Die...

Miki

Raindrops speckled from the sky—piranhas that were starving for the lot. Thunder and lightning clashed heedless of its newly visible silhouettes. Behold Ken’s neurotic image. Like one of those thriller movies; the killers always eager to kill. But thereupon, her father had told her everything was bogus, that in reality those movies could never exist… boy, was he wrong.
Lazily his eyes drilled into hers as they mused her own. His face, half-covered in a sullen shade intensified his psychotic appearance.
“Ken?” she uttered jolted.
“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” he inquired coldly; she cringed. “I could ask you the same thing,” she shot back, “I don’t remember ever including the point, literally handling the agents in your job description.” He creased his brows terrifying her even more; would he kill her?
“I don’t remember agreeing to any job description,” he shot back, “I only remember agreeing to keep you alive, cash down.” “You think acting psycho all of a sudden will work with our agreement?” she countered. Tilting his head, he yawned. “I liked you better when you were being cynical. You actually contemplated things logically then.” “What?”
Hand in his pocket, other palm with his dagger hanging contently out, he raked a hand through his hair. “So, because I work for you I am automatically… yours?” he scoffed. “What’s that got to do with anything?” “What do you think?” he stated. Digesting the comment he’d just made, she could just taste what she’d had for lunch.
“You’re sick,” she grumbled, “Really sick.” He clearly eyed her and turned to take off. “Call me whatever you want,” Ken spoke icily, “If you interfere with my business again, I’ll show you firsthand how sickly my dagger can slash, no matter how much money I may lose.” Flinching a little, she scowled—she couldn’t let him see her in fear. He threw open the door, and sauntered out. Exodus… so alluring to follow him, or ask him to stay. Wait a sec; what in the hell was she thinking?
Abruptly, he retracted and faced her. Miki quivered when she saw something flit from him to her. Was it a bullet? Shrieking back, the item slid to her. “Ah!” Thudding at her feet, it compelled her to clench eyes shut. At once she realized that the article wasn’t a bullet or a compact grenade, or anything lethal; it was a case. A jewelry case, black and soft like the ones she’d seen in usual jewelry stores. “What the..?” solely she said.
She stooped and carefully picked it up; she could trust no one. “What’s this?” she asked. Miki had no idea why Ken out of all people would give her jewelry; perhaps, he was more psychotic than she had given him credit for?
“Something you’ll need if I can’t take care of things immediately,” was his reply. “‘Immediately’?” she savaged, “Exactly what am I paying you for if you can’t promise me you’ll be able to—” He cut off, “I didn’t make any promises, you did all the talking.”
He didn’t make any promises? She did all the talking? Who was getting ripped off here? Why was this happening?
“What the hell are you—” Silenced again. “Just open it and hope you won’t need it in any case,” was his eased reply. Miki looked at him confused, disgusted: maybe even a bit anxious to see what she had received? What was she; some poor horny schoolgirl?
Slowly, she opened the box and inside the item made her surprised even more. A necklace; karat gold, no less. The word that hung on it stunned her even more. In golden cursive letters, handwritten fine and delicately was the word or name rather, ‘’
“Ken… How’s this supposed to help?” she mocked, “By making Miss Handy jealous?” “You’ll see if it does become useful,” he said making his way toward her. He grabbed the necklace away from her and looked straight at her. “Turn around.” She growled. Resorting to force, he went behind her himself. “Hey!” was her weak protest. “Don’t start, bitch,” was his cold answer. She barked as she heard him clasp it on.
“Fuck you,” she snarled as he turned to walk off. “Don’t ask,” he muttered. Glaring at her, he closed the door behind him as he walked out. Miki slumped down on her bed and let out a sigh of relief. “That asshole prick,” she thought bitterly, “I’ll show him one of these days how that dagger really can slice.” She looked at the newly worn necklace on her neck, “Psycho…” she growled.



“Did you sleep well, miss?” The car engine started up at the ignition—almost as much as her anger ignited last night when Ken threatened her. “Sound as usual,” she lied; eventually he’d find out about Ken, but this was not the time—medically and legally.
“Miss, you have a visitor,” Yuka chimed, “Awaiting your arrival this moment. I’d hate to introduce you to them sleep-deprived.” “A visitor?” she perked up. “Who?” “The son of Jon Fukiai,” he answered, “I believe it has been a while since you’ve met.” “Again, Yuka, I ask who?” she bit, “I don’t know any Jon Fukiai.” She flung her hair slightly as she ragged her brain for an explanation; what’s this Jon Fukiai got to do with any of this?
“Have you honestly forgotten him?” Yuka asked barging in on her thoughts. “How can I forget someone I haven’t even met?” she countered expertly. “Mr. Fukiai owns one of the wealthiest organizations in the world still running in Europe today,” he defined, “Your father and him were remarkable business partners.”
Miki leaned down apathetically paying attention; she had to get any info on anyone though, no matter how boring it’d be. Maybe then, she could straighten things out without the help of that psycho…and get this stupid necklace off.
“What does this have to do with me?” Miki questioned mostly to herself. “Due to a rather abrupt business problem, Mr. Fukiai had been held up at his company,” Yuka answered. “And?” she pressed. “It seems that his son, whom you’re meeting, had been getting into rather, err, some problems himself.” Miki looked up to Yuka to find him being hesitant, something that was hardly ever seen from the old man. “Problems?” she said suddenly interested, “What kind of problems?” “Problems, miss, that have earned Master Fukiai the title…” he trailed off. “What title has he earned?” she persevered. Despite how enigmatically quiet Yuka was keeping things, she was enjoying herself immensely. “I believe it was called the, err, Lustful Sin?” he said carefully. “The hell?” she asked amused.
“Master Fukiai has been known as one to let his feet slip in any situation and does not share his father’s craft as a businessman.” He went on, “Mr. Fukiai has thought it would be a wonderful concept if you and Master Fukiai were to meet again, perhaps maybe discuss improvements on your behavior, miss?” “So Jon Fukiai sends his son all the way from Europe here so he can meet up with me and discuss the possible improvements on our behavior?” she asked with obvious sarcasm, “Christ, this guy must’ve picked up Akira’s business card.”
“Please, miss,” he pleaded, “I was in no position to refuse, and Master Fukiai will be staying here on the condition of good terms.” “Whatever, Yuka,” she concluded, “This is bull.” This would be yet another one of the reasons on her life-long list why her life sucked and yet another point on Ken’s for sadism.
The psycho was probably playing with that EM agent’s head now. To think she was paying him to do just that to protect her and drive her insane in the process. “We’ve arrived, miss,” Yuka announced gingerly. “Great,” she muttered bitterly as she looked out her window.
In her view was a perfect sight of the school. Teens her age laughing with each other, just hanging out. Guys situated with their arms draped around a girl who was all too happy to snuggle into the motion, teachers walking in going over their last minute planners. This was all something Miki would never be able to enjoy, with or without EM. She was just a mere perk to this school—simply a mere rich girl who had resorted here in Naha from delinquency and embarrassment.
Now she was on her way to meet someone who had been put in her position as well. What was this Jon Fukiai’s motive anyway for pinning them together? What was Akira’s? His son decides to play the bad boy and he suddenly finds time to look her up in his black book and remember her father? How coincidental she and that bad boy have been setup to discuss their behavioral probs.
It made sense, but still really pathetic on Akira and that Fukiai’s part. Like some crappy TV special of Dr. Phil and finding yourself. Knowing Akira, pretty soon this whole thing could turn out like a weak romance novel.



Miki casually walked into her homeroom and took her seat. At the corner of her eye, she caught stares and confused looks from her classmates sitting around her. What is it with everyone today? Did the word of this so-called Fukiai bad boy leak out? ‘Surprise, surprise,’ was her cool overall of the assumption. Just then, the teacher walked through the door.
A teenage boy coolly followed with his head down—no matter, with his head up his bangs would be covering his eyes. “Class,” the professor announced, “I’d like to introduce to you our new student.” She looked toward the teen with a smile pasted on her face, “This is Jacob Fukiai, I’m sure you’ll demonstrate the school spirit in his welcome.” His bangs lifted to show he was facing them. “Jacob,” the mistress instructed, “Take your seat, right beside Miss Dai and then you will be headed off on the first class of your timetable.”
He walked crudely toward said desk and sat down. Miki felt a bit electrified as his arm brushed slightly against hers. Jacob noticed the friction as well and locked eyes with her if only for a moment. She looked away acting as if she were unfazed while his eyes still burned on her. In spite of the uneasiness and ridicule he was making her feel, he remained looking and acting totally formal. Soon, his eyes were preoccupied with the remaining surroundings of the classroom and the imprints of his look on her were faded away.
“Now,” the teacher began, “About your behavior this week, I’m must say that…” Miki paid no attention to the instructor’s endless ramblings on behavioral improvements, she had to deal with some improves with herself. This guy looked nothing like someone willing to cooperate, he looked more like a guy who… just doesn’t get at all. The first bell had rung signaling the beginning of the first class. Students got up and started strutting off in little groups talking. Miki lingered behind beside Jacob in a shadow.
“Hi,” she said interactively looking at him, “I’m the daughter of Mikitomo Dai, Miki Dai. I got word this morning you were coming and that we’d met before. If that’s the case, nice meeting you again.” Jacob just looked at her, like someone who was looking down at a ridiculous comment. It was like he was sizing her up instantly at her quote with his eyes. Through his bangs.
He didn’t answer. Why? Was he mute or just playing the smart-ass? “Let’s go,” she said, “I’m already excused from my first class to show you around.” Still silent? He mutely followed her out the door throwing hard looks over his shoulder. They walked out into the empty hallway and made their way around.
Miki briefly told him where classrooms were situated and continued. Mechanical, just like those men in their business suits who worked for her father. Like businessmen who worked for Jacob’s father. Like Akira who would do anything just to pass a front for a successful business deal—even ship off her own daughter to a crappy island…



The lunch bell rang and Miki was finally given the makeshift and credit of having some time to herself without the new boy following her around. He hadn’t literally said a word since he’d been with her. He hadn’t uttered a word to anyone, was he mute? Miki didn’t care, she didn’t have to. She had enough things to care about.
A lunatic psycho who she happened to be financing to do wet work regardless of his liking to it, a killer hitman company on the verge of killing her at any time, and a new writing assignment. How her life was great.
She sat down on the nearby ledge observing everything. She had no appetite whatsoever and thereby her lunch money remained contently in her purse. The scenes around her were priceless. Being one of the top5 richest people in Japan and all, priceless was not a commonly used adjective and she had learned from the romantic novels she’d read that it could be a verb as well. Is that the impression you get when you’re a virgin or was it just implied?
There were groups of girls sitting and talking about insignificant things—what boy would possibly ask them out, how cute they’d be, the movie on last night, beauty tips and newly revealed gossip… She felt no envy of being in any of their shoes. Then there were boys rambling about sports plays, hopes of making a new team, how pathetic the gym teacher is in health class, what girl was currently admiring his bed sheets… The list of ongoing crap could go on, but it was just a waste of Miki’s time to tally it up.
A new group of girls sat down under the tree a few meters from her. Whatever could they be discussing?
“Have you seen the new guy that just transferred?” the brunette asked. “Jacob Fukiai? God, he’s so cute,” one sighed. “Trish said the word is there’s something going on with him and Miki,” the brunette spoke again. “Miki and that guy? No way,” another one snorted, “She’s like a total tease and you know Jacob Fukiai, he likes girls that are…you know.”
Miki curled her lips, what guy didn’t like girls that were whatever the hell ‘you know’ implied? “All bad boys do,” the brunette agreed, “I love bad boys.” Please, how pathetic could a girl get? “Word is he got sent here because he flipped his father off at the colossal memorial building they have,” the brunette went on, “He didn’t even look at the cameras there.” He did what?
Miki leaned back and continued to listen in on the conversation. “It’s even rumored he lives on the street and he uses his bad boy street moves to anyone who brings it on down there.” “That’s a lie,” the other said, “He couldn’t possibly do that; how’d he be rich?” “He’s got his own apartment here and lives by himself and everything.” “I’d love to see the inside of it,” one of them cooed. “You can see it on the Internet or in the superstar magazine,” the brunette said. “That’s not how I meant it, stupid,” she shot back. Damn, this place is boring.
She turned and resumed her position sitting down on the garden ledge. A new boy shows up and suddenly all the girls are going lingerie shopping? However did she manage to get into this mess, Akira?
“There he comes,” one of the girls said, “Jacob!” They were keeping their voices down in gasps as he neared. His bangs were flowing in the midst movement of his steps and Miki noticed how he wore his uniform. Mostly buttoned down, with his jacket swaying in the wind behind it and acting as thoughtless as he. What is it about him that’s so bad as a bad boy? His looks? His eyes were revealed as the breeze blew his hair, they were piercing like they were that morning. Like lust itself.
“God, he’s gorgeous,” another girl sighed, “A real bad boy.”
“More like real crap,” Miki muttered to herself. Jacob continued walking, both hands in his pockets like he was slacking or something. He knew everyone was talking about him and chose to ignore it casually and keep walking; he also knew that every girl in the school was at his feet and every guy with a girl was in danger. But he chose to ignore that as well. Not every girl was at his beck and call, there was Miki after all…
Miki looked up and only just realized that he was walking in her direction. Lunch was going to be silent as well, what was this—an academy for the holy? Jesus Christ was all Miki could answer to that question proving otherwise. Ironic. Here she was, the rebel who was only 17 and becoming more rebellious by the minute and now… Now she was viewed as simply naivete in any area since she was uncovered as a simple maiden who was a wolf in sheep’s clothing compared to everyone else. Was it such an embezzlement to be chaste and over the age of 17? What was the big deal? The fact she was rich, young and just begging to be humiliated was.
Maybe Jacob was in the same situation as she, here because of the simplicity of being very wealthy and a teenager. Or she could just be thinking ingenuously and he was sent here on good reason. He was given the title of a bad boy, a boy who was obviously very bad and juvenile. Yuka was even reluctant to talk about him; he’d called him the Lustful Sin. Jacob had to have been sent out there for a good reason. Whatever the reason, Miki didn’t care; she had her own life to live and to keep living. Regardless of exactly how psychotic the craftsman of it all was to make it possible…



Miki made a blasé departure from Algebra strutting carelessly down the hall. As usual after Algebra she would somehow be behind the schedule—after every class she was behind schedule. ‘Late again,’ Miki thought rashly as she walked slowly to the exit. ‘Why am I always teacher’s pet when it comes to lecturing?’ She growled at the thought. Don’t any of them have lives of their own to get to?
She walked swiftly out of the exiting doors her heels clicking madly in the process. Yuka was already beaming when she sat in the car, but that wasn’t her focus. Jacob was in the seat next to her just waiting too.
“Jacob?” she asked confused, “What are you—?” Yuka cut her off, “Sir Jacob has agreed to ride with us until he acquires the proper accommodations for transportation himself.” He smiled at her while Jacob was simply preoccupying his mind with various things outside his window. “What?” she ground out, “Aren’t there any cabs? He can’t just—” Cut off again. “Enjoy your day at school today, miss?” Yuka sang happily. A growl followed with some incoherent curses was her answer and Yuka continued to float on whatever cloud he was on in the driver’s seat.
‘Why does Yuka have to be an old-aged half-wit?’ she thought sourly, ‘Why can’t he be one of those normal yes-men who doesn’t care and takes some kind of medication? Yuka being so damn happy, god.’ She ended her thought with a glance to Jacob who looked back at her. “Something on your mind?” he asked abruptly. The first time he speaks to her and he ends up saying something undermining. Things can’t get any better than so.
“Nothing,” she lied casually, “Nothing at all.” Yuka was rambling about how marvelous something was while Jacob crossed his arms and leaned back into his seat. Miki looked out of her window at the scenery passing by, almost like the current events. “I almost forgot, you had a visitor, miss.” Suddenly Miki’s day seemed less meaningless and actually more intriguing.
A visitor? Why was she so popular to visit all of a sudden and exactly who could be visiting her now? Ken. Who else would ever want to pay her a visit…or talk bull about how they could grant her death wish? It’s payday and apparently, with all the hard work he’s been doing, a very big payday indeed. “A visitor?” she mimicked her thoughts, “Who?” Yuka looked over his shoulder.
“The same gentlemen who looked rather, err, compelling.” Miki pressed further; she had to know, she couldn’t afford not to. “Yuka, was he wearing a suit?” she questioned. “Yes, miss,” he replied, “Looking somewhat ‘spiffy’ and dark, if you please.” Now, Yuka was the one intrigued.
“Oh,” was her drifted response. “In fact, that gentlemen had told me himself to inform you he was waiting... for payment of some kind. He was rather frank that you did owe him some compensation.” “Did he say anything else, Yuka?” Miki asked in a bit of a fog, “Like his name or something?” “He concluded our conversation with acquainting himself as ‘Psycho,’ miss.” Miki pricked up; it had to be Ken or either someone playing a very unfunny joke and if that were the case, so help them god.
Her blood ran cold and the thought of Ken visiting again her was more chilling. ‘Smooth, Ken,’ she thought bitter, ‘Real smooth.’ She exhaled; payday—will it be the day she’d meet her maker as well? “Miss Dai, exactly what do you think he means?” Miki threw him a tired gaze, “It means he must be a comedian. ” Now Jacob was intrigued. “Psycho?” he repeated for himself, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing important,” she lied. Nothing important so long as she had her checkbook. What was Ken doing in broad daylight? Didn’t Jack the Ripper prefer to strike at night than by day? Ken must be the new and improved version then, he even manages to screw an enemy agent along with it. What a guy.
Miki sat back in her seat and continued to contemplate exactly where Ken came from or managed to get his psychotic origin. Everything went by her—the scenery outside her window flying by, Yuka’s continuous ramblings on how marvelous everything was… Even Jacob’s cold stares every now and then. What was occupying his mind?


“Wait, miss!” She ignored him; obvious sounds could no longer be heard to her. It was as if her eardrums had suddenly taken it upon themselves to follow her eyes and ignore hearing completely. She was like a corpse pursuing a dead cause and shutting everything out like in a dream of some sort; or in Miki’s case a nightmare. Yuka continued to call, Miki continued to go after it, and Jacob stepped out of the car resting his weight on it watching.
‘Ken,’ she thought illusory, ‘He was here. There’s no telling what he could do with that dagger of his…’ She grit her teeth in anger, ‘That psycho’s just itching slice me up… it makes my blood run just thinking about what he can do.’ That woman from EM probably sees his full potential all the time and enjoys it—sick. Miki threw a glance over her shoulder as she got out her key to her hotel room.
Did he leave out of impatience or just leave. Maybe boredom had gotten to him before her and he’d butchered the room service as a result. Or he could possibly be attending or taking care of more ‘handy’ things; a perfect example would be that EM agent—that woman who he had a talent for. He could be with her right now and they could be occupying another room in this hotel…they could even be causing a ruckus for the manager with their twisted and psychotic games. Ken really is a freak, a freak who unfortunately she had no choice in working with.
“Miss Dai!” Yuka called desperately as he fought to catch up to her, “Wait! Honestly—!” His call was cut off as Miki opened her door and eagerly walked in. “Ken?” Jacob cut in. “What?” Miki flipped around in shock at him knowing something.
Yuka broke into a sprint and stood by her. “Miss Dai,” he panted, “He decided depart abruptly and drop by again. He is rather, imperative and possibly could have had to leave last minute.”
She threw a long hard look at Jacob who was leaning contently without care in the door way with his arms crossed. “How’d you know his name?” she questioned interested. She managed to ignore Yuka’s incessant ramblings without much effort. Jacob looked to her—she had never noticed his slick dark eyes; and made his bangs lift a bit in the process. He really did look cute, but nevertheless Miki ignored the little distinction and continued to press; she didn’t have the time or the luxury of flirting or crushing on someone, a company was out to have her killed.
“Lucky guess?” he answered carelessly. Miki squinted her eyes at him as if he were some incompetent person who was retarded, was Jacob really this… this… this arrogant? Out of all the time they had at school, he decides to show his true colors now and be smug about everything. ‘A typical guy,’ Miki thought, ‘How could I think the opposite? Fukiai has a way with false impressions, eh? I’ll see about that.’ She erased the look of disgust for his ego away and replaced it with a casual one.
“At any rate, Ken’s gone,” she finally summarized, “There’s nothing I can do now.” “Ken, miss? Kenneth? Is that his name?” Yuka asked looking at her. “Yeah,” she answered, “That’s a good thing to remember the next time he comes.” ‘And a great thing to remember if I ever happen to end up in a body bag in pieces,’ she added in her thoughts tartly. “Who’s Ken?” Jacob asked turning around suddenly.
“What?” “Ken—who’s he?” he clarified. “If you were listening, the guy who dropped by and left,” she answered sarcastically. She had had enough of Jacob’s attitude already; first as a polite greeting he gives her the silent treatment and now he was playing Mr. Egotist. Ridiculous, really.
“And the guy who gave you that necklace,” he scoffed. Miki threw him a surprised look; that remark was totally unexpected. Not even Yuka noticed it, or anyone at school. How’d he notice? And why was he practically choking the words out when he said it? Disgust? Jealously? It was all too early for that sort of thing… or was it?
“Necklace?” Yuka said in surprise, “Miss Dai!” He looked almost mortified as he discovered it. “Miss Dai, you are wearing a necklace, from a young man unheard of, and have concealed it all this time? Miss Dai!” “You make it sound like a crime, Yuka, it’s nothing,” she defended coolly.
“You make it look like one. Miki,” Jacob said taking a small stick from his pocket, “Anything you wear is a crime.” “What the hell are you talking about?” she asked even more engrossed; did he just take out a cigarette? “It has to be a crime to be that gorgeous, Miki,” was his explanation. It started to get hot for her cheeks all of a sudden. The heat of his tone managed to creep into her cheeks. She brushed it off and put on a rebellious mask.
“Oh my,” Yuka ground out, “Sir Jacob, please.” “Got a light?” he asked motioning with his cigarette. “Sir, they don’t allow smoking at all in this hotel,” Yuka answered, “I would strongly suggest you discontinue the habit for the sake of courtesy and your personal well-being.” “This place blows,” was his reply, “What good is a hotel if you can’t enjoy a smoke in it or if you suddenly have to discontinue the habit?” “Sir,” Yuka said, “What would your father think?” “Frankly, I don’t give a damn what the old fart thinks,” was his response, “Both of you can take those suggestions of yours and shove them.”
Miki did not know whether to laugh or retaliate for Jacob’s attitude; she did know, however, that she did not take well with comments like his last. “Jacob,” she said casually, “I don’t mean to be rude but,” Yuka turned to her in shock. “What the fuck are you on?” she concluded. Jacob looked up a bit confused, but expressionless nonetheless. Yuka peeped over at her, he knew how incredibly dangerous she could be when she was upset or, as the teenagers said nowadays, PMS-ing. Uh oh.
She flipped her hair (she was to die for intimidating like that). Jacob stood fully listening to her; what was she on?
There she stood, one hand on her hip, anger in her eyes, casually preaching everything… Her father and her did have the same genes.
“Jacob, you call me gorgeous and…a criminal, what the hell are you supposed to be? Pretty fucking stupid, that’s what,” she said coldly, She moved a little and concluded with, “If you’ve got any problems with lighting up, go the hell outside for Christ sakes and pick up a lighter at the hotel gift shop.”
Miki looked to Yuka and casually said, “Yuka, I’m going to change now and if you have any problems or sins with Jacob, feel free to call Mr. Fukiai and give him my regards.” With that she stepped in her room and closed the door leaving a stunned Yuka and a surprised, pissed off Jacob Fukiai.



She slid on her hot red sweat-shirt and resumed to brushing off her tight black pants. The strap of her black belly top slipped into the curves of her shoulders and drew a perfect outline of her chest; she gazed into her mirror exalted. But already Miki could list several disgusting things just looking at her reflection…and that psychotic lunatic was included in every single one.
Her shirt was covered in holes, but holes not big enough to see the full torso of her; only holes big enough to catch a glimpse, like a rocker on stage. Yet the holes could stand for something else as well. The prediction of what underneath might look like pierced with the bullets from EM or stab wounds. Sick! Or maybe the foretelling of Ken’s dagger wounds butchering her all up. No doubt that he’d be laughing through it all.
Red. The said color she was wearing: dark bloody red. Red shirt, red hairband, red boots. She may as well tell everyone it’s a bloodspot-to-be, a very large bloodstain. Boots like Jack the Ripper’s floorboards and hands covered in it after he’d had his fun with all of his victims in the 18th century. Just like Ken. If there is such a thing as reincarnation, Ken would have to be living proof. Jack the Ripper, Jeffrey Dahmar, Blunt the butcher, Dracula, Billy Blue—Ken is the reborn of all of them in one…the bane of her existence.
Suddenly red didn’t seem like such a hot color for her anymore, the thought of prophesizing her soon-to-be death was disgusting hence she felt the urge to change. But before she could start looking for something more desirable to wear, there was a knock at her door. Miki shut the horrifying thoughts out of her head and went to answer the door. For a minute, she was afraid to open it thinking if she did her predictions would come true.
She gulped as her fingers sweltered on the cool doorknob. Who could it be? Why would anyone be knocking…to see her of all people?
Jacob, who happened to be the wannabe bad boy of the century, was not about to take his chances his implication being his cold restraint before.
Ken, just leaving hours ago, was not the type who would simply storm back in and demand money—he liked to toy with his victims, make them sweat all the while becoming more crafty at the tricks of sharpening his dagger.
And as for Yuka, he was out of the question as nothing so incredibly important would arise here and at the time he was always mingling with the staff and what have not. Who could it be?
Miki had not the time nor the patience to call on the incompetent room service: their prices for the first class were preposterous and they were all too moronic. She knew of no one else to be friendly with on this island, so why was there a knock?
Carefully cracking the door open at it, Miki peered for a quick glance. Her gaze was met with nothing but the creasing wallpaper shimmering on the hotel halls. No one. She unrestricted the golden chain hanging from inside, stepping out ever so much closer to see who had been responsible seeing nothing as she was met with view of more doors in the hotel.
Miki turned sideways slowly analyzing the directions: doors, a fire exit, more doors. Endless thoughts of embarrassment swarmed through her head. Had she been hearing things or had Jacob decided to knock on his way down to lobby for amusement? There was pure idiocy behind either thought making her want a drag. Letting out a sigh of relief, she turned to retrieve her cigarettes on her table… only to meet the gaze of a man dressed in black.
Ken? No, Ken was too swift and smug about everything. Jacob? Yuka? Both assured her they would be occupied by the sights of the lobby. Then who? She asked frantically.
All time to contemplate the answer was lost as a hot hand sealed her lips. ‘Of course!’ she silently screamed, ‘EM! This is another attempt to kill me! Where’s Ken!? He can’t be with them, he’s supposed to take care of this!’
She gagged at the closing force but on her, muffling her desperate scream. Her only chance at getting help, her only hope of staying alive for one last night had been toned down along with her cry for help by this stranger’s hand. Who knew where else it would travel in a matter of minutes? Hours? Days? Tears stung her eyes at the agony omens to come.
All the while planning what fate had in her store, one question constantly repeated itself in her mind: Where was Ken? Wasn’t she paying him to protect her? The one day he can prove himself worthy of her cash, even respect, and he is nowhere to be found! She dampened a few of heartbeats at the thought of her living short enough to avoid Ken’s first paycheck.
Echoing scolding reaped her of the idea and sent her flying back into the cold reality of this stranger’s hold. Suddenly, a stream of Ken’s dagger flew into her: there was no way she would cave in without a fight regardless of upholding her reputation.
Perhaps she could escape? Run down the stairs into the arms of Jacob and manipulate him into calling the police with her charm and send whatever EM and that psycho into the nearest mental hospital available with no guarantee of the light of day for them again. She had the money, why not the physical strength?
She could wash her hands of this entire situation in a flash with one quick call to the police, the media even—the distinction drove her acknowledge the fact of her teeth and their physical strength. In all of her power, she snapped them down on the assassin’s sweaty hands loathing the taste of him. A shrill yelp was her signal to run at his removal and churn out of his grasp.
Down, down, down she went, skipping few stairs at a time. Few turned ample as she found the urge to skip more steps disregarding her balance. Her attacker trailed furiously appearing effortless as he trailed. Frantically, Miki picked up her pace down the flight of stairs, frowning at each thought of some regret for her retaliation. She panted, there was no time to think of the consequences now, she had to get out of there!
“Hey, you! Get the fuck over here!” Try as she might, Miki could not ignore the depth of his call. So close and yet so far away from her at the same time—it would only be a matter of seconds before he’d decide to skip a flight and jump after her. Fuming, she chose not to let him beat her to it and skip five steps at a time. Her heart nearly flew out of her chest as she skidded; it wouldn’t matter of course, her blood practically splattered on the shirt she was wearing. She coughed. Just a few more flights…
All of a sudden, the same hot hands of his grasped her; he had managed to succeed after all. Shaking fingers firmly pinched the full end of her mane. Inwardly, she cursed herself for ever having long hair, for being herself, for ever being alive.
In the midst of her potential psyche crisis, he yanked her toward him crippling her escape plan to a failed cause. A painful scream was her only doing—her life was over. Miki desperately struggled for freedom of his hold. Why was this happening to her and where was Ken when she needed him the most? In a flash, fire coursed through her burning every doubt, every regret or fear to a crisp inside her. Instantly physical strength was of no problem and mental strength held to an ash… Fuck her chances.
Strands of the ebony night painted the plain metal walls of the frigid stairwell. A bold sanguine strand weaving out at the loose darkness of the night, setting Miki’s strands free to soar. Her ribbon…the only piece of her father that beat in her soul, what he endowed upon her on his very deathbed for her to remember him by—there was no way in this hellhole of a world she would let it go.
Shifting her assassin recklessly into the nearby wall, she snatched it up before it could hit the ground. Long beads of black bangs fell over her eyes taking flight as she charged down the remaining stairs. Panting furiously, she swung the final door open to the dark stairwell, praising the blinding light that came with it. “Yes…”
Abruptly after her grateful praise, a silhouette blocked her path soaking up every bit of the light along with Miki’s hope for escape. ‘No!’ She cursed inwardly. ‘Damn it!’ Skidding to a reluctant stop the owner of the depressing shadow appeared before her fogged vision. A figure, a face so horribly familiar. That woman…
Miki barely stopped before enough to meet her tempting gaze. She was smiling, no, smirking at her pathetical hopes. Sadism reeked in her presence as did Ken, for he was merely a short distance away…waiting for her in the lobby? Maybe he didn’t know she was there, but a quick side glance in her direction diminished the thought. What in the seven hells was he doing!?
“Ken!” she yelled in spite of herself. The woman simply smirked wider at her making the cruel obvious truth ever so hideous. Ken had joined them… had turned her back on her. He was just as much danger to her as any EM agent now, if not only a tenth in difference before. “No… psycho…”
It was then she stopped herself from going any further. Had she advanced past the devious temptress Ken would be as much danger to her as she. She may as well had counted herself dead, he was just a random pick now, a sadist psycho who’d pulled her strings and embraced the thought of seeing her left hanging. Impulsively, she gnarled: she was no one’s puppet.
Frigid sepias reaped any thought throwing out the just hell of disgusted anger. The woman flexed, yawning at her disregard of Miki’s intentions. “Ken won’t be helping you, Miss Dai,” she sighed smugly, “Don’t waste your breath and save yourself the humiliation.”
“Fuck off,” was Miki’s plea for freedom. Fuck off, indeed, for her life was wasted as it was and dead or alive she would kill Ken. That dagger was as good as hers.
The woman’s hands flew out from her silken jacket grabbing her by her collar. “You’re pretty uptight for a virgin,” she mouthed. Another loathing gaze was her answer yet again. “What? You thought Ken could change that? How cute, you like him and at the same pitiful to think such a thing.”
“I said to fuck off!” Miki spat out. The woman’s eyebrows creased roaming her venomously. A flicker of light reflected them making both women blink… was that gold?
The woman looked down, her eyes filled with…envy? The necklace. Miki had almost forgotten it but nothing mattered, it was useless now. “Ken?” the woman lipped.
“Yeah, Ken. Now fuck off! Get your paws off of me!” The woman’s hands softened and soon released her. Miki was astonished at the feel of new gravity and fell to the ground, her ebony strands covering her face. In a split second, Miki shot a venomous gaze back at her sending a chill down her spine.
At that moment, her previous assassin came behind her from the ground aiming to capture her. “Leave her alone,” the woman instructed. “Huh?” “You heard me, don’t make me say it again. We’re done here.”
With that, she turned on her heel and walked away. And there was Miki sprawled on the floor left behind and as always confused. She clutched her father’s ribbon tightly wishing he was there…if not in spirit, in body and health. What she’d give for that, but god was only too charitable and apparently she had well overdone her take.


Cool footsteps trudded towards her, effortlessly, Miki recognized the shrill beat of the heels. Ken. He towered over her, a hand hanging lazily out from his pocket. “Get the fuck away from me,” she snarled, “I never want to see you again, no matter how much cash I owe you.”
She expected to hear him go on with some pointless quote on how she should have more respect, more gratitude for being alive in her state, something insulting. Couldn’t he see it? That she yearned heatedly so, to be undermined? To be tortured? To see his dagger in her face? To die?
Ken was blinded, chose not to see it. Decided to leave her to contemplate things only in the clue of his expression. “Miki,” he stated, “I want my money… and I don’t care whether you want to pay me or not, you will.”
“I suppose I’ll kill you too, then?” she faded sarcastically. “You can try, but I will be paid in full and if you can’t meet my limitations, I’ll figure out something else for you to do.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she brusquely questioned. “I offered you money, millions, to keep me alive and when EM decides to get me, you sit back and watch? Why the fuck you I give a damn if I pay you or not?”
“Did you forget I was the one that gave that necklace?”
“What the hell do I care! A stupid necklace won’t save me!” she shouted.
“Can you explain fluently why those agents just left? Why that ‘handy’ woman of mine supposedly spared you?” He didn’t press further, his eyes pierced her enough.
“I don’t know, you psyche them out?” she shot back. Suddenly, in a swift motion, he pulled her to her feet. Momentarily, Miki was standing face to face with Ken’s expression…expressionless.
He shoved her roughly towards the wall sealing the stair door behind him. In an instant he was suffocating her space now letting his hand rest on her chest.
“You ungrateful bitch,” he snarled, “Have you any idea of anything going on?” “Yeah, I do!” she countered. “Enlighten me,” he pressed, “Tell me everything. Frankly, I’m clueless.”
He was clueless no more than he was psychotic! “For one, an assassin organization is trying to kill me and you happened to enlighten me on everything. Then I offered to pay you $50 000 apiece for every guy you took care of only you forgot to tell me that their organization was huge and that my money was being wasted. For the time, I chose to ignore that and continue keeping track since money’s no problem. Then all of a sudden I find you getting a hand job from a woman outside of my hotel, getting off of it. Not only are you a sick lunatic, but you’re fucked up too… I can’t get—”
Her enticing speech was cut off shortly by his finger trailing her lips. He leaned closer, his breath tickling her face. “That woman… she’s not important so get this thought of something going on out of your head and focus on the money.”
“Nothing’s going on? Why the hell was her hand down pants then, you psychotic bastard!” The words came repentant, as if they were forced to come out, as if she were pretending to give him the wrong impression. She’d spat them out with the intention of showing hatred, but her intentions were shot down in vain as she met his eyes.
Sorrel orb that held piercing emotion, that could slay anyone without the handy butchery of his dagger. Miki moved back at the sight of him fearing for if she didn’t, she would be melted relentlessly paralyzed by his gaze. On the contrary, Ken made no move whatsoever prolonging her torment to feel.
She could do nothing as the dimly lit stairwell set his blade afire in her eyes—she had foolishly lost her eyesight in the blinding light. “Ah!” A scared gasp slipped out her lips, something she had not embraced to a limp. His face remained merciless.
“Afraid?” was his cruel inquiry. Miki did not answer, afraid if she did he would hack her tongue to pieces that instant. Sadistically, he continued his statement. “I wouldn’t worry, that shirt is something that would blend bloodstains.” Miki could only whimper.
“The irony, the most wanted for a lover and no man can hear you scream,” he whispered. His hot breath fiercely tickled her flesh drifting her mind into the shallow depths of his touch. “Psycho…”
To her heart’s despair, he drew away and acquainted her ever so closely with his dagger. “That woman put her hand down my pants,” he murmured, “is that what you think entitles her to my service?” She remained silent since she could not think of a reasonable reply, then to her dread he grabbed hold of hand.
Objection withered hence the obviousness wrong of their actions. Her hand fell limp in his grasp, his commands obeyed letting him trail her fist wherever he pleased.
Hotly, it rested on his heart startled with every beat. It astounded Miki endlessly at the irony—as a psycho to possess a normal core as any other sane person—indeed, ironic: although his heart was nothing as it ceased hers.
Ken drew her Miki’s petite hand lower. She jerked at the sudden feel outlining his belly-button. Pulling back was crazy for her body went numb in his eyes.
“What’re you doing?” she demanded dryly finding her voice. Ken only looked at her as if she had just questioned his sanity. He left her gaze for his silent reply and began to curse her in hushed tones.
“Prestigious bitch, you are,” he swore. “You should learn your place, bitch…” His tongue carved its way to her oblivion sending crashed images of a broken dagger behind her eyelids—would her agony ever end? Would it start in the mere form of this sheer bliss?
At the feel of dry leather, instantly, the question slipped her thoughts. Sepia orbs filled with pure horror drifted down into the endless banes of black threads of his clothe. Ken had been as incredulous as she’d thought, daring her beyond any of her limits… any carnal restraint.
“Ah…” An uttered cry of disgust was the only conceivable thing that kept her body from going all numb. The feel of the silken velvet flesh lingered hopelessly on her fingertips. Miki’s gaze traveled upward into the eerie sorrel bays of faded sanguine. Sensuality was howled at their brinks.
Brazen in utmost cool, pink pinched the side of Ken’s cheeks at the stain of red on hers. A silent cry escaped his lips as her grip became more impulsive. To the bare ears it was identified as nothing more than incoherent but to Miki, much more. Claim me, was his silent command: Feel me…
It was only when the velvet beneath her fingers shifted she flinched. Arousal—plain, sick, psychotic arousal. At once, her feet were placed back on the ground from her chaotic abyss and she soon stared into the all too cruel eyes of a lunatic. Bloodthirsty, no less.
Nauseated, repelled, plunged in detest—she yanked her hand out of his pants. Bathed in disgust, she angrily looked down at her sweaty hand; was it really sweat, she fumed. Naturally, Ken was taken aback, his worn blank expression washed over his face.
“You sick bastard,” she gnarled. Miki only growled all too well familiar of his scented lunacy. “Get the hell away from me!” Being as they were only a few meters from the public lobby, numerous heads were turned at the sudden outburst. One of those heads was inexplicably nonetheless, Jacob Fukiai’s.
“Miki?” he gasped at the recognition of his voice. Sooner than later, thudding footsteps could be heard advancing towards them. Miki’s head darted up at the sound.
“Get the fuck out of here,” she snarled. “Before I go psychotic, like you and kill you on sight.”
“Ah, psychotic,” Ken murmured, “Psychotic…”
Miki suddenly found herself clasped against Ken’s long, lean body, reluctantly choking in the grinds of their waists against his crotch, the place oh so affirmed with her hands.
“Get the hell away from me, you disgusting psycho!” she heaved. Silence then was the only thing spoken from her lips as his face came a few inches from it.
Icy hands found themselves entwining in the loose strands of her hair sending bushy chills down her spine. Before long, his hands trailed to her burning cheeks. With the curl of his lips, Miki felt her heart take a dive. Gingerly, his fingers caressed her lips and he smiled.
“Whatever you saw between me and her is nothing,” he stated crisply. “I’m your psycho, remember that.” With that, he captured her lips in a searing kiss.
No time to run, no time to object, just the feel of his lips drowned her. Her heart nearly snapped as she felt his tongue brush against hers. In mere second she felt him bite her lower lip. The pain stung but was easily brushed away with the light flick of his tongue. Miki was rendered helpless as her tongue became sucked into his molding a wet meld. It was only a few seconds later he pulled away for oxygen.
Scream, she thought relentlessly. Scream and yell until he leaves so he’ll never come back. Yet she only stood there awestruck by the feel of his mouthed embrace.
His intense gaze of formality was his only farewell leaving her to gape away into the dim illuminant stairwell. A piece of black fabric in its midst swish was the last she saw of him at his trench coat. “Bastard,” she cursed inwardly to him.
What was his motive for doing what he did; or was there a motive? Just the sick psychopathic drive to feel flesh or the neuralgic stimulant of carnality rubbed off of his dagger? Either one was debatable or clearly the clear image of Ken, but unconsciously Miki could not push the naïve thought of him bleeding his heart for her away.
As if he could ever… what a stupid thought. Him with her, sitting in the local coffee shop, sipping cappuccino and mocha flavored drinks and exchanging glances like a normal couple. Or maybe holding hands in their heat on a rainy day showing off how affectionate they were. Showing off how affectionate they were anywhere! Honestly, the topic was ridiculous.
Just the thought of locking lips with that lunatic was enough to gag…so why didn’t she so much as cough. Why did he have to leave?
She could’ve easily made up an excuse as to his presence. The urge to slice that dagger with something, she supposed. “Ken…” she spoke to the darkness.
Turning around to proceed into the awaited lobby, she walked—then froze.
In the flash of a blink stood Jacob looking comfortably disheveled staring at her. Ken’s kiss alone diminished her thoughts of everything including the concerned call of Jacob. Miki could only stare back just as helplessly confused at him.
Had he seen what she’d done, what she’d felt? His eyes, so dark and easy to fall in, could read anything and showed a boy… a man not so easily fooled. What would be the perfect excuse for the perfect bad boy’s perfect eyes?
In thought of that question, she lost herself in them… never to be found again.

~~~
FIN
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