The Devil Inside

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a
 
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 Mia Amano

All rights reserved.

Adele

The balls of my feet ache. I've been standing for the past four hours, taking orders, serving drinks and greeting customers. Stray tendrils of hair have fallen out of my bun, and I tuck a wayward strand behind my ear with a sigh. My hair was neat and polished when I started work. Now, I feel tired and disheveled.
 

The evening rush at the Fat Dragon sushi bar has come and gone, leaving just two customers sitting at the far end of the restaurant, lingering over their beers.
 

Lone plates of unclaimed sushi idle past on the conveyor belt, perfectly formed specimens on display under sterile plastic covers. They snake their way around the room, looping again and again. I've lost count of how many times they’ve passed. It's like deja vu.
 

I take a moment to lean against the counter, wishing the two men would hurry up and finish their beers so we can all get out of here.
 

Even the sushi chefs have retreated to the back to clean up and start prep for tomorrow.
 

"I'm going, Adele." The large twin doors leading to the back swing open and one of the other waitresses appears. Rei has already changed from her plain black work uniform into jeans and a t-shirt. Her ebony hair has been combed back into a sleek bob that frames her petite face. “Sorry I have to leave early. Dad’s in the hospital again. I promised I’d visit him tonight.”

I nod in understanding. “Don’t worry about it.” Rei’s dad is always in and out of the hospital with lung problems. To Rei’s frustration, he still smokes like a chimney.

Rei is tiny and cute as a button. I don't know how she manages to look so damn perfect after a busy shift. There's not a hair out of place or a single wrinkle in her outfit. She grins and beckons to me. "Come on. I'll show you what to do with the takings."

I glance at the remaining two customers. They don't look like they're going anywhere.

"It'll only take a minute," Rei reassures me. "Besides, your favourite bookworm is in."

"Bookkeper," I correct her. "And I never said he was my favourite anything.”

Rei smirks, amusement glinting in her brown eyes as we push through the double doors to the staff area. "As if you weren't begging me to introduce you the first day he showed up."

I roll my eyes at her. "And look how far that went."

"Maybe he's just shy." Rei raises one manicured eyebrow archly. "A hot mama like you? There's no way he's not interested."

"People as good looking as Kaito aren't shy, Rei." My voice drops to a whisper as we near the office.
 

"Then maybe he's playing hard to get,” she murmurs, and winks.

In an instant, her expression changes from sly and cheeky to professional and composed.

We duck into a small, cramped office at the back. Harsh, fluorescent light illuminates a narrow desk covered in paperwork.

The subject of our conversation is sitting at the desk, entering data on a sleek, silver laptop. Rei greets him in Japanese. Her face has transformed; she’s wearing a flawless white smile. She executes a small bow. Even the tone of her voice has changed.

She’s become the perfect, deferent employee. It's easy to forget that Rei's as smart as a whip and working part time to put herself through a Master's degree at Berkeley.
 

"Hello Rei, Adele." Kaito spares us only the briefest glance, before turning back to his computer. A complicated looking spreadsheet takes up most of the screen.
 

I let out a small, silent sigh. The man is a geek.
 

Still, I let my gaze linger on the broad length of his shoulders and the strong, elegant slant of his neck. He's wearing glasses. This I haven't seen before. They're thick, black-framed spectacles that make him look like the professor in a grad student's wet dream.
 

Sexy specs.
 

Rei nudges me in my side. I can tell the damn vixen is struggling to hold in her laughter.
 

I roll my eyes and elbow her in irritation. The man's clearly not interested.

Rei opens a rickety cupboard and shows me the safe. It's one of those old fashioned combination types with a dial. It's bolted into the floor. There’s a slot in the top for cash deposits.

“It’s a drop safe, so no code to remember. You take the cash out of the till and put it in here at the end of the night.”

“Got it.” I close the door of the cupboard and sneak a glance at Kaito. I can’t help it. Even though he’s not doing anything, his presence in the room is like a magnet, drawing me in.

He looks up, and meets my stare with intense, molten brown eyes.

Holy hell
.
 

I blink in shock. I’ve never seen a look like that from Kaito before.

As quickly as I notice, he turns away, back to his computer. As if he never saw me in the first place.

Did I just imagine that?

I shake my head and gently drag Rei out of the office. “Thanks, Rei. I’ll be fine. You get out of here already.”

“Sure thing.” Rei picks up her handbag on the way out. “I owe you one. Thanks, Adele.” She leans over and whispers into my ear. “By the way, your bookkeeper was checking you out. Watch out, though. I noticed something just now. He isn’t what he seems.”

Before I can ask Rei what she means by that, she’s out the door.
 

Kaito

I hear them before they enter the room. I recognize the voices of the two waitresses. One stands out. It’s the American girl, Adele. Her low, throaty tone reaches me between through the thin walls.
 

She’s got a mesmerizing voice, that one. It has a way of wrapping around me and stirring something deep and primal within.
 

I can’t get enough of it.

I keep my eyes on the numbers and spreadsheets on the screen in front of me as they enter the cramped office. The other girl, Rei, greets me in Japanese. She’s a child of this country; her easy confidence tells me that much, but she can’t hide the way her parents raised her. It’s written in the way she talks, the way she bows, the tone of her voice.
 

They’re small, hard-wired mannerisms. Even in the West, they’re difficult to shake off.

I murmur an indifferent greeting, keeping my eyes on my work. Acting every inch the professional.

But all of my attention is focused on Adele. I can feel her gaze lingering on the back of my neck. The subtle scent of vanilla trails behind her, teasing me with the promise of something more.
 

It drives me nuts.

I steal a glance at her through the corner of my eye. She’s leaning against the wall, talking with Rei.
 

I savor her smooth curves, my eyes tracing the rounded swell of her breasts and that perfectly shaped ass.

I’m doing it covertly, as if it’s forbidden to look at her.
 

Can’t help it. Beneath my carefully schooled, blank features, I’m going crazy.

Fuck it. I’m staring at her openly now, while her attention is focused on her friend. As she turns, she looks up, her gaze locking onto mine.

I find myself drowning in her warm, honey-colored eyes.
 

And my cock has gone hard.
 

I look away as she raises an eyebrow. Then she turns and exits the room, following Rei. Her soft, vanilla aroma lingers, taunting me.

Get a hold of yourself Kaito, you stupid fuck.

I’m here to work, not ogle beautiful women like some hormonal teenaged brat.
 

I force my attention back to the screen of my laptop, where I’m writing a story with numbers.

Like an illusion, money appears, where before there was none. On record, it’s clean. The Kuroda Group has brought billions into America this way, through the restaurants, clubs, bars and countless other businesses it’s bought into over the last ten years.
 

In the end, the money always finds its way back to Japan.

I’ve re-invented myself since leaving home. Turns out I have some skill with the numbers. No need for forged documents, I’ve worked hard and earned my qualifications.
 

Kaito Araki.
 

A qualified fucking accountant.

Who would have thought it? It helps that I speak the language well enough. American prostitutes make fine English teachers.

But underneath the legit appearance, it makes sense that I’m doing their books. I’m also responsible for handling the money, and violence always clings to this kind of money. Kuroda just wanted to ensure that there was someone with the right skills to keep their money safe.

They’ve given me a new life here, a chance to be more like my mild-mannered colleagues. Hajime Ishida himself, the head of the Kuroda Group, insisted I go abroad. I had no choice. When the
oyabun,
the head of the organization, gives you a gift, you do not refuse. He told me it was the least he could do after what I did for the family.
 

That was three years ago.

I don't completely buy the honorable intentions. I think Ishida really just wanted me out of the country while there was still a price on my head. After what I did, it was only a matter of time before I ended up with a bullet between the eyes, or a knife in the guts.

They’ll call for me eventually. They still have use for me.
 

People like me are a rarity in this day and age. I’m different to these new-age yakuza. They’re young, smart, educated. They’re chameleons who blend in as easily amongst the salarymen on the Tokyo subway as they do in the glass towers of the New York financial district. They can enter any public bath-house, because their skin is as pure and lily-white as the day they were born, unmarked by the elaborate
irezumi
tattoos we wear. And they still have all their fingers.
 

Some of them have never used a blade or dirtied their fists in anger.

In society, they’re not outcasts.

It’s too late for me to become like them. I can play with numbers, but my real talents lie elsewhere.

And I proudly wear the marks of my allegiance on my skin. Underneath this ordinary looking suit is a story written in ink. My real identity.

They
will
find me someday, in need my unique set of skills. I’m not talking about doctoring the numbers, but my affinity for the knife, the gun, the fist. Once upon a time, I was an enforcer, a killer.
 

Do I still have it in me?

I’m not so sure anymore. I haven’t decided yet, whether I want to re-take that path.

Adele

When I get back to the dining room, I open the till and start doing the count. That’s when the two men at the end get up and make their way over to the counter. I get a better look at them.
 

The first guy is short, and completely bald. He’s wearing a dark suit with a blood red shirt underneath. It’s wide open at the chest, revealing the outline of a crucifix tattoo. A gold chain adorns his neck. His partner is huge, standing about six eight and with his dark hair slicked back. He has a thick beard and the stare he gives me is menacing.

These guys definitely aren’t regulars.
 

I don’t like the way the bald guy is looking at me. His eyes lock with mine and then travel slowly down my body. It’s a dirty, violating look and he knows it. A wave of anger surges through me.
 

“All finished?” My voice is hard and clipped as I rush past them to tally up the plates, ignoring the bald guy’s stare.
 

“That’ll be forty-eight fifty,” I snap as I duck behind the counter. I punch in the numbers on the till and print a receipt.
 

He leans over and rips the docket from the machine, before it’s even finished printing. The numbers waver and distort into an faded mess. He crumples it into a ball and drops it onto the floor. “I’ll deduct that from what you owe us.”

“Excuse me?”

“The money we’re collecting. On behalf of Mr Lucini.”

His companion is a hulking shadow behind him. "You don't have to be nice about it just because she's pretty, Angelo." His voice is a low, deep rumble.
 

"I know, I know, Vic. I've always had a soft spot for the good looking ones." The one called Angelo licks his lips, showing nicotine-yellow teeth.
 

I glance towards the back exit as he leans over and tries to stick his hand in the till. Before he reaches it, I slam the drawer shut.
 

A look of rage crosses Angelo’s face. There’s a slight tremor in his hand as he pulls it back. “That’s not smart, bitch.”
 

“I’m not aware of us owing any money.” I slide my hand into my apron pocket, feeling for my smartphone. Maybe I can discreetly dial 911. Shit. It’s not there. I must have left it in my bag in the staff room.