her: the injured young man lying back in the house.
If Shorty found him, he'd kill him like he'd killed his own partner.
"Don't fret," Shorty crooned. "I'm not that crude. I won't touch you here. We'll go back find a soft bed "
Even she, who prided herself on her steadiness, couldn't stop the tears that came.
He'd gone barely a dozen steps, savoring the future, when a figure appeared in the path ahead. He jolted.
Sosuke Kitahara stood there.
A man appearing in the middle of a field would unsettle anyone. Shorty scowled, relief trickling in no weapon visible, a clean-faced kid. "Hey. Step aside, junior."
"Put her down," Sosuke said, voice level as ice. "Then take that knife and put it through your own throat. It'll be kinder that way."
Shorty's face darkened. "Big words. You want her too, huh? What if I say no?"
Sosuke didn't answer. He simply moved.
In the blink of an eye the weight in Shorty's arms vanished. He looked down, empty-handed and realized the knife and pistol were gone, too.
"G ghost!" he blurted, horror ripping through him.
He spun to run.
A heel crashed into his cheek like a hammer. Darkness fell in a single, brutal step.
Mrs. Yuigahama, stunned, wiped the blur of tears from her lashes and saw who held her. Joy and disbelief broke together. "Y you "
"It's me, ma'am."
Sosuke's smile was gentle. He set her carefully on her feet, eyes dark and steady. "Don't be afraid. Not while I'm here."
He had slept hard, body forcing its recovery after that brutal ascension to Second Rank this evolution unlike his last, demanding real rest. When he woke to an empty house and muddy prints, he'd run.
She was pale, drying tear-tracks on her cheeks. "Are you hurt?" he asked softly.
She shook her head, trying a thin smile. "I'm all right. Luckily they turned on each other. You don't need to worry." Instinct made her pull her collar closer, a small shiver running through her.
He understood too well. In this world, dignity was a daily battle crueler still for a beautiful woman. He'd closed his eyes for a moment and disaster had nearly found her.
A quiet, stifled sob reached him; he felt her shoulders tremble. He exhaled, touched her arm. "It's over. You're safe. To live now, you must find your strength."
He held out the pistol he'd taken back.
She stared. Then, hesitating, took it moved by how easily he offered something so precious.
She wiped at her eyes and tried for bravado. "Thank you. I'll be careful from now on. With this, if I meet another one like him, I'll shoot him dead."
"You don't have to pretend with me," Sosuke said, a faint smile warming his tone. After a beat: "You've carried more than your share. It's hard. I know."
The simple truth undid her. Husband missing, daughter lost to the winds, all the small humiliations of survival tears surged anew. He passed her a tissue.
"You saved my life," he said. "That debt is mine alone. From here on, your problems are my problems. If I can't protect the person who pulled me out of the water, what am I even doing alive?"
The words and his timing shattered the last of her composure; a delayed terror rolled over her. She trembled. He gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. She leaned into him almost without knowing it and he wrapped an arm around her.
He did nothing else.
He knew what this was: a human reaching for warmth after the cold. He'd seen it before. So he stood, holding her, letting her breathe.
Her beauty, the soft resilience of her body, the faint, mature fragrance at her skin any man would have felt the pull. He swallowed, then leashed the impulse. Taking advantage now would make him no different from the men he'd just put down.
A pained groan thudded from the ground behind them. The sound snapped her awake.
Realizing she was in the arms of a near-stranger, Mrs. Yuigahama flushed hot. She glanced down and caught the awkward tension at his waist; mortification prickled. Shame, fear, a twinge of amusement battled across her face.
She eased a half-step away without theatrics. He let her go without remark, though some small part of him missed the warmth.
She straightened her clothes, cheeks still burning. What was I thinking? she scolded herself. Throwing myself at him how embarrassing.
But gratitude ran deeper than embarrassment. In any woman's life, there are moments when a man stepping between her and harm brands itself into memory. Mrs. Yuigahama was no different.
She risked a sidelong look. He had turned slightly, trying rather adorably to hide his own discomfort. The tension in her eased; she almost laughed. So I worried for nothing. He's just a flustered kid after all.
With that tiny shift, her footing returned. She glanced at Shorty, starting to stir, and her eyes went hard. "We can't let that bastard walk away," she said through her teeth. "If we do, how many more women will suffer?"
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