Bloodbound: The Alliance
Chapter 82 - 84

Chapter 82: Chapter 84

Avara POV

Botan hesitates for a fraction of a second before gesturing sharply. The guards step aside, exposing me to Haru’s piercing gaze. He examines me with a detached intensity that makes my skin crawl, completely unreadable, neither critical or caring.

Finally, he speaks, his words final as his eyes slice back to Botan. "We must speak. Alone."

Botan nods obediently then glances at Akio. "Stay with her."

Akio groans like a teenager forced to babysit. Haru snaps a command and all the men dissipate, drawing away to distant corners as Akio wanders over to glare back at me jadedly.

I meet his glare with a faint smile, trying to diffuse the tension. "Are you hungry?"

"I could eat," he admits grudgingly.

I lead him to the kitchen. I guide Akio to the counter, where Martha hovers momentarily, her expression a mixture of duty and concern. She offers to take over, but I raise a kind hand, a soft smile accompanying my refusal.

Akio takes a seat at the island counter. His eyes don’t waver from me as I collect the ingredients—a crusty baguette, fresh lettuce, plump tomatoes, slices of ham and cheese, and a jar of creamy mayo. The quiet click of the knife against the cutting board fills the room as I begin slicing the bread.

"You know," I start, keeping my tone even, "I didn’t ask him to leave or to stay away."

Akio leans back slightly, his mouth flattening into a thin line of disdain. "You didn’t have to," he says sharply, the words landing like an accusation.

I press the knife into the baguette, splitting it neatly down the middle, and begin buttering the inside. "You don’t like me," I state plainly, glancing up to catch his piercing gaze. "Because you see me as a distraction. Dangerous, I imagine, in your... line of work."

He arches a brow, his expression dripping with condescension. "Perceptive."

Ignoring the jab, I shift the conversation. "How did you and Botan meet?"

"Meet?" he echoes with a scoff. "He’s my cousin."

I pause, looking at him more closely. "But he left his family before Haru took him in. How did you two reconnect?"

For a moment, surprise flickers across Akio’s face before he schools it into indifference.

"He told you about that?"

I nod slowly.

Akio shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, but there’s a heaviness to his words. "My sob story isn’t as dramatic as his. I grew up with a single dad. The villagers called him ’sweet potato.’ Sweet, and shaped like a potato. When we heard about Botan, my dad wanted to find him, even though we didn’t have much, and he was dying by then—terminal illness. He was willing to adopt him even then, but we never found him."

I finish assembling the sandwich—a perfect, almost artful construction—and slide it across the counter to him.

"A few years later, Botan found me instead," Akio continues after taking a deliberate bite. "I expected a scrawny, desperate kid, but instead I got... him. Strong, clean-cut, like someone out of a goddamn action movie. He took me in, paid for my dad’s treatment, and made sure he was comfortable until the bitter end. Since then, I’ve stayed by his side."

His words soften slightly, but his gaze sharpens when our eyes clash as he takes another bite. I feel the weight of his judgment against me.

"So far, everyone from all sides blames me," I murmur. "Like I’m the perpetrator. If your boss hadn’t threatened my father, I wouldn’t have been strong-armed into this alliance."

Akio freezes mid-bite, then sets the sandwich down. A chuckle bubbles out, low and mocking, shaking his shoulders.

"Threaten?" he repeats, as though tasting the word. "Nah, not even you can be this fucking clueless."

"Excuse me?" I bristle, my voice hardening.

His laughter fades, replaced by a cutting smile. "I almost pity you," he says, the words slicing through me. "You think this is about threats? No. This is about choices. What you don’t change—you choose. And you’re choosing this life by choosing him. That’s on you. Including what comes next."

The air between us feels charged, a crackling undercurrent of danger. My response catches in my throat as a sharp buzz from his phone cuts through. He answers without a word, his expression unreadable as he listens. When he ends the call, he pockets the burner phone and stands.

"Thanks for the sandwich," he says, his smile cold and empty. "They’re ready. Let’s go."

We walk back to the foyer where Botan and Haru await, their postures like mirrored statues of power. Haru’s eyes meet mine, dark and unreadable, and for a moment, it feels like he’s unravelling me with his gaze.

"There’s a restaurant nearby I want to visit before we leave," Haru announces, his voice as smooth as velvet. "They serve the finest pasta dishes, almost as good as the Italians. Avara should join us tonight."

The suggestion isn’t a suggestion at all. His eyes trap mine, compelling a response before I even register the request.

"I’d love to," I reply reflexively, my voice steady, surprisingly.

"Good, it’s a long drive, so we should leave soon." Haru says with a satisfied nod. "In the meantime, Martha, give me a tour of this place, show me what has been occupying my son."

Martha appears at his side like an old ghoul, and I’m left with Akio’s ominous parting words lingering in my mind as he follows behind the pair without a backward glance.

I shun Botan’s gaze as I walk straight to the staircase to reach the third landing. Botan trails me, shadowing my movements as I go to get ready as I too heel to Haru’s commands.

Botan’s presence is a weight, a force I can feel as I move. The closer he gets, the faster my strides become—not enough to give away the unease bubbling beneath my skin, but enough to send a message: Stay away.

When I reach the walk-in wardrobe, I ignore the rows of custom-tailored dresses hanging neatly in place—each chosen by Botan. Instead, I head straight for my luggage, aiming for my own clothes. But as I reach for it, he intercepts, blocking my path with quiet insistence.

Without a word, I pivot and slip past him, retreating to the bathroom. The moment I lean over the sink, his presence surrounds me again. His hands land on either side of the counter, caging me in. I freeze as his chin settles on my shoulder from behind. His gaze meets mine in the mirror, and the intensity in his eyes holds me captive.

"Say something," he murmurs, his voice low, almost pleading. "Yell at me if you have to. Just let me hear your voice."

My throat tightens, but I refuse to let him see the crack in my resolve held together by paper clips. Instead, I grab the face cleanser—thankfully within reach—and squeeze a dollop into my palm. I turn on the tap, letting the cool water cascade over my hands before I lather the cleanser onto my face.

He lets out a low, humorless chuckle. "And here I thought the silent treatment was beneath you."

I dry my face with a small towel, the rough texture grounding me. When I finally summon the courage to meet his gaze in the mirror.

"It’s not about staying quiet," I say softly. "It’s about words I know you don’t want to hear."

His brow furrows slightly. "I want to hear them."

"Even if they make you mad?"

His silence is answer enough, his eyes urging me to continue.

"You scare me," I admit, the words trembling on my lips. "What you do, what you are—it terrifies me. And what that would mean for us, scares me even more. If not for my mother, I wouldn’t even recognize the line between what’s right and wrong. But I see it, and if I were with you..." My voice falters. "I’d have to turn it off. I’d have to choose not to see it. And if I did that, I’d resent you. I’d resent myself."

The tension thickens as he leans away, withdrawing his arms. The space he leaves behind feels colder, emptier, and his expression shifts to one of quiet devastation.

"I’m sorry," I whisper, my voice cracking under the weight of my guilt. "I hope that doesn’t make you hate me. Please... don’t hate me."

"Hate you?" His voice is rough, edged with pain. "Never. Hurt..." He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the floor before he forces himself to meet my eyes again.

His shoulders lift as he takes a steadying breath, and when he speaks again, his voice is steadier, resigned. "I knew. From the moment I saw something in your eyes that wasn’t just fear—I knew everything would have to change. And I would be the one to change it."

I turn to face him fully, his words pulling me in even as they unravel me.

"Everyone in the organization thinks you’re what’s been distracting me," he continues, his tone quieter now, almost confessional. "But I’ve been setting contingencies in place. They don’t know I’ve been planning something. I want out."

The shock must register on my face because he nods, confirming what I don’t dare to say aloud.