A Dissection of the Heart

Buzzkill

Jiro watched Rosalind’s every movement like a predator stalking its prey as she lightheartedly made conversation and ate at her barbeque. He sipped on his beer wondering what the best course of action to pursue her would be. Obviously she had pulled back some trust from that bastard Isao but, much to his chagrin, she seemed to have easily moved on from his deception. He ate at his own plate, savoring every mouthful of tender, flavorful meat. She really is quite the cook, he thought to himself, stealing a glance at her.

Her eyes flashed up, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. She was entirely different from the skilled torturer he saw in the stills included on a flashdrive dumped with the body of his former man unceremoniously on his front lawn this morning. Word had it from his mole that Isao and a few of his men would be at this address for a party tonight, and Jiro was all too eager to get some blood in return for his man. What he did not expect was the blonde minx that stormed up to him and demanded he ‘mind his manners’. He could almost laugh at the thought of it. Had he not recognized her, even fully clothed, he would have easily ordered her death and thought little of it.

She was very beautiful, he had to admit. A few minutes longer of her little display of teaching Isao how to take a shot and Jiro would have gladly bent her over this picnic table and taken her here and now, his men be damned. He let his eyes drift down her form, resting on her ample breasts. He noticed her gaze shift to him, feeling his eyes on her. She raised a brow to him with a smirk suggesting ‘you like what you see?’ He met her look with a wolfish grin of his own, quietly raising a glass to her as a way to say he was definitely liking the view as Speciale and Isao engaged in some droll conversation about a recent sporting event.

“You know, I don’t think we’ve properly been introduced…” Rosalind spoke softly, leaning in towards Jiro. He took a slow sip of his beer, smirking behind the bottle lip. While Isao was busy with the idiodic New Yorker, he would have Rosalind to himself. He leaned in towards her, meeting her halfway so that their faces were only a few inches away. “Jiro. Jiro Watanabe,” he said in a low, hoarse voice that sent a chill down Roz’s spine. “Well, Jiro Watanabe,” she purred, “How are you enjoying my little party?” She looked up at him through her lashes and another wave of lust rushed through his body as she gazed up at him, full lips slightly open.

“Naze anata! Watashi wa anata o sakana no yō ni naizō shimasu!” (Why you! I'll gut you like a fish!) A small groan of annoyance sounded from Rosalind as the shouts broke through the ambience of the party. She sighed, shooting Jiro an apologetic smile, “Excuse me a minute while I handle this, hun.” He noted her slight southern accent, like that of a belle as he believed they were called. He nodded absently as she excused herself from the table, walking over to the two bickering men across the way. Her shoulders were tight and thrown back, defiant to the core.

Walking up to the hulking figure towering over a tense table, Rosalind tapped his shoulder impatiently. “Ittai nani o shite iru to omou no ka kiite?” (What on earth are you doing?) Roz seethed through a terse smile. The man turned to her with a look on his face suggesting he wanted to ask the same thing of her. He let out a gruff chuckle as his hand creeped towards his belt. “Josei o waki ni oite, dansei ga bijinesu o kaiketsu shite iru no o miru koto ga dekimasen.” (Stand aside woman, can't you see men are settling business.) Rosalind scoffed, her delicate features screwing themselves into a deep scowl as her body tensed with a quiet rage.

Speciale tried choking down the laughter that was bubbling out of his throat at the words. “What’s so fu.cking funny?” Isao whispered to him through gritted teeth, debating on whether he needed to step in. “He made a big mistake,” Speciale chuckled out, wagging his eyebrows at Isao’s tense yet confused face before turning back to watch the scene unfolding.

Before anyone could react Rosalind was already moving. She crouched momentarily, gaining momentum as she propelled herself, and her fist, upwards with her powerful legs. Her knuckles landed a sickening hit to the obnoxious man’s nose with a loud crunch as bright red blood streamed from the crumpled orifice. He screamed out in pain as his hands went to his nose, eyes streaming with tears. “Anata wa meinu!” (You b***h!) He cried out. Rosalind just flashed him a cold smile, wrapping her fingers around a fistfull of hair at the back of his head. Before he was able to think over what to do next, she had already jerked his unsuspecting head downwards, which she met with an upward jab of her knee connecting square in the jaw. With two swift moves he was down, a bleeding, teary mess of a man asleep on the ground.

She gazed down at his body with a detached disinterest as she waved two men over from the table to take his body away. “Kare o watashi no zaisan kara oroshite kudasai,” (Get him off my property.) she mumbled absently to the men who timidly grabbed the unconscious man’s arms and began dragging him away. What a bummer end to a party, she thought bitterly, welcoming the familiar numbness setting into the pit of her stomach.