Dogfight || (puppypound x Verse) NSFW

[puppypound]

Jay Hamada
28 | 5ft 9in

Gang Affiliated
'Owned' by Kouei Moriguchi, Leader of the Mori Gang.
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The silence was palpable.

Jay was sat in the corner of his boss's office, splayed out in a studded leather chair. Kouei had expensive taste whenever it could be spared, at least for himself and his own headquarters.

The boss was sat in front of a lacquered wooden desk, polished and reflective. A couple of guns were sprawled over the surface, alongside miscellaneous papers, cash, cigars, one which he was smoking on absentmindedly. Four other armed members were posted nearby, acting as meat shields. They stood silent unless spoken to. But Jay could taste their nerves. The way everyone kept glancing at their clocks, readjusting their ties, checking their guns. Demise was on its way.

"You think they'll pull something?"

He'd mutter around his cigar, puffs of smoke leaving his lips as ashes dropped onto the table. He was leant over, fingers laced as he ruminated.

Kouhei was analytical, anxious, but naive. Naive enough to believe that this meeting would go anywhere but South. But Jay was indifferent, knowing. Everyone was a backstabber, in for it for themselves. Kouhei was just the same.

Jay was already irritated, mottled in bruises, with a black eye that was almost done healing, but showed in the hallow of his eye. His hands were wrapped, and there were bandages strewn about his body. Kouhei had sent him into the ring the other night, a rigged match as always. And it was no coincidence that a few members of the Kurotana gang were spotted hanging around, placing bets of their own. Hah. Kouhei had what was coming to him, and Jay would be forced to suffer the consequences thanks to his allegiance.

"Too late for that now, huh? Already on their way. Probably taking the elevator up as we speak."

He yawned, shifting in his chair to crack his knuckles and stretch. It still hurt to take deep breaths. His opponent had gone for the ribs, and didn't hold back.

Kouhei said nothing. Instead, he let out another heavy breath, sitting back in his chair with one last glance at the time. And like clockwork, there was a knock at the door.

Everyone tensed, except for Jay, who instead narrowed his eyes and focused intently on the door handle. He sat up straight, adjusted his black tie. Rolled up his white button down's sleeves. He wanted to see these snake bastards with his own eyes, up close and personal. Not snickering on the sidelines, watching Jay getting pummeled.

"Let them in." Kouhei muttered, taking a quick shot of rum he had sat in front of him. One he'd made Jay fetch earlier. He was already dusted in a light sheen of sweat despite his efforts. The Kurotana's rarely ever played nicely, or fairly for that matter. But with the promising plan of an allegiance on the horizon, he'd take the chance. He needed the capital, bodies if he wanted to expand his operations outside of this shit hole of a city. He hoped this would be the answer.

The knob twisted, and with a creak, the door swung open slowly.

 

[Verse]

"Ya kno', s' such a cryin' shame, fucking you up like that." Renta Sawayuri said, shoving his face in the elevator panel, the smooth part, that reflected him, distorted. He had his teeth out and dragged the tip of his tongue from the gums down the splitting ditch between two incisors. Sometimes he was a wolf, but like that, he projected Hyena. He pinched the tip of his lace collar. Burgundy shirt, see through, under a black suit. His shoes were polished and strapped on, no laces. He was talking to his large friend behind him, who looked back in the make-shift mirror. Molo. Could break break bricks with his fucking farts. They had to pay for two suits to get him one. Square too. Renta had always liked his look, but he was faster than people thought a meathead could be. Came in handy.

They were always going to fuck Mori up. It was just their turn now, so big boss Gin gave the boys in the gang money, and let them spend it on boxing. Guess what, they bet on the pretty Mori slugger and lost. So when Gin Kurotana said this was retribution for bad betting advise, the troops were all fired up. That's Gin forya. Had to be sly when you were big, but not the biggest. In Yareli City, affectionately known as New City, Kagayama under Yuji Honu's rule were the largest Yakuza. But someone had to remind them they were not the only Yakuza simply by existing. Of course, Gin had other plans. And Renta had to spearhead those plans.

Ren didn't mind. He'd always felt wild, and this gig let him let it out. When he wasn't fucking pretty things up the ass and making their tongues into sanitary towels, he fought. And then he woke up the next midday and did it all again. The money and the guns were perks, too. Ren leaned back and looked over his shoulders. They were all holding boxes with russian brands on them. Renta liked vodka. In fact, that's what he called out while holding a bottle in each hand as he kicked the door open to Moriguchi's office.

"VODKA!"

He poured into the room, filled with the enemy, that would likely not take to his shouting when he could pretty much taste the tension in here. The Sawayuri boy was long and broadshoulderd, but didn't exactly have a lot of meat on him. Built like a scythe rather than a wall. He winked at the boxer who still looked like last night's loss on his way to the desk. "Ya-hoo old man. You put on a pretty good fightnight, yeah?" he said, nasal to imitate the tan girls some of these guys liked. Renta was shameless and brazen, like any young enforcer should be. But he hid more violence than people were prepared for behind the flamboyant surface. He sat on the desk and slammed one of the bottles infront of Kouei, on his desk. The fact that both Renta's hands were occupied with alcohol should at least give the trigger happy group some relief. He thumbed the screwcork off his own and held it up, crooked, toward the other leader. Of course Gin wouldn't come in person.

The Kurotana men were rowed up, ten of them, all of them holding boxes with their lids off to show the clear gifts they were arriving with, courtesy of Gin himself.

"C'mon you dry cunts." Renta said and showed his teeth again, swinging the bottle high in good faith. His black eyes were in a friendly set, but it was hard to ignore the natural form of the canines in his grin. Tattoos were crawling up his throat and somewhat visible through the lace pattern of his shirt in the open suit jacket. "Gin sends his regards. Better drink up." he poured some at himself while his arm was outstretched, and somehow caught it in the predatory mouth with just a few thin brooks down the outside of his chin and throat. He swallowed without closing his lips. "Ahhhh. It's expensive shit." A strand of black hair fell from the up-and-back do, kept in a short tail at the high of his backskull with a hairtie. It laid over one of his eyes as though to gossip that something was amiss with this picture.