“Here.”
Kaoru practically had to dive for the crimson duffel bag Himura carelessly tossed her way the moment he stepped into the bedroom. Glaring irritably at the sour, red-haired assassin, she dropped the bag to the floor and sat down beside it, her fingers itching to open it. She already knew what was inside the bag, but she couldn’t wait to slip her own clothes on. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the clothes she had burrowed from Himura’s friend, Tamara. She just wanted to wear her own clothes to feel comfortable with herself. Wearing another woman’s clothes, unless she knew her personally, always made her feel so uneasy.
“What’s got your panties twisted in a knot?” Grumbling, she searched through the bag quickly for a change of comfortable clothes. “And why do you smell so awful?” Her indigo-blue eyes goading Himura’s mounting provocation, Kaoru offered the man a smile of pure, mocking innocence. She knew exactly why he smelled so appalling; in fact, the smell was so horrible that the metallic tang of dried blood stung her eyes and caused her nose to wrinkle with disgust.
“Ah, so you haven’t washed the cruelty of your profession away yet, have you? Don’t you think you might want to do that now?”
Himura simply ignored her as he unfastened the belt that held his sword’s leather sheathe in place, disregarding the clang of metal meeting hardwood floor when he freed the weapon.
“What? You aren’t going to defend yourself? Sad, Himura, real sad,” Kaoru shook her head. Then, “Hey, where’re you going?” She watched as Himura, his back painfully rigid, turned to leave the bedroom. “I need to ask you something.”
Himura halted, but didn’t turn around. “So, ask me.” His voice dropped in warmth, sending chills racing down Kaoru’s spine.
Undecidedly, she studied the stiffness in which Himura stood, awaiting her question. “Well, it has to do with my job. You do remember me telling you that I worked in a swords shop, don’t you?” He didn’t have to say anything for Kaoru to know that he remembered. Plunging into the favor she was dying to ask, she continued, “Uh, well, I want to go to work tomorrow.”
She was asking him if she could go to work tomorrow. Had he heard her right? Himura glanced briefly at Kaoru, completely taken aback, before he finally relented and turned to face her. “Woman,” He sighed. “Have you forgotten your place?”
Kaoru narrowed her eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You are a prisoner in my home, nothing more. You should not be asking favors of others.”
“Oh, well, thanks for reminding me why I’m stuck in this house with you.” Kaoru scowled. “All I want to do is go to work. Do you think I would have a chance at escaping anyway? Oh, please!”
“You are a smart woman. You would take the opportunity as soon as there was one,” Himura stated matter-of-factly. “I don’t trust you not to run.”
“Look, mister, I have a perfect record. I want to be promoted, and if I don’t miss a single day of work, I will be!”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You are a prisoner.”
“And you’re a royal pain in the ass,” Kaoru muttered under her breath before she leveled Himura with a frown. “I don’t see why you won’t let me go to work. Where would I run to? You already know where I live.”
“No.”
“Damn it!” Kaoru threw her hands up in the air, exasperated. He was impossible. He had only a one-track mind, could only see the bad of allowing her to go to work. It had taken Kaoru quite a bit of time to actually get the job. She had spent much of her time calling the shop and asking about her application. She couldn’t let Himura ruin that for her. “I still don’t see the reason why I can’t go. You’re making me go to that stupid meeting,” she pouted, puffing out her lower lip. She was acting rather childish, but she could care less. She was going to work tomorrow.
Staring fixedly into Kaoru’s pleading, blue eyes, Himura pursed his lips. The woman had the face of a child when she pouted, with her temptingly pouting lips curved down into a frown. All she wanted to do was go to work. She had said so herself. She had also mentioned a possible escape, but shook her head to it. It was possible that she meant every word of what she said. Still, should he trust her? A woman in her situation would take any opportunity to escape, especially if she were caught in the house of a murderer.
Finally, after considerable thought, he surrendered.
“Alright.”
“And I already know that you probably don’t trust me, but that still doesn’t mean I would r—wait, what?” Kaoru suddenly asked in confusion when Himura’s agreement to let her go to work finally sank in.
“I said ‘alright.’ I suppose it could not hurt for one day. But,” he added when he glimpsed the excitement that flickered across her face. “I will be there to watch over you.”
Kaoru’s excitement fled.
“But—“
“It is the only choice you have, Kamiya. Either you take it, or you leave it. Which will it be?”
“Oh, whatever,” her shoulders slumped in defeat. There was no way she would ever win an argument with this man. Every time she thought she had won and gotten her way, he had to suggest something else entirely different that would usually fall under the category of Final Decision. It was irritating. “So, want to tell me why you look so angry?”
“Angry?” Himura rubbed the back of his neck wearily as he trained his dull, flickering amethyst eyes onto Kaoru’s quizzical expression. “I am not angry.”
“Oh, then, I suppose you just like wearing that face?” Kaoru rolled her eyes.
“Maybe this is the only face I have,” Himura replied with a terse shrug of his sagging shoulders. Now that he didn’t have to be so vigilant with the various people and their surroundings, the weariness was beginning to set in. The last time he had been able to fully rest his mind was Last Wednesday, over a week ago.
“Humph, I wouldn’t doubt it.” A pair of jean shorts and a navy-blue blouse lying in her lap, Kaoru shoved the duffel bag aside before she rose, her arms tightly wrapped around the clothes. “So, how about that nice, warm shower, Battousai? You look like you need it, and you reek of blood.”
“Kenshin.”
“Huh?”
“Call me Kenshin.”
"Kenshin?”
“Yes. That is my name. Himura Kenshin.”
Kaoru could only stare at the man who was now asking her, or rather demanding her, to call him by his real name. Why was he telling her to use his real name instead of the name he was given because of his profession? It wasn’t like him to care about the name she used. He never seemed to care before.
“You—you want me to call you by your real name?” She couldn’t help the stammer in her voice. She was just a mite surprised.
“Yes. How hard is that for you to understand?” Stifling a rare yawn, his golden orbs loosing some of their sparking vigor, Kenshin moved out of the room without sparing the woman another glance, knowing full well that her bewildered gaze followed his retreating figure down the hall and towards the bathroom.
“Pretty damn hard,” Kaoru muttered under her breath as she poked her head out of the room to watch Kenshin enter the bathroom. So unpredictable, she mused. Here he was, a famous assassin hired for a syndicate, and all he asked her to do was call him by his actual name rather than the name his boss gave him. Tucking a few annoyingly loose strands of her ebony hair behind her ears, Kaoru’s blue eyes averted to the floor, where the abandoned sword lay.
He forgot his sword.
Her eyes strayed towards that of the red-haired man just as the bathroom door closed behind his wearily tense figure, surprise evident in the way she furrowed her brows. She absently returned her attention to the sword, twitching her nose at its awful stench. The harsh odor radiating from the sword’s blade resulted in her eyes watering. She knelt by the sword, interested in its craftsmanship, and cautiously skimmed the soft pad of her finger along the blade’s sharp, filthy edge.
It was a magnificent sword.
It reminded her of the swords she cleaned, collected, and sold in the shop her father’s old friend, Barrie, owned.
A good cleaning would do the sword wonders, and it would save Kenshin the trouble of doing it himself. Kaoru, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the sword, all of a sudden released it as she pulled away, her blue eyes wide with wonder. “I actually want to clean the sword for him,” she murmured thoughtfully as she pursed her lips, unsure of the reason why she suddenly wanted to do something for the man who posed a threat to her very life. Shrugging, Kaoru returned to gazing down at the sword, the sharp edges of the blade worn and chipped from the several times he used it.
Yes; a cleaning was exactly what the sword needed, and Kenshin too.
Warm vapor swathed the mirror that hung above the sink Kenshin stood in front of, his hair damp from the shower he had spent little time in. It didn’t take long to rinse away the grime and dark crimson stains of a hard night spent completing assignments. However, the crimson that combined with the clear droplets of water the showerhead had to offer always reminded Kenshin of his past, where he knew nothing but misery, pain, and remorse.
Kenshin narrowed his furious, golden eyes as the memories of his childhood clutched his mind in its tight, unforgivable grip, refusing to release it even when he cursed them to the Hell where they belonged.
“Fuck,” he murmured quietly as he gripped the edge of the white sink harshly, leaning against it in his desire to swipe the mist away. He soon found himself staring into the murderous depths of his own eyes, his lips curving into a dark frown of annoyance. He couldn’t shake the memories of his childhood, no matter how hard he tried to close his mind to them. The screams of pain were atrocious, and he would never forget the unworthy, wounded expression she possessed when the men reached for her. “Fuck!” He bellowed feverishly at the mirror, one of his hands gripping the edge of the sink so hard that his knuckles whitened under the harsh pressure.
“Why can’t I forget?” He mumbled wearily as his shoulders sagged with dread. He never questioned another person’s past when he ended their lives. He always assumed they were cruel men who deserved his wrath, and with every assignment given to him, Kenshin would close his eyes to the men he assassinated and instead, would see the men from his childhood, the same evil beings who destroyed his life so long ago. If he ever came across them again, he would skin the bastards alive. Muttering incoherent words under his breath, Kenshin turned away from the mirror and strode across the bathroom towards the door.
As his strong, calloused fingers wrapped tightly around the doorknob, Kenshin glanced briefly over his shoulder at the mirror, where he noticed his second half staring back at him, locking angrily narrowed eyes with his own. The mere thought of the crude gestures, remarks, and actions she had to endure heated his blood, and oddly enough, he was itching for another assignment.
He was also itching to wrap his fingers around a throat.
Any throat would do.
A fire raging within the furious depths of his incensed, golden eyes, Kenshin exited the bathroom.
His bare feet treaded along the hardwood floor lightly, leaving damp footprints in their wake. He strode towards the bedroom he had left Kaoru in, his fingers biting into the palms of his hands as he clenched them tightly into threatening fists, his knuckles whitening under the pressure. Murderous thoughts filled his head, heated his boiling blood, but when he meant to pass the spare bedroom he had given to Kaoru for the time being, a soft, soothing voice caught his infuriated attention.
Kaoru was singing softly to herself, a song one would sing to a small child.
Kenshin tilted his head to the side slightly, the dark, burgundy strands of his damp hair clinging to the warm curve of his right cheek. Her voice was beautiful and soothing to the soul and it calmed his fury, much to his surprise. The door to her bedroom had been left ajar, giving Kenshin just the right amount of space for his fingers to grip its frame firmly. Silently widening the door, he peeked through the broadened crack.
Kaoru sat with her back to him, hovering over what looked to be a long, leather tool. Humming took the place of her singing, but it was still beautifully soothing. Blinking his calming, golden eyes several times, Kenshin shook his head. Nothing should look or sound beautiful to him; nothing. But he couldn’t help the faint smile that graced his lips upon listening to her humming softly to herself.
Until his eyes fastened on the object she was delicately wiping down with a dainty, white cloth.
His sword.
His murdering tool
His worn, assassinating weapon.
His sword.
Kenshin’s cold, ruthless gaze darkened with fury as he wordlessly entered the bedroom, his golden, enraged eyes never leaving Kaoru. When he stood behind her, a mere, white towel wrapped tightly around his waist, Kaoru’s back stiffened. So, she could feel his presence.
Good.
Kaoru slowly turned to look behind her as soon as she felt the tense aura envelop the once calm atmosphere of the bedroom. Once her wary, indigo-blue eyes centered on the intimidating presence Himura the Battousai produced, Kaoru almost wished she never touched his sword, or anything else that might belong to him.
Almost, but not quite.
“Uh, did you have a nice shower, Kenshin?” Kaoru asked rather uneasily as she locked her wary gaze with Kenshin’s narrowed, merciless eyes. Obviously, touching his sword had been a very bad decision to make.
“Wonderful,” Kenshin murmured softly as he folded his powerful arms across his broad chest, his frown deepening when his livid stare lowered to the rag she held tightly within her grasp. He forgot for the moment that he only wore a damp towel wrapped around his waist until he noticed the widening of Kaoru’s eyes as soon as her gaze took in the state of his fuming appearance. It didn’t matter to him. He was far too furious to care about modesty at that point. “My sword,” he indicated the leather-clad object lying on Kaoru’s lap. “You have cleaned the blade.” His tone was calm, yet, it bespoke of his vehemence as he stared sharply at Kaoru. “Why?”
Kaoru visibly gulped, her blue eyes wide with tension. “It—it was dirty, and I thought—“
“You thought you could clean it for me. How generous of you,” Kenshin whispered. One burgundy brow arched in question, but when Kaoru would have opened her mouth, he beat her to it. “Did you think I wanted my sword handled by you? Were you doing it for me?”
The word ‘no’ sprang to her lips, but Kaoru knew that if she denied cleaning the sword for him, it would undeniably anger him, far past the point of his fury now. Instead, she shook her head while she averted her eyes to the sword’s hilt she grasped awkwardly in her hands. “I just thought your sword should be clean.”
Squatting down in front of her, placing his white-knuckled hands on his knees, Kenshin cocked his head. “Did you now? Cleaning the blade for my next assignment, then? I suppose I should thank you.”
The coldness in which Kenshin spoke irked Kaoru in such a way that her sparking, blue eyes pivoted onto him, her lips pursing in irritation. When she noticed how close Kenshin’s face was to hers, she surprisingly reared back on her knees, the sword loudly tumbling from her lap onto the floor. “I—I wasn’t thinking of you when I decided to clean it! I love swords. I thought of myself and of my father. It had nothing to do with you.” Stubbornly lifting her chin, Kaoru met the twin slits of amber fearlessly with her own irritated gaze.
“Is that so?” Kenshin snapped, his civility fleeing through the opened door. “If your love of swords is as great as you claim, then, perhaps you should be the first to test the sharp edge of my clean blade? Maybe, your cloth honed it up a bit.” His timbre foreboding, he earned a grimace from Kaoru in return.
The stubborn, brave woman was slowly crumbling beneath his dangerous wrath, and she knew it just as well as he did. Her pallor paled noticeably as her trembling hands clutched the soft material of her blouse. She knew he meant every word of what he said. She somehow knew that he always followed through with his threats. Why wouldn’t he? He was a trained assassin, one of the few men in Tokyo, Japan most people have heard of, and feared.
Inhaling the sharp scent of sanitation, Kaoru queried evenly, “What’s stopping you?”
Good question. What was stopping him from using his weapon against her, from killing her? He didn’t exactly need her alive, not even for the key. His boss was a smart man. He would be able to figure out the key’s use in no time. Staring penetratingly into the courageous gleam concealed in the woman’s eyes, a rare smile touched his lips. Once he knew of this smile, however, it quickly faded into a scowl. Damn this woman. Damn her courage. Damn her stubbornness. She was frightened of him, yet, she somehow knew he would not purposely hurt her.
Fuck.
He easily masked his frustration, his eyes narrowing on Kaoru’s pale, glowing face. His fingers clenched dangerously tight as he pressed his lips indomitably together, the pressure exerted whitening them.
He needed a throat.
Kaoru’s throat was so very close
But he couldn’t bring himself to do what he wanted to do to those men from his past if he ever stumbled across them. Or better yet, if they ever stumbled across him.
Wordlessly, Kenshin rose.
Kaoru followed his every movement as he snatched the sword up off the floor effortlessly and started for the door, leaving without saying one single word despite of her taunt. She supposed it had been dangerously wrong to taunt him, but she couldn’t show him her fear. To do that would have hurt her in the end. Men like Hitokiri Battousai fed on fear.
She didn’t stop him when he exited the bedroom. In fact, her heart thanked the Lord once he was gone, grateful that she didn’t have to deal with an enraged assassin. If she were to be truthful, Kaoru would have to admit that she had been exceedingly alarmed when Kenshin entered the bedroom, donning nothing but a towel from his shower earlier. His ruggedly handsome appearance didn’t top the murder she glimpsed within the depths of his eyes when she had had the nerve to lock gazes with him.
She was still just a mite unnerved after sensing the danger enveloping Kenshin’s small, powerful stature. She should have known not to touch his sword. She should have known it would anger him.
She had been foolish.
She had been unwise for touching the sword; she had been unwise for even thinking about cleaning his sword.
A mistake she would never make again, never.
Her ebony tresses loosely cascading down her back, the indigo-blue ribbon lying at her side, Kaoru raked an unsteady hand through the long strands, her breathing still irregular from her encounter with a livid assassin and captor. She truly had never thought that her handling his sword in such a careful manner would infuriate him, but she had obviously thought wrong.
Once again.
Himura was volatile, a fact she could never forget.
Kenshin dressed hurriedly. He had to get out of the house fast. He had been so close to hurting Kaoru, yet, he had held back. A small, inner voice had warned him against using rash actions to prove a point. He had listened to it. Stupid child; she had thought that he wouldn’t mind having her hands all over his sword. She had had the nerve to clean it of her own freewill. She had been completely stupid, naďve, and innocent with her taunts. His fingers still itched to wrap around a throat, preferably a man’s throat, that man being Takeda. Even Isurugi would do.
Anyone but Kaoru.
He despised men who took pleasure in abusing women, and he most certainly would have despised himself for attempting to hurt her simply because she had held his sword in her hands and cleaned the blade.
He would hurt her if he had no other choice, but he couldn’t do it just because she was an annoying prick in the side. She didn’t mean to anger him. That much was certain in the way she had recoiled from the fury he directed at her. Truthfully, that fury wasn’t completely meant for her. Rather, it was meant for the men of his past and the men of his present who annoyed him with their power-hungry obsessions.
Kaoru meant him no harm.
She was merely a child, a child of eighteen years. Kenshin brushed a few, exasperatingly loose strands of drying, burgundy hair out of his eyes as he strapped his sword to his waist, fitting the buckle into place, and concealed a small dagger within the bottom pocket of his right pants leg. Today, he would pick the victim. Though, the victim would have to be caught at doing something cruel and vicious. Kenshin absolutely refused to kill an innocent. They would only remind him of Kaoru.
Departing from his bedroom, he strode calmly down the hallway, planning to ignore Kaoru when he passed her bedroom.
Kaoru met him at the end of the hallway.
His features hardening, he made to pass her, but she didn’t offer him the chance to. Instead, she planted herself in front of him, her brazen attitude rewarding her a frown of deep aggravation.
“Move, Woman.”
“No,” Kaoru retorted with a tilt of her chin, her blue eyes blazing with an unknown emotion, something akin to regret. “Look, Kenshin, I just wanted to apologize for touching your sword. It was wrong of me to clean it without your permission. I just wanted you to know how truly sorry I am.” She bowed her head apologetically, hoping her apology would be heeded. When Kenshin remained silent, Kaoru doubtfully chanced a look into the man’s narrowed eyes. The regret she noticed swirling amidst the fury in his gaze surprised her.
Then, he nodded.
Kaoru sighed with relief when he strode past her and into the spacious living room adjoining the kitchen. Her relief vanished once she realized he was leaving. Furrowing her brows in confusion, Kaoru followed him to the oak door. “Where’re you going?”
“Out,” was Kenshin’s curt reply before he opened the door and walked along the porch, ignoring Kaoru as she trailed after him. “Don’t think about leaving,” he called over his shoulder as he descended the stairs. “If you do, I might be tempted to kill you.” Kaoru halted almost instantly, her eyes wide with alarm. The cold truth of his words sent chills coursing down her spine. He never ceased to scare her.
But, Kaoru mused, where did he plan to go, with his sword no less?
A woman, her red heels clinking along the abandoned street as she ran, dashed through the doors of one of the most popular bars in town, her soft brown tresses clinging to the pale curves of her cheeks uncomfortably. Her wary, brown eyes darted around the large room, ignoring the strong odor of sake as she searched for someone capable of helping her.
Night had befallen the city of Tokyo over half an hour ago, and Marissa had been running for nearly fifteen minutes. She was exhausted, but her mind absolutely refused to rest. Men were chasing her; frightening men with knives and the notion to have their way with her before they killed her. She had a small child, a baby girl, to think of. She could not die and leave her baby alone in the world. Her father had left Avery, but she would not.
When Marissa rushed towards the bartender, her eyes alert for any sign of those awful men, she asked him pleadingly to call the police for her.
He denied her that wish. In fact, the bartender wouldn’t even hand her the cordless phone he had stashed beneath the counter on the first, wooden shelf. Marissa leaned against the counter, her dark eyes pleading for mercy. “Please, these men, they are after me. I—I need help.”
“Ask somebody else,” the man shrugged in reply as he went back to scrubbing a few glasses, his full, undivided attention focused on his task at hand.
She couldn’t believe it. This man didn’t even care about her welfare. He wouldn’t even look at her! Marissa slumped onto the nearest barstool, unwanted tears filling her eyes sadly and with the knowledge that nobody would help her. She buried her face into her hands and wept silently.
“There the bitch is!”
Marissa raised her head abruptly, her shoulders stiffening when the familiar sound of her assailant’s voice interrupted her silent weeps. Fearfully looking over her shoulder, her fears swiftly became reality. They had finally reached her. They had been on her heels this whole time. Now, she would undoubtedly pay for running. Tears silently streaming down her pale cheeks, Marissa slowly stood with the knowledge she would die this night.
Her assailant, a brawny man with shoulder-length, dull brown hair, entered the bar, his strides confident as he walked towards her. Every menacing step he took insured Marissa’s death. Her breathing grew labored as he drew nearer. There was no point in running from him. Her death was obviously inevitable. Chewing on her quivering, lower lip when he finally halted before her, a merciless smile grazing his lips, Marissa recoiled from him and everything he represented.
“You thought you could run, Little Bird,” he whispered softly as he wound a finger around a damp, stray strand of her hair, forcing her face closer to his. “You thought you could escape,” he breathed, his warm breath tickling her cheeks. “Well, honey, you thought wrong.” Chuckling, he yanked on Marissa’s hair, earning a wince from her in return. He knew that she was trying hard not to cry. He also knew that she was on the verge of breaking, just like he wanted. She was fun to fool around with. It would be even more fun to torture her sweet body before he killed her.
“What ever should I do with you?” He asked her thoughtfully as he wrapped a strong, unyielding arm around her sinuous waist, holding her tightly against his body. “Perhaps, I should test my new knife. What do you think?” Even as he spoke, he withdrew a knife from his belt loop, pressing the sharp blade gently against the curve of her slender neck. “I think that’s a rather nice idea, don’t you?”
Marissa flinched when the blade pricked her skin, blinking away the fresh start of tears as soon as she felt them well up in her eyes. Looking at the bartender out of the corners of her eyes, she was appalled to find that he was still cleaning his glasses, ignoring her as though she was invisible. Come to think of it, every customer in the bar was disregarding her and the man who so openly spoke of torturing her.
Did these people have no compassion?
Apparently not.
“No one will save you, honey,” the man cackled as his arm tightened around her waist almost to a painful degree. “No one cares.”
Marissa closed her eyes tightly as she fought to remain calm. She needed to think of her daughter’s smiling face. She needed to think of her life. She needed to think—her thoughts were abruptly cut off when the shattering of glass interrupted the bar’s rather indolent atmosphere. Marissa’s eyes snapped open in surprise as every pair of eyes swiveled towards that of the man who sat at the end of the counter, his bleeding fingers tightly grasping the broken bottle which he had been drinking out of moments ago.
The man, small in stature but not in strength, slowly rose from the barstool, his back rigid with tension.
Marissa’s heart began to thump wildly against her chest when the man slowly turned to face her and her assailant, his narrowed, threatening, golden orbs flashing their annoyance.
The entire bar grew deathly quiet.
No one dared breath, not even the man who had threatened to kill Marissa; but not before he tortured her.
“I am in need of an assignment,” Hitokiri Battousai murmured softly as he flexed his fingers, reaching for the dagger he hid in the pocket of his pants. Tiny shards of glass were wedged into the palm and fingers of his hand, but he paid them no mind. His attention was primarily focused on his newest assignment. The man didn’t pose as a threat. Tonight, his death would be quick; that Kenshin was sure of.
He calmly removed the dagger from his pocket, not even bothering to hide it from his intended target. Kenshin watched with satisfaction as the man’s brown eyes darted nervously to the dagger he held in his hand carelessly. Oh, yes, this man would be easy prey for his terrifying reputation.
“Your life is mine.”
Before his opposing enemy knew what he was about, Battousai aimed the dagger for the man’s thick neck and hurled it across the large, foul-smelling room. His aim was precise. The dagger was buried to the hilt within the bulging, tensed muscles of the enemy’s neck, blood gushing from the fatal wound.
Marissa, shock rendering her speechless, numbly watched as her assailant dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. He had been murdered so easily. Her dark eyes wide with a newfound fear, her nervous gaze fixated on the red-haired man who had saved her life. He was smaller than an average-sized man, yet, he carried the air of danger around with him. She could feel it in the air.
This man, this murderer, Hitokiri Battousai, was a man to be feared.