He was so goddamn pissed.
Once he got back to his hideout, he was going to hunt down those responsible, and it was not going to be pretty. Someone was going to pay for this whole fiasco, and the minimum payment was going to be their miserable disposable little lives. Kyoutani growled curses as he rounded another corner, holding his bleeding stomach just as a shot hit the spot where his head had been not even a second ago.
Where the fuck were his stupid men!? Was it that hard to get rid of rioters? Why did he deal with people to begin with!? He should just blow the warehouse up. Lips curled into a grin. Now that's an idea. A noise further up caught his attention.
Some bird, taking out trash.
Oh, if that wasn't almost a metaphor for his life at the moment.
The sound of cars and people approaching the alley he had briefly hid in made him decide his next move before he had the time to think about it properly. Sure, he could have just pushed her inside and followed her, but that could have meant noise. And right now, he tried to slink under the radar of these idiots. Covering her mouth with the less bloodied hand of his, he had muffled the scream he knew would have happened.
Moving her had been easy. She was light. Small. And once the door was shut and locked, he had crouched down against the door with her still tight in his grip. His heart thundering in his chest while he listened to the goons running around, kicking a trashcan down. Since it was dark, they probably missed the small trail of blood that he'd left behind. Kyoutani grimaced, his grip uncomfortably tight on the smaller frame against him, though he soon moved one hand to reach for a knife he had on him, while still having a tight grip with his other hand over her mouth. Once the people dispersed and moved away, he let out a deep breath, and also let her go.
Her scrambling away would have been amusing in another situation, but for now he was too hurt and too tired to care. "No shit, Sherlock," he growled, voice slightly strained from the pain that was now starting to take a hold of him. There as even a smudge of blood against her door from where he had slumped down earlier, while still holding her, thanks to the gunshot wound on his back and the cut on his arm.
His injured and blood covered arm shook, and the grip on his knife loosened, the item soon dropping onto the floor. Mentally he snarled at himself for being so weak. "The fuck you starin' at? Never seen a man bleedin' before?!" he snapped next. He looked around in the dimly lit hallway, most of the light seemingly coming from the living room and, what he assumed was the kitchen. Everything... smelled... cozy. And soft.
No petrol, no smoke. No gunpowder, no death.
Kyoutani went to get up but slumped back down with a loud groan. He took a few deep breaths through his nose. Opening his eyes again, glaring at the woman in front of him.
"Gonna let a man bleed out on your threshold, huh? Cold hearted bitch. Admirable," he laughs, but regrets it soon after as his face contorted in pain for a brief moment. He felt so weak, and he hated it. Good thing his men weren’t around to see it. It would cause some talk.
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