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Futoshi Shimano had a simple code, a few easy rules that governed his life and, whether or not people realized it, everybody else’s life as well.
In order for a man to be successful he had to be three things: strong, ruthless, and cunning. He had to be strong enough to take what he wanted, ruthless enough to keep it, and cunning enough to see others coming for it.
If a man had all three, there was nothing that he couldn’t accomplish. Shimano, of course, had all three in abundance but he’d found over the years that most people only had one of those traits, two if they were very lucky.
His own blood brother, for example, had had ruthlessness to spare. Sagawa had been a delightfully vicious young man and he’d grown into a vicious old man, his sheepish half-smirk always at the ready whenever Shimano needed him. Shimano missed him at times, especially late at night when he thought of something that none of the young shits around him could understand, but Sagawa had deserved what he got. He hadn’t been strong or cunning enough to stay alive.
That fool Shintaro Kazama, of course, was plenty cunning but he’d lost his ruthlessness and his strength over the years, mostly at the altar of his protégé. Kazuma Kiryu. Now there was a man who was all strength and nothing else.
Or so Shimano thought until the day he received a late-night phone call from a subordinate and heard the news that Kiryu had gone and murdered Sohei Dojima. His own fucking patriarch.
“Can you believe this shit?” Shimano laughed broadly in disbelief, stirred to greater heights by the shock on the face of one Goro Majima.
“Don’t much sound like Kazzy,” Majima murmured, his bare hand tight around a bottle of whiskey as he shifted around on the bed like the overstimulated pup he was.
Shimano continued to chuckle as he thought it over. Majima was right. It didn’t much sound like Kiryu. Kiryu never seemed to have an ounce of true ruthlessness in him. And he was about as cunning as a two-headed goat.
Maybe he’d misjudged the man. He’d have time to think it over. After all they were going to put his ass away a long time for this, provided somebody didn’t shank him before he was sentenced. Another amusing thought came to him.
“A man should worry when you start wagging your tail around him. They all end up in prison!” Shimano laughed again and Majima’s eye widened before he also snickered and slid up into his lap, teeth snapping at him.
“You worried, boss?” Majima asked and Shimano swore his heart let out a little pang of affection for the mouthy, scrappy bitch.
He grabbed his chin and shook his head hard before shoving him off. “Men like us don’t end up in jail, you dumb fuck.”
He briefly wondered whatever would become of Dojima’s pretty widow before dismissing it. Yayoi Dojima was a cold fish if there ever was one and wives were only good for making heirs. He didn’t need one of those, not while he had Majima. His fucking pride and joy. Practically his son and his wife in one convenient package.
He’d seen something in him back in the day, beyond his natural gift of fighting and the tight body he gave up so eagerly. He’d had to break him nearly down to parts to find what he’d been looking for but once he had, he never let him go.
He continued to watch the man in the dark of the room as Majima took a long, heavy swig of his whiskey before handing it back over. Majima was strong, ruthless, and cunning, that was for damn sure. He couldn’t control any of it though and Shimano didn’t particularly want him to learn right now. Maybe one day. Some far off day when Shimano had ruled at the top of the Tojo Clan for so long that retirement was sounding good. Then he’d make sure Majima found something that could temper him into a semblance of workable sanity. Until then he’d let him play.
The next ten years were some of the sweetest that Shimano had ever known. Kazama was still a pain in his ass as well as goddamned Sera and even that pretty boy Nishikiyama but Shimano could outlast all of them. He grew his empire and his fortune and let Majima run wild on the streets of Kamurocho, just so everybody knew not to fuck with his family.
One morning he woke up and realized that it had been years since he’d gotten into a proper fight of his own. It was so much easier to let Majima tear into his enemies. He supposed that was just the way of upper management. You beat your way up to the top and when you were there, you started delegating the beatings. It was a shame how there was never any time for the little pleasures.
He was still processing the two-punch shock of learning that the Tojo Clan’s money had been stolen and its Chairman murdered when a few of his boys rolled in from what should have been an easy shakedown of one of Kazama’s pet projects. Kazama sure loved himself some pretty, pretty boys but vice was more Shimano’s bag. He didn’t see why a host club should fall under Kazama’s free protection just because it happened to be on his street.
He listened to his boys tell him about the embarrassing beating they’d endured at the hands of Kazuma Kiryu. The name sent a shiver of interest up his spine. Kiryu was finally out and the son of a bitch was apparently as strong as before. And just as disruptive as ever.
When Shimano stalked out of the room, he felt alive in a way he hadn’t in years, excited and energized. He sent out a quick summons and went to his office to wait.
Majima didn’t make him wait long, of course. He never did.
“Your boytoy’s finally out of jail,” Shimano said even before Majima came fully into the room, just to see the storm of emotions cross Majima’s face before comprehension took.
“Kazzy. I knew he was out. I had him on my planner.” Majima flipped open a notebook from one of his pockets and Shimano stared at the baffling assortment of ideas listed under Kiryu’s name.
He shook his head. “I think I hit you too hard and too much when you were a brat. Scrambled your damn brain.”
“Boss, you know I love the rough stuff but you didn’t call me down here just to talk dirty to me, did you?” Majima looked impatient. He was also thrumming with energy. Shimano wondered if he knew Kiryu was out from firsthand experience. The idea was a little obnoxious.
Majima should never be impatient with him
Shimano narrowed his eyes as a new thought took hold.
The last thing that Sagawa had ever told him was that you could only keep a wild animal on a leash for so long before it realized that you were the one yanking on its chain. Stupid Sagawa, he’d thought at the time. Majima was grateful for a strong hand, he needed it. He goddamn craved it.
But now he wondered if a smart wild animal, one that was strong and ruthless and cunning, might be able to find someone else to take that leash instead. Kiryu wouldn’t know what to do with a deadly pet like Majima, he’d get his throat torn out in a week, but Shimano would be damned if he let him try.
“I don’t want Kiryu fucking things up right now.” Shimano poured out a healthy amount of his best bourbon and pushed it over to Majima. He leaned closer. “I could be the new Chairman by the end of the week. Really shake up the Tojo Clan and this town.”
“That would be fun,” Majima said, eye bright as he drank the bourbon slowly, his lean throat begging for a hand to wrap around it. No time, no time. Those little pleasures.
“And who knows, Majima, the Chairman of the Tojo Clan can open up a lot of doors. Maybe even ones with bars on them.” Shimano poured him another glass and smirked when understanding rippled through Majima’s face. Shimano had to start thinking of the future, after all, and over the years Majima had started seeing punishment as enticing as the treats. He needed something big to pin him back down.
And there were few things bigger than Majima’s other boytoy. Plus 18 Counts was a traditional grunt if there ever was one and his ambition had only ever seemed to reach the top of Majima’s head. Kiryu was unpredictable and he made Majima fever-bright in his mania to keep up. He wasn’t a healthy plaything for him in the long-term.
“Find Kiryu. Keep your eye on him, kill him, whatever. Just keep him out of my way.”
“You always say such sweet things to me, boss,” Majima said and grinned that mad smile that made Shimano’s enemies shiver in fear.
His fucking masterpiece.
Shimano’s entire face hurt. His boys slowly limped out of the room, half from Kiryu’s ridiculous assault and half from his own, doled out when they’d returned home.
Majima was the only one who stayed, head tilted as he looked him over. There was a tender little bruise on his chin that Shimano hadn’t put there. It’d been there before the funeral too but Shimano hadn’t paid it any mind at the time.
Now it pissed him off.
“You call that keeping Kiryu out of my way?” Shimano rose stiffly from his chair and grabbed a bottle of vodka, chugging it down as he took a mental inventory of his wounds.
That damned pup. That stupid fucking prick. Shimano hadn’t been beaten down like that in years. Decades. A part of him wanted to pick up a bat and take to the streets until he found the little shit and could show him how he’d earned his reputation back in the day.
But he was a leader now, practically the fucking Chairman, and he shouldn’t have to waste his time screwing around with some braindead samurai-wannabe.
“He’s still pretty strong, ain't he? He’s getting stronger every time I see him.” Majima grinned dark and secret from the floor and Shimano saw red.
He was on him before his body could protest the movement, his big hand wrapping around Majima’s skinny throat like it’d never left. He squeezed tighter and Majima grinned wider and Shimano hadn’t felt so young or so old in his entire life. Majima squirmed under the weight of his body, hard and eager, and he pressed back. He’d fuck the admiration for that stupid prick right out of Majima.
“Settle this, Majima, or I’ll shove you down somewhere so deep that I won’t even remember where you are,” Shimano warned even as he reached down with his free hand towards his belt.
Majima couldn’t talk, of course, but the mad light in his eye looked like it understood. Good enough. Majima was a smart man. He’d make the right call here.
“Kiryu stabbed you?” Shimano eyed Majima on the makeshift hospital bed. He’d apparently refused to let his boys take him to the actual hospital—some nonsense about taxpayer money—but he looked pretty rough.
“Right here,” Majima said in a dreamy way, running his finger over a bloody spot on the bandage. One of Majima’s boys suddenly shifted noisily in the room and Shimano glared until they all left. “Kazzy’s so cool. I think somebody rescued the girl before that though. Unless I imagined that part. Cute kid. Kazzy looks so sweet taking care of some kid.”
“Kazama.” It had to have been him or his snide shitbag of a subordinate. Kazama and Kiryu were definitely working together on this. He was probably behind his own assassination attempt. Cunning Kazama working with stupid, strong, and apparently now ruthless Kiryu. It was a winning combination. Together they were almost one real man.
Shimano leaned over Majima on the bed. He pressed his thumb on the top part of the wound and pressed down, just enough to kill that dreamy expression on Majima’s face. Majima hissed out a pained breath and focused back on him.
“Is this loyalty?” Shimano asked, voice low in the stillness of the room. He pressed harder, searching for that fear he used to be able to inspire in his pet. There was pain and a twisted sort of pleasure but no fear settled on Majima’s expressive face. Shimano felt it instead, a low lick on the bottom of his spine. He shoved it away. He was in control here. He was going to end up on top of the Tojo Clan, not Shintaro Kazama, not Akira Nishikiyama, and definitely not fucking Kazuma Kiryu.
“You got one more chance, Majima. I shouldn’t give you another one but you know you’ve always been my favorite. Kill Kiryu. Take what you need, do whatever you need to do, but the next time you see him, I want him dead or you. Got me?”
“Yeah, boss,” Majima murmured, eye fluttering as he began to lose consciousness. “One last ride with Kazzy.”
Shimano drew away and looked him over doubtfully. He usually had full confidence in Majima’s ability to get shit done but he might be running on empty here. Maybe it was time to bring in some outside help.
That goddamned greedy son of a bitch. Fucking Lau Ka Long. Shimano should never have trusted the Chinese mafia to play straight with him. It had been a perfectly good deal. Fucking Nishikiyama. This is what happened when he tried to work outside of his family, it always ended up biting him in the ass. At least he could still get some use out of Terada.
One of his men called him and told him that Majima had rammed a truck into Shangri-La and fought Kiryu until the floor crumbled under their feet and still fucking lost.
Goddamned fucking Kiryu. He wasn’t even human. That was what was happening here. He was some sort of shitting demon come to ruin his life.
Time seemed to slow down around Shimano in the last few seconds of his life. Kiryu didn’t even look that happy to have beaten him and all of his best men—save for Majima who was probably still bleeding to death in the subbasement of Shangri-La—and somehow that was the worst part. This stupid punk didn’t even seem to want to be here at all. He looked as confused and worried as a disgruntled kitten as he looked around.
The Tojo Clan was about to fall into the hands of an absolute fucking moron. Shimano had been doing everything right, everything that a man was supposed to do, but he was still going to lose to someone who just seemed to bumblefuck his way into every goddamned situation.
Sagawa would get a kick out of this bullshit, Shimano thought and then the bullets ripped through him and the world exploded around him and everything grew dark for the last time.