Cole McGinnis 05 - Down and Dirty by Rhys Ford Read Free Book Online Page A

the morning.”
    “I don’t mind casual. Hell, you’re one of the few friends I have that I’ve not done casual with.” He pushed at Jae’s arm, lightly shoving the man away. “And I like my head, so while I’d do you, don’t get offended if I don’t chase after you. I don’t want to test my brother’s love for me.”
    “The difference between your past and now is that Bobby is not your friend.”
    “You’re telling me you’ve never wanted to take a chance on something? Just to know what it was like?” Ichiro cocked his head at Jae. “Not once?”
    “More than once,” Jae replied softly. “That’s how I got kicked out of my aunt’s house and dancing at Dorthi Ki Seu. So yeah, Ichi-ah, maybe this isn’t a chance you should take.”
     
     
    “A H , I can breathe.” Ichiro sank down into a soft couch in Cole and Jae’s living room. “How can there be too many people outside ?”
    The small function grew while he wasn’t watching, until suddenly he was drowning in chatter and warm bodies. Between the smell of cooking meat and a sudden cloud of floral perfumes, Ichi needed a break—and since his car was blocked in by stacks of vehicles, the house seemed like a good place to go hide until his head stopped spinning.
    Staring at Bobby Dawson hadn’t helped his aching head one bit either.
    His phone burbled a tune, something American and thumping. Not what he’d had programmed in. Sliding it out of his pocket, he answered it, thinking it was Cole to brag about changing the ringtone.
    Instead of his brother’s velvety baritone, he got a choppy bass iced over with disapproval.
    And in Japanese.
    “Hello, Father.” It was petty, but Ichiro kept to English, digging yet another centipede bite into his father’s conservative outrage. The older Tokugawa’s sniff frosted the speaker, and a low-simmering grumble crackled across the phone, building an ice bridge between the lines.
    “Is that any way to greet me?” Unlike his sniff, Tokugawa’s spit of Japanese was hard, hot metal fragments meant to cut through Ichiro’s soul with a rapid-fire accuracy. Ichi shook it off. He’d been dodging his father’s shrapnel for years, and his reply was a short grunt, barely a sound to acknowledge the conversation.
    “You’re up early.” He did the math quickly in his head, but the numbers jumbled together before he fixed on his father’s schedule. “Before lunch anyway.”
    “I’m surprised you’re conscious. Or are the drugs keeping you awake?” His father’s rumbling censure echoed in Ichi’s ear.
    “The only drug I’m on is sex these days,” Ichi responded quietly. “An occasional beer or whiskey. But then, I can still get it up, and I’m not that picky, no?”
    “At least have the decency to die in a woman’s bed. There’s enough shame attached to you already. Have a care for the rest of the family if not for yourself.”
    It was an old dig, certainly not original, and Ichiro refused to let his father hear even a shred of exasperation in his voice. He wasn’t going to deny anything. Engaging the old man in a give and take was best kept to a minimum, with each volley of spite kept shallow and on changing subjects.
    There would be no denying any accusation. It was useless to convince the old man of anything other than the reality the senior Tokugawa constructed for his family. Ichiro’d given up trying to escape the maze his father made of smoke, lies, and mirrors.
    Switching tactics, Ichi went on the offensive. “Any reason you called? Other than to tell me I’m worthless.”
    “I would think after all of this time you would not need me to tell you that.”
    Ichiro took a long, shuddering breath through his open mouth. Laughter and conversation bled in from outside, sliding through an open living room window. Someone he didn’t know was teasing her girlfriend, talking about a disaster regarding cupcakes and salt. The taunt was gentle, as were the reproachful accusations of sabotage. A