Awareness came with a severe headache, a half-empty bottle of rum resting tenuously against his fingertips. Blinking felt like driving spikes through his eyes and Ji grunted sourly, disgusted by the stale taste of alcohol on his tongue. Pushing up to one elbow, he squinted around the room, wondering why he was lying half-naked in the dingy box that passed for an entertainment center. Rolling gingerly to his knees knocked the bottle from his loose grip, but all he could do was stare dully at it as golden liquid sloshed onto the concrete floor.

It was hard to recall the last time he'd even had a drink, let alone half a bottle solo. His head felt like the lead drum in a high school rhythm band, his ears ringing. Trying to swallow made him choke out a cough, his throat like sandpaper, mouth gummy. He was hungover. Really, really hungover.

"Half-baked fish sticks," stiff lips made the mumble thick his tongue sticky. "What happened,"

Getting upright nearly tilted the room on its side, he staggered, catching himself on the edge of the table, and painfully banged his knee. The white-hot blaze drove the fog back temporarily, and Ji suddenly remembered Ginny. They'd been getting started on what should have been mind-blowing sex. A wild, reckless, unbelievable joyride. A confused look returned to the spilled bottle of rum. If he'd consumed that much alcohol on his own no one was riding with him anywhere.

Rubbing a hand across his churning stomach, he looked down, frowning at the thin red welts lacing his skin, stinging slightly. Scratches. A vague feeling of panic began to grow inside him. What had he done? Stumbling from the room, he kept to the wall for balance, reaching the room he remembered being in.

It stopped him cold, a stiff jolt of adrenaline evenly mixed with disbelief washing some of the haze from his mind.

The place was a mess.

Two chairs were overturned, one of them broken into pieces held together by bent screws. Paper littered the floor, the phone cracked, and a static buzz coming from the telephone. In the corner was a metal cabinet with a dented drawer he was certain hadn't been that way before. A button-down shirt hung from one of the drawers, caught by a few torn threads. It was the one he'd been wearing. Moving into the room felt like entering a crime scene.

He couldn't remember what had happened in there. How had he gone from a raging bull in rut to dead drunk on the floor? Especially since he wasn't a drinker. A shot now and then, the infrequent bender back in his gangster days... nothing like what he suspected the truth to be. Maybe the rum had come after?

Turning, he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the huge glass window the warehouse was full of. It made his heart do a painful jackknife in his chest, features going slack.

It was more than welts that laced his body. He could see the clear bruising of teeth marks on his neck, shoulder, and chest, hard enough to form purple rings. No scenario his brain conjured up could explain it other than the worst possible case. Trying to breathe, forced to move slowly to avoid throwing up, Ji made his way into the hallway, squinting against the merciless glare of sunlight. He had to find Ginny.

What had he done?

***

Hot water pelted the back of her head and shoulders with relentless force, but Geneviève didn't move, or attempt to shield herself. Curled into an upright ball on the shower floor, her face tucked into the protective circle of her arms, she let her tears mix with the shower water. Not hot, heartbreaking, violent tears. Not loud, hysterical weeping, but silent, numb tears. Tears of defeat.

Her one chance, her single opportunity, and she'd messed up.

Ji had been hot, hard, and only too willing. Fiery kisses scorched against her skin with both temptation and promise, large hands stroking and squeezing in ways that made her want to both scream and cry. Wrapped up in each other, passion overriding everything else, they'd become nearly violent. Slamming into the file cabinet, her legs around his waist, Ji had sworn viciously as he'd tugged out of his shirt, giving her the full pleasure of his muscular build.

Drunk on rum and the feeling of heat gathering in her belly, Geneviève had run her hands over every ripple and swell, followed by her mouth. Using her tongue had pulled a strangled moan from his throat and he'd whipped her around, carrying her to the table. They'd slammed down on it hard enough to scatter whatever was there, ignoring the clatter as everything hit the floor. Feverish, they'd grappled in an ardent, steamy wrestling match that left her teeth marks on his skin as she trembled, breathless and moaning. Ji's full weight pressed between her thighs. One hand twisted into her hair, the other caressing her entire length from neck to navel, greedy fire in his eyes as she'd whimpered in anticipation.

Then he'd stopped, staring directly into her face, his hot breath fanning her cheeks with each gasp, his heartbeat obvious against her. She could feel his fingers between them, resting on the drawstring of his joggers, ready. Mouth dry, her eyes had closed as she braced for it, fully prepared to sacrifice her body.

'Decide, Ginny,' his heavy rasp popped her eyes open. Panting heavily, he'd gazed down at her without blinking, eyes dark. 'There's no going back, no stopping once I do this. Do you really want to have sex with me?'

Taken by surprise, her alcohol-infused brain stuttered to a halt, tipping the scale dizzyingly first in one direction then the other. Licking sticky sweet lips, she'd tried to meet his gaze.

'Ji, I... I don't mind.'

'It's a yes or no question,' he'd purred huskily, his teeth on the edge of her jaw, shifting to bite into her bottom lip for a throbbing instant. She felt the jolt go all the way through her. 'Sex with me. Yes or no.'

It's why she'd come to him, why she'd needed so much alcohol in her system to go through with it, but she hadn't expected him to ask her permission. All her experience told her that if she got him interested, he'd do the rest on his own. Having to look into his eyes, commit fully to the act, giving her consent, changed everything.

'Non...' throat tight, she'd had to whisper it, seeing a hard veil cloak his features but Ji had pushed from her, carefully unwrapping her legs from his waist. Backing off, chest heaving, he'd looked away, hands frozen in a half-curl.

'Okay... we're done.' A pained frown etched across his features for a moment. 'We're done.'

'Ji-?'

'I respect your choice, Mouse, but I'm a guy. I need a minute. You should,' he swallowed hard, lips trembling in a faint snarl. 'You should cover up and get out of here.'

'But, Ji,'

'You know what? Forget it.' Cold. Flat. His tone held none of his usual temper or sarcasm. 'It didn't mean anything.'

He'd left her there, not even glancing in her direction as he strode from sight.

That had been it.

Not bothering to fix her shirt, she'd run from the office to the bedroom they slept in, desperately looking around. Grabbing another bottle of rum from where she'd hidden it beneath her cot, she'd slammed it back in impressive time. Knees wobbling, sinking to the floor with tears running blindly from her eyes, she stared at the ceiling as welcome numbness began to creep in. After a while, blinking, she'd suddenly sat up, deciding on the only choice left.

Now, while she still had the courage and only one chance. Ji's revolver was tucked out of sight beneath his pillow, but she had seen it there before and had fished it out, surprised by the weight. Scared he would find her there, she'd gone to the showers, desperate to work up the required nerve. It had taken a long time for her to turn the water on and step in. Then she'd soaked, feeling the almost painful sting of hot water against her skin, turning her a cooked lobster hue, telling herself it wouldn't be hard. It was one simple thing. One. Easy. Movement.

With her plan blown up in her face, she saw only one future ahead of her. No future at all. Pushing to her feet, finally ready, tingling numbness starting in her chest, working its way across her shoulders and then down her arms, she turned toward the tile half-wall. Ji's gun lay there. Silent and willing to help her. Reaching out, her fingers lightly touched the cold metal, hesitantly wrapping around the handle as she picked it up.

Heavy. It had an ominous permanence to it. The promise of oblivion.

Too heavy to lift steadily with one hand, she used both to put the gun beneath her chin, beginning to pant in fear. Would it hurt? Would it be quick? Would she feel the bullet tear its way through her brain, shattering pieces of her skull as it exited?

Lips quivering, nose running, the hot spray of the shower at her back, Geneviève closed her eyes. Just count, she told herself, gingerly exploring the trigger with a shaky finger. Just count to three. Easy as that. One.

'You do as you're told,' Gabriel's guttural snarl was in her ear. 'You belong to me, Geneviève.'

"Please,'" breathing the word, tears slipped from beneath her eyelids, mingling with the water on her face. "Don't make me do this... I didn't mean for it to happen!"

'I put you on those pills for a reason, stupid girl! You know why I tell you to take them every day! You know the consequences of what happens when you don't! This is your fault!'

"I can't," anger was lifting above the fear, clawing its way to the surface of the tempest brewing inside her. "Please don't make me..."

Two. Feeling the barrel dig deeper into the flesh beneath her chin, she sucked in a ragged breath, telling herself to do this one last thing. The promise of oblivion was waiting. Gabriel wouldn't be able to hurt her anymore. He would never touch her again. No one would ever touch her like that again.

Last one, she told herself. Be brave. Be strong. Say it, then squeeze the trigger.

"I... I'm... pregnant..."

Three-

Her hands were suddenly trapped in a painful vice, the barrel yanked to one side as a streak of fire slashed across the side of her throat, a deafening bang ringing in her ear. Eyes flying open, she found twin flames staring down at her from inches away, Ji's breathing as hoarse as her own.

"Hot fudge sundae, Mouse," he rasped unevenly, keeping his hands firmly gripped around hers, pointing the gun well off to one side. "I think you scared me sober."

Kobe, Japan

Rain pattered down in a soft humming lullaby as the man walked with his umbrella tucked over his shoulders, collar up. Slightly hunched, his movements were affected, as though he limped. The jacket over his shoulders was worn thin, small holes showing on the edges, a few buttons missing to keep out the chilly wind. The dress shoes protecting his feet were scuffed and unpolished, letting water soak into the socks beneath.

Tugging a small bit of paper from his pocket, he glanced at it, then at the neighborhood around him. A housing track was several hundred yards to one side, fenced in with light burning cheerily in the windows. Ahead of him, silhouetted only by the far-off streetlights, was his destination.

Moving slowly, Tanabe Eizo continued to play the part of an old man fallen on hard times. He'd changed clothes with the janitor of his building, paying the man handsomely to sit in his upstairs office, drink sake, and smoke. In this guise, he'd left his building on foot, seeing someone in a dark suit sitting in a car, watching him. Expecting this, moving casually, he'd continued for ten blocks before going into a small hotel to ask to use the lobby phone.

"Your instructions were simple, Mr Eizo. Answer the call. You didn't, and I don't cater to clients. They do as I instruct them to."

"I had a delay," he argued softly. "An American. He came to my office. He knows everything, and threatened to hurt Yua if I did not stop."

A beat of silence passed, then;

"How much does he know, exactly?"

"Everything I've done, including hiring you, although," Tanabe paused. "I do not believe he knew precisely who you are. Only that I hired someone. I did not see your name in the file he had, only a phone number, but not this one."

"His name?"

"Alexander Danning."

Another pause, longer this time.

"I only work from the shadows, Mr Eizo. There is no advantage to being in the spotlight in my line of work."

"I will never betray you."

"Sure." A note of sarcasm showed. "On your life, right?"

"On the life of my wife. And our daughter." The statement was greeted by soft breathing, a heavy stillness of mistrust. Eizo hurried on in a whisper. "I have fully discussed this with my wife, and we are willing to put all our hopes in you. No matter what happens to us. Just get Yua free. Get her safe."

"You've aroused my curiosity, Mr Eizo. Not an easy feat. Do you have paper and pen? Write this down." The instructions were quick and direct. "Come right now."

"I am on foot."

"Ask the hotel receptionist how to get out here on the quiet roads. It's a longer walk, but much less obvious if you're being monitored. Also, leave through the hotel's backdoor, not the front."

"How did you-?"

"I'll wait up. Oh, Mr Eizo, one more thing," the voice lowered a fraction. "Bring an umbrella. It's going to rain."

With raindrops soaking through the umbrella, Tanabe grimaced as an icy touch slid beneath his collar, running down his back. His contact had been correct about the change in weather. This had better be the right place. Slowly making his way, he forced himself not to react when headlights appeared behind him, the dull grind of an engine approaching.

He'd rehearsed his plan beforehand should he need a cover. Poor. Old. Deaf.

The vehicle slowed down as the driver shouted something at him through a lowered window. Glancing up, seeming to notice only the lights, Tanabe kept his features hidden behind his upturned collar and gestured at the driver to keep on. Like a grouchy old man angry at the world. Another muffled question, which this time he ignored, speeding up a little, pronouncing his limp.

With a loud shriek of gears, the old vehicle sped off, spattering Tanabe's pantleg with mud. Ah well, he turned onto the drive with a relieved sigh. I am here.

The knock was answered almost immediately, and he was ushered silently into a dark house, guided by the softest touch of fingers on his elbow. Navigating the pitch black, his hands hit a closed door.

"Open it," was whispered behind him. Doing so, the grip on his elbow tightened a fraction. "Steps."

Carefully feeling with his feet, Tanabe made his way down a dozen or so steps before a light snapped on. He jumped, about to turn but the hand gripping his arm turned fierce, keeping him facing a small room. It was what he'd expect to see anywhere. A table with a single chair, a small desk housing a slender drawer and two built-in filing cabinets, a phone attached to the wall nearby with numerous wires hanging from it, and a small metal canister of some kind standing in the corner.

"Please-," he tried.

"Not so fast. I have stipulations."

"Name them."

"Address me only as Shadow. Never with gender. Say it."

"You are Shadow," Tanabe was cold, his feet hurt, and he was losing patience but cautioned himself to keep calm. "You have no gender."

"Sit down." A gentle push hinted he take the chair, and Tanabe did so gratefully. His feet had blisters. Easing back, he finally got a good look at his strange host. It shocked him into mortified immobility.

Shadow was six feet, athletically built, and dressed in completely black clothing that clung like a second skin. No discernible characteristics betrayed orientation, even as his wide eyes locked on Shadow's face. Bald, creased with the heavy scars of burns, the flesh was mottled white, pink, and red, with no hair anywhere. Piercing black eyes met Tanabe's.

"If you're done staring, my time is precious." The voice was still a murmur and Eizo abruptly wondered if Shadow had damaged vocal cords. Blinking rapidly, he bowed automatically in shame.

"Forgive me... I am being rude."

"As I said, my time is precious," Shadow moved silently, reaching for a folder sitting on the table. "This is what I discovered before I believed you changed your mind. If you have the stomach for it... do you want to know the truth about your daughter?"

Warehouse, Patagonia

He stood beneath the hot spray of the shower, trying to wash disgust and shame from him. No amount of soap, alcohol, or cigarettes would wipe it away though, and he sighed, leaning forward to let the water pound across the back of his neck and shoulders. It was almost painfully relaxing.

When he'd found Ginny in the shower with his gun, his heart had nearly exploded from his chest, using every bit of strength and speed he had to reach her before the gun went off. Ghostly white, staring into his eyes, tears streaming unnoticed down her cheeks, she hadn't said a word, but she didn't need to. He'd heard the words she spoke before the bang of his pistol almost spattered her brain across the shower tile.

Pregnant.

Whether it was by the guy she was running from or the men that had kidnapped and raped her, what woman would want a baby that way? Either way, it had driven her past her limits and almost completely off the map.

Limp against him, unmoving, Ginny had let him carry her to the bedroom wrapped in a thick towel. Curled onto one of the cots, she hadn't moved as he put ointment and a bandage on the bullet burn that blistered her neck. If that had been the end of it, maybe he could have dealt better. If she'd just left well enough alone, he wouldn't be on the edge of losing his sack of marbles.

Thinking she was finally asleep, he'd gone into the kitchen to make some coffee and breakfast, giving himself time to cool off. To process. Twenty minutes later he'd been standing over an empty cot, the towel discarded on the floor. Dropping the tray, he'd run for the shower, but she wasn't there. Spinning around, Ji had raced down the hallway, checking every room, shouting her name.

For the love of all things pink! There was an end to his patience, his tolerance, and God-blast him if the Mouse wasn't shoving him right to it! How had she gotten by him without his noticing? Where could she have gone- he came to an abrupt halt, panting. No, no, no... turning, he ran for the open warehouse floor, where all the big machinery was. To his knowledge, Ginny had never gone that way but she was floating on her own tide now.

"Ginny!" The shout echoed along the concrete hall, filling the room. "Answer me!"

Nothing. He'd been on the verge of moving on but happened to look up. A flutter of white near the ceiling caught his attention, nearly giving him an aneurism from the rush of fury that hit him like a tsunami. She was on the catwalk high above the floor, calmly climbing over the thin metal railing.

"Ginny!" Taking the metal steps two at a time, he kept his attention on her all the while looking for a stopgap. A plan B. "Ginny, don't!"

Unresponsive, her delicate toes sticking out over nothing, her arms lifted out to each side. The finale. He swore as her body tipped forward, hanging momentarily suspended before plummeting toward the floor.