PRIMAL Fury (The PRIMAL Series)

BOOK: PRIMAL Fury (The PRIMAL Series)
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BOOKS BY JACK SILKSTONE

PRIMAL
Origin

PRIMAL
Unleashed

PRIMAL
Vengeance

PRIMAL
Fury

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

 

Text copyright © 2014 Jack Silkstone

All rights reserved.

 

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

 

Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

 

www.apub.com

 

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of
Amazon.com
, Inc., or its affiliates.

 

ISBN-13: 9781477818176

ISBN-10: 1477818170

 

Cover design by Cyanotype Book Architects

 

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013919399

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER 55

CHAPTER 56

CHAPTER 57

CHAPTER 58

CHAPTER 59

CHAPTER 60

CHAPTER 61

CHAPTER 62

CHAPTER 63

CHAPTER 64

CHAPTER 65

CHAPTER 66

CHAPTER 67

CHAPTER 68

CHAPTER 69

CHAPTER 70

CHAPTER 71

CHAPTER 72

CHAPTER 73

CHAPTER 74

CHAPTER 75

CHAPTER 76

CHAPTER 77

CHAPTER 78

CHAPTER 79

CHAPTER 80

CHAPTER 81

CHAPTER 82

CHAPTER 83

CHAPTER 84

CHAPTER 85

CHAPTER 86

CHAPTER 87

CHAPTER 88

AUTHOR’S FINAL WORDS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PROLOGUE

OSAKA, JAPAN

The girl was delivered at 1949 hours, exactly one minute early. A curt knock at the apartment door signaled her arrival. The client, short and Japanese, was dressed in a Western-style pinstriped suit. He put his whiskey down on a side table, strolled deliberately to the door, glanced through the peephole, and opened it.

She was everything the website had promised: barely eighteen, beautiful, and Caucasian. Her classic Eastern European features were perfect—blonde hair, high cheekbones, and crystal-blue eyes.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing toward the king-size bed.

She smiled nervously and stepped into the room.

“Sit.” He pointed to the bed as he took off his jacket and tie, draping them over the back of the sofa.

She sat down, folded her hands, and looked around the apartment. Clearly she was new to this. That excited him even more.

He removed his shirt as he watched her. “You speak English?” he asked, dropping his pants and removing the belt.

“A little.” Her accent was thick. Her voice trembled.

“Good.” He crossed the room and stood in front of her in his underwear, the belt in his hands. “Now show me.”

She rose nervously and dropped the brown coat she was wearing onto the floor, revealing a lacy black bra, matching French-cut underwear, and sheer black stockings.

He ran his eyes over her firm body, a buyer assessing horseflesh. She shuffled nervously when his gaze lingered on her breasts. The lace bra was a size too small and flesh strained against the sheer fabric.

“Take it all off,” he ordered.

She reached around behind her back and unclipped the bra. It dropped to the floor. She placed her fingers under the elastic of her underwear and paused nervously, giving him a pleading look.

A loud crack pierced the silence of the room as his open hand made contact with her face. He’d thrown his entire weight behind the blow and it sent her sprawling across the room. She screamed as he dragged her onto the bed by her hair and threw her face down. The scream stopped abruptly as he looped the belt around her neck and pulled it tight. With his other hand he tore her underwear off and proceeded to rape her from behind.

Less than fifty meters away, in another room of the apartment block, two Japanese men watched the encounter. A bank of screens showed the digital feed from the apartment and five other places like it. Racks of hard drives stored the video being captured by the hidden cameras. The men responsible for monitoring the equipment sat with their feet on the desk, drinking cans of soda and eating prawn crackers, watching a game of local baseball, and occasionally glancing at the screens.

“Room five is getting a little rough,” observed the younger of the men.

His companion leaned forward to look. “He’s banging that blonde bitch hard.”

On the screen the client was continuing to rape the girl, pulling on the belt with both hands as she clawed at it with her fingers.

“Lucky son of a bitch,” the younger man said as he looked back to the baseball game. “Do you think the Tigers will get up?”

“No chance.”

For another five minutes the two men watched the baseball game without glancing at the monitors. Finally the older man looked across to see that the client was finished. He reached across for the phone to call up the girl’s minder.

“She’s not moving,” his partner said. The client was dressing but the girl lay sprawled on the bed, motionless.

“You sure?”

“You’d better call Masateru.”

The other man nodded, punched a speed dial on the phone, and studied the screen again. “Hello,
waka-gashira
, one of the girls looks like she is dead.” He listened for a moment before replying. “Yes of course, we will see you in a few minutes.” He placed the phone down and turned to his colleague. “He’s coming up. You stay here and stop the video when we enter the room.”

He opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a chrome snub-nosed revolver. Stuffing the pistol into the back of his pants, he left the room. It was a short walk down the plush carpeted corridor to the elevators. He only needed to wait a few seconds before the elevator chimed and the doors slid open to reveal Masateru. He was a handsome man in his thirties, medium build, and dressed in an impeccable light-gray suit, crisp white shirt, and dark tie. He wore his jet-black hair slicked back in the style of 1930s gangsters.

“Which room?” he asked.

“Number five.” The Yakuza henchman gave a sharp bow.

Masateru led them down the corridor, pausing outside the room before rapping his knuckles against the door. He reached into his jacket, retrieved a swipe card, slapped it against the receiver, and pushed the door open.

The client was fully clothed and standing in the center of the room. Masateru stepped forward and stood in silence, slowly turning his head to take in the situation. His eyes paused on the girl on the bed. She was on her back, naked, her head turned toward them. Her once pretty face was distorted in death, her tongue poking out through blue lips, her eyes wide open and bulging.

He reached into his jacket, took out a pack of slim cigarettes, and extracted one. He turned to the now pale client and offered him one as well. The man declined and Masateru lit his with the snap of a silver lighter. “It would seem that we have a situation.” He sucked heavily on the cigarette.

“I didn’t mean to kill her…She, it was—”

“Yes, you did.” Masateru let the cigarette bounce in the corner of his mouth as he spoke. “And why shouldn’t you? She is, was, a
gaijin
and you are Japanese. Just like it is your right to violate her body, it is your right to take her life should you choose to.” He inhaled deeply and walked across to a small table to ash his cigarette in a vase. “The problem here is not your right to kill this bitch. The problem is you have destroyed something that does not belong to you.”

“Of course, of course.” The man nodded in agreement. “I would be happy to pay for your property.” He pulled a thick wallet out of his jacket. “How much extra do I need to pay?”

Masateru reached into his pocket for his phone and punched numbers into the keypad. He looked up and showed the man the screen. “You owe seven million yen.”

The client’s jaw dropped. “That’s crazy. How can an uneducated foreign whore be worth that?”

“She was young, my friend. Think of all the years of fucking we won’t get out of her now.” He shrugged. “I tell you what, for that price I’ll let you keep the body. You can have another go.”

The older man turned on Masateru in anger. “You little shit! Do you know who I am?” He puffed out his chest and flashed his police badge. “I could end your little operation here with one phone call. You could spend the rest of your time in prison as a plaything for the Africans. Do not think for one second that you can intimidate me, you Yakuza lapdog!”

Masateru wiped the man’s spittle from the lapels of his jacket and calmly stubbed out his cigarette on the table. “There seems to be a misunderstanding. If you cannot pay then I am sure another arrangement can be made. We are not unreasonable people. I mean, it’s not like we need to release the video of tonight’s activities to the media…Do we?”

The police officer opened his mouth to reply but thought better of it.

Masateru nodded. “No, I think it would be in everyone’s best interest that you reach an agreement with the
oyabun
.” Masateru dialed a number on his phone, waited for it to ring, and passed it across. “I think you will find him very reasonable.”

“Superintendent Supervisor Tanaka…” The voice on the other end of the phone was as smooth as velvet, the voice of an experienced statesman. “It’s a pleasure to talk to you. I hope that you enjoyed your evening?”

“Very much, thank you, although there was one minor problem.” Tanaka turned his back on Masateru and walked over to the windows that looked out over the city of Osaka.

“Yes, I am aware of the situation, Superintendent. Rest assured that you can count on me to make the problem disappear. Consider this a one-time gift from me to you. In the future if you want to kill
gaijin
you will have to pay for the privilege like everyone else. However, I would recommend that you attend one of our other facilities for this pleasure. You will find the price more appealing.”

“Thank you,
oyabun
.” The senior police officer bobbed his head. “What about the tapes, the video footage. Will it be destroyed?”

“I will excuse the death of a whore and I will wipe your slate clean.”

Tanaka glanced at the girl lying lifeless on the bed. “What do you want from me?”

“Please, Superintendent. I do not want anything from you other than to call you a friend.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes, you will find that being a friend of the Mori-Kai Yakuza comes with great benefits, the least of which you have experienced tonight. We are honored to call you a friend.”

“No,
oyabun
, the honor is mine.”

The head of the Osaka Regional Police Bureau handed the phone back to Masateru. “What happens now?” he asked.

“There is a car waiting for you downstairs. It will drop you back at your office. Or perhaps you would like some more entertainment?”

He glanced at the girl’s body. “No, I think I’ve had enough for tonight. Perhaps I’ll try one of your other offerings later in the week.”

“Very good.” Masateru followed the policeman out of the room and into the corridor. He spoke to the henchman waiting outside the door. “Call the cleaners and have the whore dumped at sea.”

BOOK: PRIMAL Fury (The PRIMAL Series)
11.01Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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