Bloodbound: The Alliance
Chapter 86 - 88

Chapter 86: Chapter 88

Botan POV

I stare after her brokenly as Akio follows and I have no choice but to let her go. Akio was righ. Nothing I say can undo what had been long done and trying to keep her would only deepen her despise. But the grief coils in me, a living thing, clawing to escape.

I wrench myself free of the guards’ grip, but one of them makes the mistake of holding on too tightly. Rage bursts loose and I slam his arm away, his hand reflexively flying to his holster, but I’m faster. I rip the weapon from him and drive him to the ground with savage blows. The crunch of his nose splitting under my fists satiates a thirst that has gone unquenched for too long. Blood spurts, painting my knuckles, and I nearly lose myself to the chaos—until I hear his voice.

"Botan!"

The command snaps into involuntary submission, muscle memory yielding to his authority. I stand, heaving for breath, my chest rising and falling like a caged animal. Haru steps forward with calm precision, the others falling into formation behind him. He doesn’t flinch as I lift the stolen gun, the barrel aimed directly at his forehead. The circle tightens as the men surrounding us draw their weapons to level them at me threateningly.

With a single raised hand, Haru eases them, their weapons lowering as though his control overrides instinct. His eyes meet mine, unflinching, the lines of his face carved in stone.

"My son won’t kill me," he says, his voice quiet but cutting through the stillness like a blade. "The only person he wants to hurt most is himself. Because he knows who is to blame. It’s not me—I never gave the order for Alden. I never sanctioned it. That decision was yours. Your killer instinct." His voice hardens. "One I should have heeded long ago."

The gun trembles in my grip. The rage curdles, giving way to an anguish I can no longer contain. The barrel shifts from his forehead to my own, pressing hard against my temple.

"Botan!" Haru’s voice sharpens with a panic I’ve never heard before.

I drive the gun against my skull, the hard metal biting into bone as I let out a roar that tears through the air, pounding the weapon against my head again and again. Each strike releases a fraction of the rage inside me, but it’s not enough.

Haru moves closer, his steps measured as he reaches out. His hands are steady as he pries the gun from my grip, his touch careful, deliberate, as if soothing a wounded animal. One hand lingers at my shoulder before sliding up to stroke through my hair, an intimate gesture I eventually recoil from.

I straighten to my full height, pulling away, but he doesn’t retreat. His eyes search mine, deep and knowing, and a sharp smile curves his lips.

"There he is."

"Why did you tell her?"

"To see that fire, that hunger for blood in your eyes again," he answers. "I speak to you now not as your Oyabun but as your father. She deserved to know the truth—it would have found her, eventually. It always does. But here is another truth: you deserve someone who loves all of you. Not the mask you wear, not the man you think you need to be for her. Someone who loves every fractured, bloodied piece of you."

"She loves me," I bite out, the words slicing through the air.

"She left you," he counters, unflinching. "She will never understand the steel you were forged from, the fire you have endured. That is a strength to be celebrated, not scorned."

"You don’t know her."

"No," he says, his voice softening. "But neither do you. You love what she embodies—the innocence stolen from you, the love you were robbed off. Let her go, Botan. She already has."

***

Avara POV

The airport looms behind me as I walk out. Leaning casually against his sleek Hellcat, Simon looks like he’s stepped out of a still frame—untouched by the rush of the world around us. His bruises, once glaring, are now faded and faint. He looks so much better, more refined. His hair, half swept into a mid-bun, catches the sunlight, the loose strands framing his face.

He notices me then, straightening as he moves toward me with a half-hearted smile.

"Always full of surprises," he murmurs, his voice low and familiar.

But the smile falters as his gaze locks onto mine, a question filling his eyes.

"Are you okay?"

The simplicity of the question shatters the fragile hold I have on myself. My breath catches, and tears spill, unbidden. Before I can form a response, Simon steps closer, his arms wrapping around me with a certainty that feels like safety. The weight of his embrace is grounding, holding me together even as I come undone once more.

But too soon, he pulls away, his hands lingering briefly on my shoulders before he turns to load my luggage into the trunk. Without a word, we slide into the Dodge Challenger, the silence between us filled with unspoken understanding and the hum of the engine as it roars to life.

"Am I taking you home?"

I shake my head quickly. "I didn’t call you just to be taken to the last place on earth I want to go right now. I told them I’d be gone for a month and I’m like four days too early."

Simon catches on quick with a crooked grin. "And you can’t go to your Kelsey friend because you know they’d find out you were there."

I nod stiffly.

"Wait... are you asking well—are you telling me that you’re going to crash with me for four days? Do you know how that looks?"

I grimace at the hint. "No one knows about us but us."

"Again, do you know how that looks?"

I glance back at him wordlessly.

"Okay..."

Simon doesn’t pry—no questions, no piercing looks. He just drives, the low hum of the engine and the distant rhythm of tires on asphalt filling the silence. For two hours, we travel the nearly empty highway, the woods on either side blurring into a shadowy frame for the road.

"Botan killed my mother," I blurt, my voice splintering. "That’s where I’ve been—with him. Because my delusional self thought... maybe we could have a life together. And I had to learn the truth—he’s not a monster. He’s something worse. I mean you have to be to do something so horrid but still look at me, speak to me and touch me without a hint of regret—no indication that what he did haunts him."

Simon’s hands remain steady on the wheel, his expression unreadable except for the careful way he nods, as though handling something fragile. "Okay," he says softly, no condemnation in his tone. "Sometimes we need to learn these things for ourselves. But now you know what I’ve been telling you—"

"You’re seriously going with ’I told you so’ right now?" I snap, glaring at him.

He glances at me, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. "I lost my daughter. I missed out on a lifetime of ’I told you so’s. So, yeah, you’re going to let me have this one."

I fall silent, turning to stare out the window, the passing trees a blur against the waning sky.

Simon’s voice breaks through the quiet. "Now that you see him for what he is... that doesn’t mean the biggest threat is gone."

"What threat?" I bite back. "Haru Black? Turns out he was my dad’s childhood best friend."

Simon slams on the brakes, veering the car onto the gravel shoulder. He stares at me, wide-eyed, his disbelief hanging in the stillness.

"Yeah," I continue bitterly. "He regaled me with their whole villain origin story. Apparently, they had this master plan—my father would claim power through politics, Haru through crime. A match made in hell."

Simon leans back in his seat, his gaze distant, blinking as though trying to process the words. "That... that explains everything." His voice is low, like the pieces of a puzzle are finally snapping into place. "How Haru stayed invisible. How your dad was untouchable. They’ve been covering for each other all along."

I press my palms against my face, dragging them down as if I could wipe away the weight pressing on my chest. My head falls back against the seat, and I release a ragged breath.

Simon watches me, his expression careful. "How you handling all this?"

Tears spill over, streaking down my face. I laugh bitterly, the sound sharp and hollow. "Clearly not great."

He reaches out but I raise mine in a silent gesture to stop him. The air between us is heavy, the burden of everything I’m trying to suppress carving into me.

"You still have your old case files?" I ask, my voice is more stable than I feel.

"Some. What do you want to do with them?"

"Something I’ll no longer regret."