Tokyo Demons Book 1: Chapter 8

Jo took a long, slow drag on his cigarette. Eyes closed, he forced himself to count to three.

The evening had gotten cool; a breeze whipped past him and pulled out goosebumps on his skin. He shivered. The warmth of the hospital beckoned from behind him, blocked by nothing more than a set of electronic doors.

Jo buried his hands in his pockets and stayed where he was. He wasn’t going back in there.

The doors suddenly slid open, letting out a rush of warm air. Jo glanced toward them, then blinked.

Mitsuko ran outside. She panted, her eyes wide, as her heels clicked on the concrete.

“There you are!” she exclaimed. “I was afraid you’d run off into the night again.” She let out a breath. “You’re a hard one to pin down, Jo.”

Jo tensed. Half of him screamed to flee while the other half screamed to stay–his usual reaction to Mitsuko. But now, unlike most times, he was perilously close to falling apart. He stared at her, the cigarette shaking in his fingers.

Mitsuko sighed. She pulled her spring jacket closer around herself.

“Were you friends with Seiya Fujisawa?” she asked quietly. “He was always talking about you.”

Jo’s heart sunk. He dragged on the cigarette as his stomach clenched.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I…don’t know how to answer that question.”

Mitsuko frowned. “I’m not trying to trick you,” she said in her defense.

“I don’t have an answer, okay? It’s not that simple.” Jo dragged again irritably. “My life isn’t that simple.”

The burning edge of the cigarette licked the edge of Jo’s fingers. He angrily ground out the stub in a nearby ashtray and slid another stick into his mouth. As he lit up, Mitsuko sighed again.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jo snapped away the flame on his lighter. “No,” he muttered.

“I think you should talk about it.”

He glared at her. “No,” he repeated.

Mitsuko glared back, her glossy pink lips pulled into a tight line.

For some reason, the sight of those beautiful scowling lips pissed Jo off. He grabbed his head in both hands.

“Goddammit!” he snarled. “What the fuck is wrong with this city?! Why won’t everybody leave me the fuck alone?!” He flicked the new cigarette out of his mouth to burn on the concrete. “I can’t light up or take a piss without getting followed by some…parade of gangs or thugs or idiot classmates trying to weasel their way into my life. I’ve been in more fights in the last two weeks than in the last five years and I didn’t start a single one of them. And where did that get me?!”

Jo squeezed shut his eyes as more images flashed in his head. Nick, that priest, the martial artist, Core. Touya.

Touya.

“Just…leave me alone!” Jo shouted. “I didn’t want to be a part of any of this! I’m sick of being recruited! I was better off alone!” Jo gritted his teeth. “I liked being alone!”

Jo’s heart raced in his chest, sending blood to rush in his ears. His knees trembled beneath him.

Mitsuko, apparently unphased, let out a little hum beside him.

“Right,” she said dryly. “But not so alone that there weren’t people to rob.”

Jo almost laughed, but it came out as a cough. “Exactly,” he said darkly. “And you’re not one to judge, considering how many times you robbed me.”

“I’m not judging you.”

“Then what are you doing?” Jo snapped his head up. His hands clenched into fists, shaking as he tightened the fingers. “Enjoying the soap opera, like you do with all those freshmen girls? Keeping tabs on me for Miki?”

“Ugh,” Mitsuko muttered. “Don’t be so paranoid.”

“Of course I’m paranoid!” Jo, welling with a new and desperate rage, kicked the concerete wall of the hospital. Pain shot through his foot and up his leg. “If you knew anything about me, you’d know I have every goddamn reason to be paranoid!”

The world started to bend. Jo fell back against the wall, his shoulders scraping the concrete as his legs shook. He forced himself to breathe as his foot throbbed in pain.

For a few seconds, Jo panted in silence, the muffled sounds of an announcement bleeding through the glass doors. Jo swallowed thick saliva that tasted like blood.

Mitsuko finally sighed. “I’m trying to help you,” she offered quietly.

Jo gripped his temples. “I don’t want your help,” he snapped.

“But I like you.”

“You don’t know me,” Jo repeated, angrier this time. “And trust me–it’s not worth it. People who like me end up dead.”

Mitsuko, strangely, straightened at that. She pointed her finger like a gun at Jo’s chest.

“That’s it!” she said. “You just admitted it, you sly son of a bitch.”

Jo scowled. “Admitted what?” he grunted. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Mitsuko slid her hands into her jacket pockets. “You put on a good show,” she admitted. “Pretending you’re above all this, that you don’t care about the little boys who follow you around…that you like being alone. I bet your act works on a lot of people.” She raised an eyebrow. “I bet it even works on yourself.”

Jo felt anger twist his stomach. He stood up from against the wall, the new heat giving him strength.

“Are you fucking psychoanalyzing me?” he hissed. “You don’t know me!”

“I know enough to know that you’re full of shit.” She started ticking off numbers on her fingers. “Let’s see…you bail out some classmates in Blue Light by beating up a bunch of drug dealers, you join a gang within a few days of them courting you, you try to help your roommate get laid, you live in Byakko headquarters for a week and give Kenta the only real companionship he’d had since he let us set up there, and you break down a door in the middle of an ambush to save Miki’s life.” She looked up, her gaze suddenly gentle. “And when you hear that the stoner who worshipped the ground you walked on passed away, you have a total meltdown.”

Jo stopped. Something screamed inside him, but the words died in his throat. His vision blurred.

He couldn’t stop remembering that photo. The grainy TV resolution smearing the light in Seiya’s eyes.

Mitsuko walked over and gripped the uncovered area of Jo’s arm. She stroked it, gently, the edges of her long nails scraping his skin.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “It’s not your fault.”

Jo swallowed hard. “I know it’s not my fault,” he said shakily.

“Just shut up for a minute, okay?” Her hand snaked up his arm, and she instead slid her fingers in his hair. He twitched at the contact, but she moved in, closing the distance between them.

“It’s okay,” she repeated. “Some people are going to love you, whether you let them in or not. You have to stop freaking out about it.” Jo stiffened as she slid her other hand through his hair, folding both hands behind his neck and leaning in. “And you’re reciprocating,” she murmured, “even if you don’t mean to. Why can’t you make peace with that?”

Jo swallowed. Her body was so close; a sliver of air was all that separated them. A battle raged inside him, reason and sentiment clashing as a hint of libido threw off the balance. Her lips, so infuriating when he’d been angry, faded back into that haunting, almost comforting allure that he was used to. It was an invitation. Invasive, definitely, but it didn’t feel like a threat.

Something old crawled out from his heart. Evenings in a smoke-filled living room, final days in a sterile hospital.

Jo swallowed. “No,” he mumbled, the words leaving his lips before he realized he was speaking. “People who like me…end up dead.”

Mitsuko gave a very slight snort. “Everyone ends up dead,” she retorted. “Most people are just trying to enjoy being alive, Jo. And connecting with other people is the best part of that.”

Jo squeezed shut his eyes.

No.

It wasn’t that simple.

Jo had been given too much power. His decisions could save lives or end them. And Touya, in his infuriating vagueness, had clouded the paths. It was no longer clear which path was the wrong one.

Jo suddenly realized he was shaking. Mitsuko leaned forward, resting her warm forehead against his as he opened his eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked.

Jo’s stomach sunk. “This…really isn’t the time,” he blurted.

“I know. But I don’t know if you’re gonna run off again, and I need to put in a strong argument for the side of Human Interaction.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “This side has sex.”

Jo’s libido surged up, stomping on reason and sentiment. He felt disgust rise up, but libido stomped that, too.

“Stop…distracting me!” he snapped. “Dammit, is that all you’re after? Getting me in bed?”

Mitsuko pulled back slightly. “I can care about sex while I care about other things,” she argued. “They’re related. I wasn’t that interested in sticking my tongue down your throat until I heard you saved Miki.”

Jo recoiled. “You…!”

A memory flashed through Jo’s head–Miki’s head buried in Mitsuko’s chest in the waiting room. The acids in Jo’s stomach churned.

“Are you fucking Miki?” he asked darkly.

Mitsuko furrowed her eyebrows. “That’s none of your business,” she muttered.

“It is if you’re trying to get in my pants.”

Mitsuko’s fingers tightened behind his neck. “Um, no. I’m trying to get in your mouth, not your pants.”

“Answer the damn question!”

Mitsuko scowled. “Are you jealous?” she accused.

“That’s not…!” Jo trailed off, frustration twisting his point. He felt his rage simmering back.

Mitsuko lowered her eyelids. “Miki and I have been friends for a long time,” she said dryly. “He’s extremely important to me. But what I do with my body is my business, so you can either interrogate me, or we can burn through some of this stress by making out. It’s your choice.”

Jo licked dry lips, the torrents of emotion forming a storm inside him. He couldn’t think clearly anymore. All of his precious planning capability was sliding away, buried under waves of panic and anger.

And desire. The smell of Mitsuko’s perfumed skin was overwhelming his brain.

“Maybe…maybe I don’t want to screw him over,” Jo managed to say.

Mitsuko growled. “You say it like he owns me!” she snapped. “Jo, in case you haven’t noticed, I do what I feel like. And right now I feel like leaving your ass and going back to Miki!”

“Goddammit!” Before Mitsuko could pull away, Jo jammed his mouth against hers. As her fingers tightened behind his neck, she pried open his mouth with her tongue.

It was…unusual for Jo. He was used to more of a courting ritual, more of a polite, formal restraint with the girls who showed interest in him. As Mitsuko crushed him back into the wall and her tongue snaked in his mouth, he reminded himself, belatedly, that this was a woman who ran a gang.

The panic mercifully filtered out of Jo as he twisted his tongue with hers and ran his hands down her body. As his fingers instinctually slid down her perfect hips, her hands suddenly clutched his wrists and pulled his hands back to her waist.

“Don’t get cocky,” she murmured into his mouth.

Jo could live with that. He ran his hands up her back, letting his fingers tangle in that perfumed golden hair. She responded by gently biting his lower lip, her hands sliding down his sides and dragging long nails over his ribs. He shivered.

A cell phone buzzed in Mitsuko’s pocket.

The spell was broken. Mitsuko pulled back suddenly, cursing as she reached into her jacket. Jo awkwardly dropped his hands back to her waist as she flipped open the phone and pushed it to her ear.

“Hello?”

Jo took a second to catch his breath. Mitsuko scowled into the phone, suddenly serious.

“What?” she exclaimed. “Did you tell him the new plan?”

Jo sighed. Mitsuko flashed him an apologetic look before twisting out of his arms and yelling into the phone.

“No!” she shouted. “No ones goes after Seiryuu until we figure out what happened. That’s what the cops expect us to do, you idiot!” She clenched a fist so hard that she snapped a nail. “And–dammit! No, I broke a nail. You tell that wang ba dan that if he goes on one of his revenge benders, I’m going to get every girl on campus to step on his crotch with a stiletto heel, do you hear me?… And no, he definitely won’t like it, you obnoxious little ass!”

Jo rubbed his damp lower lip. Mitsuko’s ties to Byakko were becoming more obvious by the minute.

With his rage and lust faded, the cool night air pulled goosebumps out on Jo’s skin again. I should…get inside, he thought dumbly. He still needed to talk to Miki. Not sure how to say good-bye, he gave Mitsuko a quick bow before gesturing to the door.

She reached out to slap him playfully. Mitsuko flashed him a quick but genuine smile before blowing him a kiss.

It…made him feel better. Jo smiled back, surprised he still had the strength to.

Mitsuko snapped her attention back to the phone. “Don’t make me rip off your dick and cram it down your brother’s throat!”

Jo hurried into the hospital, the electronic doors whooshing shut behind him. Mitsuko’s curses grew muffled behind the panes of thick glass.

Jo took the elevator back up to the ICU. He brushed down his hair with his fingers, noticing that Mitsuko had plowed through the strands hard enough to send them in every direction.

Yikes, he thought. He felt a little battered, but not in a bad way.

The elevator door opened. Jo cleared his throat, preparing whatever charm he needed to get past the check-in nurse again.

But she wasn’t at her desk. Relieved, Jo rushed past it and toward Ban’s room.

…To find that the door had swung inside, left about halfway open. Jo frowned and slowed down.

Wait, he thought. They were trying to keep people out of there.

Ban was still in his bed, but Jo didn’t see Miki–or anyone else, for that matter. Jo stepped inside the room carefully, his eyes darting around for anything suspicious.

A creaking sound made him jump.

Before Jo could react, the door closed like silk behind him, revealing a stranger in a hoodie and sunglasses hiding behind it. Jo’s heart seized in his chest as the hooded man smiled evilly.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he hissed.

Jo dove for the door. The man let out a screeching little chuckle and grabbed Jo by the shoulder, rolling him to slam back against the door with a forearm pinned under his neck. The man slid up against Jo, one scarred, fluid hand clapping hard over Jo’s mouth. He pressed his forehead against Jo’s, a terrifying mirror of Mitsuko from minutes before.

“And who are you?” the man whispered with a smile. “Too clean-cut to be a gangbanger, hm? You some kinda junior cop?”

Jo’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. The man was literally dressed as suspiciously as possible–black jeans, dark hoodie, sunglasses. Tiny studs and loops were pierced along his eyebrows, lips, and nose. He reeked of gasoline, but the hand over Jo’s mouth smelled faintly of leather. When Jo grabbed at the man’s arms, the man giggled and pushed down on Jo’s windpipe.

“Shhhh,” the man purred as Jo struggled to breathe. “Don’t fight me, kitten.”

“Mmgh!” Jo’s vision started to go dark. When his hands fell limply to his sides, the man finally pulled up, sending Jo into a fit of desperate coughing.

The man giggled again, sending ice to race along Jo’s spine. “Now,” he whispered. “You’re gonna tell me what I need to know, and I’m not gonna hurt you. Okay?”

The doorknob suddenly rattled behind them.

Jo stiffened as the man’s hand tightened over his mouth. The man cleared his throat and looked up.

“Who iiis it?” he asked in a sing-song falsetto. “I’m changing the caaatheter!”

The doorknob stopped rattling. “Is that…a nurse?” came Miki’s voice through the wood.

Shit!

The man suddenly threw Jo into the corner, the action so sudden that Jo’s head slammed into a wall. As he twisted and fell to the floor, he watched helplessly as the man opened the door, grabbed Miki by the robe, and threw him inside the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Miki stumbled to stay standing, cursing as he whipped toward the man with his fists raised.

“What the fuck is this?!” Miki shouted.

The man smiled at Miki and pressed a finger to his lips. He playfully whipped out his tongue, like a grinning snake.

A tongue, Jo saw in horror, that was forked.

Miki froze. He slowly lowered his fists, his uncovered eye wide.

“T-Takeshi?” he breathed.

The man nudged down his shades. “Hey, baby.”

Jo could only watch dumbly from his corner of the room. Miki stared at the taller man for a moment, shock on his face, before running up and cramming his unbroken fist into Takeshi’s stomach. The man crumpled to his knees, wheezing out a weak chuckle.

“You crazy piece of shit!” Miki hissed, his voice a threatening whisper. “Get the fuck out of here before you get us all killed!”

Takeshi weakly grabbed one of Miki’s legs. “I wanted to see Ban,” he whined. “He needs his Nii-chan.”

“Did the nurses let you in here?! Did your dad see you? Fuck!”

Takeshi shook his head. “I’m not stupid,” he retorted hoarsely. “I snuck in.”

Jo struggled to his feet in a daze. Takeshi? he thought. The hooded man on the floor was Takeshi? Before Jo could even process, his foot nudged something. He pulled back and looked down; a black briefcase lay on the floor.

“Go,” Miki ordered again. “Get out before anyone sees you.”

Takeshi grimaced, a strange contortion of his pierced face. “But I brought a present,” he said, gesturing in Jo’s direction. “It’s in–“

“Shut the fuck up! Anyone could be listening to us here!” Miki grabbed Takeshi as the man struggled to his feet. “Get out! I’ll find you at the old hide-out in three days!”

Takeshi hesitated. He stared at Ban, buried under tubes.

Miki’s head snapped to Jo. “Jo!” he ordered. “Get him out of here!”

Jo froze. As he tried to think of a retort, Miki ran over, picked up the briefcase, and shoved it in Jo’s arms.

“You’re good at staying under the radar. Keep him under the fucking radar.”

Takeshi turned to Jo, an eyebrow rising over his sunglasses. “He a school friend?” he asked Miki.

“He’s Byakko.”

“Byakko? Dressed like some kinda runway model?”

Jo bristled slightly. For having a button on my shirt? he wondered absently.

The sunglasses trailed over Jo’s body. Takeshi suddenly grinned and pointed at Jo’s white watch.

“That’s your tag! It was so fancy I didn’t figure.”

Miki’s temper, already spilling off him in waves, hit a fever pitch. He shoved Jo at Takeshi and ran for the door. He grabbed the doorknob, his one eye blazing.

“Give me ten seconds. If you’re not gone when I turn around, I’m gonna tear you a new asshole and then fuck it with my fist.” He threw open the door and ran into the hallway, leaving Jo alone with Takeshi.

Jo swallowed. As he silently counted to ten, Takeshi slid his sunglasses down and peered at Jo’s watch again. He smiled.

“That’s a really nice piece,” he commented casually.

Jo gritted his teeth. For someone who used to run Byakko, Takeshi seemed painfully stupid.

Ten. Jo took a breath and peeked out the door. Miki complained loudly at a nurse, gripping his eye like he was in pain. His colorful curses drew a few more members of the hospital staff toward him.

Jo gestured for Takeshi to go. Takeshi slid out the door, his hands in his pockets as he waltzed for the exit. Jo followed, but found Takeshi’s pace too slow. He tried to nudge him forward as a nurse glanced over at them.

Takeshi saluted.

Shit! Fueled by a burst of frustration, Jo shoved Takeshi into the elevator before the nurse could say anything.

Once they were finally outside the hospital, Jo let himself breathe again. He looked down at the briefcase in his arms and tried to process what was happening.

“Jo,” Takeshi said as he gestured to the parking lot. “Right? My bike’s over here. Are you good around Ueno?”

Jo furrowed his brow. “Uh…sorta,” he answered, following Takeshi into the dark. He glanced behind them to make sure they were alone. For better or worse, Mitsuko had disappeared from the front of the hospital.

“Good. This detective broad told me to find some church there.”

Jo froze. He turned back to Takeshi, his eyes wide.

“What did you just say?”

Takeshi grinned. He jumped onto a parked motorcycle; with its off-size parts and inconsistent painting scheme, it was possibly the ugliest motorcycle Jo had ever seen.

“Some church in Ueno,” he repeated. “I’m supposed to find some blond priest there…Donald or something.”

“Daniel?” Jo corrected.

Takeshi brightened. “Hey!” he said. “You’ve been there! You some kinda churchie?”

Jo’s mind raced. A detective guiding Takeshi toward the church…maybe it was Nakajima. She’d let Miki out of custody and was working with Nick and the others.

Before Jo could ask, Takeshi revved up the motorcycle. A pair of loud, low rumbles tore through the air. Jo jumped at the sound and scrambled toward the bike.

“Keep it down!” he hissed.

Takeshi laughed. “She doesn’t take orders from me. Hop on, kitty cat.”

Jo hesitated, wanting nothing less than to climb onto the monstrosity. Takeshi revved the bike again, sending a bang from the tailpipe that echoed like a gunshot. Desperate to do anything to stop the noise, Jo clambered up behind Takeshi.

He dropped the suitcase. Takeshi caught it before it hit the ground, pushing it back into Jo’s arms.

“Better hold on to that,” Takeshi warned.

Jo tried to balance the case between himself and Takeshi. “What is it?” he asked, annoyed that it was his responsibility.

Takeshi smiled darkly. He grabbed the helmet hanging off the bike and crammed it unceremoniously on Jo’s head.

“A present,” he said as he helped Jo adjust the helmet. “And the reason I had to skip town for two years.”

What? Jo stared down at the briefcase, suddenly interested.

Takeshi grabbed the bike grips. As Jo hesitantly clutched Takeshi’s belt, his eyes fell on Takeshi’s hands.

And the white watch on Takeshi’s wrist.

Jo blinked. He pulled up his own wrist; sure enough, his watch was gone.

Takeshi grinned back at him. “Thanks, bro,” he cooed.

Jo swallowed. “Keep it,” he muttered as he grabbed Takeshi’s waist. He wondered, for the millionth time, what his life would’ve been like if he’d never bought the damn thing.

Proceed to Chapter 8, page 5–>