15. Vi
CHAPTER 15
VI
“A shopping list for what?” I ask.
By the time the words are out of my mouth, Kenzo is already halfway across the promenade, charming another group of guests. I glance at my phone, ogling the different wax flakes and fragrance oils. Does he want to buy me candle-making supplies?
Part of me wants to send him a list to see if he’s telling the truth and because I don’t really get to spend money on myself. We save most of our con money for our dream house, and since I usually don’t work on the cons—I just research them—my payout is smaller. It’s fair, but sometimes, I want a little extra for myself.
It doesn’t help that we’re always moving too. Candles can be expensive and heavy, even if you are making your own. It’s not practical, but Uncle Jay lets me indulge every once in a while.
Instead of dreaming about custom jars, I stow my phone and focus on the newcomer, Ronin. He’s sitting a few seats away from me, staring out at the guests like a vulture. It seems like the yakuza don’t trust him, but he’s a younger version of my father-in-law. The same jaw, sharp features, dark eyes, and strong body. He probably is Tomo’s son.
And he just wrecked the entire social order by crashing our wedding reception.
“Did you get enough food?” I ask him.
Ronin dips his chin, but he’s lying. He hasn’t had a single bite since he arrived.
“Did you try the steak?” I ask. “There’s a sushi chef on call. I can get you anything.”
He’s silent for a while, but eventually, he answers. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
Still, something itches inside of me. I need to do something, and feeding this stranger is easier than watching my husband bounce around like a grenade ready to explode while I anticipate our consummation. I head off to the catering table, and a staff member serves a slice of prime rib and a couple of pieces of sushi.
I slide the food in front of Ronin. He blinks, probably shocked I actually gave him something.
“No,” he says. “I can’t?—”
“Please,” I say. “I’m not poisoning you. I just?—”
I swallow. I’m not sure why I’m doing this. It’s clear the yakuza members—besides Tomo—don’t care for Ronin. Maybe I want to befriend him because we’re in similar positions. If the rest of the Endo-kai knew my truth, they wouldn’t like me either.
I tuck a strand of loose hair behind my ear. “Indulge me,” I say.
Ronin bows his head just enough to show his gratitude. He holds chopsticks and studies the roll.
“Thank you,” he says.
He finally takes a bite, and the words come out before I can stop: “Tell me about yourself. You’re new in town or something?”
He nods as he finishes chewing. “I arrived from Tokyo a few hours ago.”
“Wow.” I sit up in my seat. “That’s a long flight.” He grunts in confirmation. “And you’re from the yakuza too?”
He lifts another piece of the sushi roll in the air, a drop of sriracha mayo dripping off the top. “Originally I was part of the Ito-gumi. I left permanently.”
There’s an iciness to his words. Something vicious happened, probably beyond his amputated finger. I nod, pretending like I know what that means.
Patrick motions for me. I stand up, but Ronin makes eye contact with me for the first time.
“There are more people watching you than you realize,” Ronin says.
My stomach drops to my feet, but Ronin holds my gaze, undeterred. He doesn’t trust me, then. My skin is probably as red as my hair, but I don’t know what to say.
I briefly glance at Patrick. He nods at me. Patrick and Uncle Jay would find a way to discredit someone like Ronin. And if I have to, I’ll do that too. At least around Kenzo.
“They’re watching you too,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “They cut their name into my uncle’s skin for touching one of their wives. Watch your back, or they’ll do that to you too.”
“But it’s more than that, isn’t it?” he asks easily, like torture doesn’t faze him. An uneasiness settles in my stomach. He continues: “An arranged marriage. So convenient your uncle touches one of their wives right when you arrive in Las Vegas.”
“We’re locals,” I blurt out. The lie burns in my throat, but my head bobs along, pretending like it’s real. “We’ve lived here our whole lives.”
“Watch your back,” Ronin says, his words calm and measured, as if he asked if I want another cup of coffee. “They may not see your angle, but I do.”
I got him a plate of food, and he wants to judge me like this?
“All right. You have a delightful meal,” I say sarcastically, gesturing at his plate. Ronin doesn’t move. He’s like a statue, judging me, waiting for me to make a mistake. I clench my palms, trying not to let him get to me.
Patrick pulls me off to the side and guides me to a set of large, red-leafed trees. From this spot, I can still see some of the guests, but a lot of them are obstructed by the foliage. My stomach flips. I’m glad to be away from Ronin, but I don’t like being alone with Patrick when he’s drunk and obviously amped up.
Give him what he wants, and he’ll leave you alone.
“Did you ask him yet?” Patrick asks. There’s a smoothness to his voice, like he’s actually satisfied for once, and I wonder if he’s already tried some Shabu-8.
“Here.” I grab the sample from my clutch, the one I stole from Kenzo’s pocket during the ceremony, and hand it to him. “Thought you and Uncle Jay would want this.”
I cross my fingers, hoping it gets Patrick off of my back, but he pockets it then strokes his fingers across my arm.
“But what about the business?” he asks, his salty breath billowing over my face. “I need to work soon, Vi. I can’t be sidelined for this long.”
I flex my fingers nervously. When Patrick isn’t involved in the jobs, he gets antsy and unpredictable. And from the day Uncle Jay secured my first date with Kenzo until now, he’s been begging for a way inside of the Shabu-8 trade.
I point to Ronin. “That guy basically threatened me if I betray the Endo-kai,” I whisper. “And you want me to get you into their drug business so you can steal meth from them?”
“No one’s going to kill you,” he laughs. “If someone tried, your husband would shoot the person’s dick off.”
“I saw my husband shoot someone in the head!” I hiss. “If they find out I got you a job dealing when I knew you were going to steal, they’ll kill both of us.”
A moment passes, and the clink of chopsticks, forks, and knives clatter through the air, a second layer of noise to the classic rock music playing from the hidden speakers. I hold my breath and hope fervently that he understands.
Patrick runs a palm over his face. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s been a long day.”
Relief washes over me. He’s not going to pressure me then. “Thanks. Me too. It’s?—”
He pulls me directly behind the tree, using it to block anyone from seeing us. My heart races as I search for a way out so I don’t have to be alone with him any longer. Where’s Uncle Jay?
The desire to run flashes in my mind, but I can’t draw attention to us. I won’t put Patrick in jeopardy, even if he is a jerk. He and Uncle Jay are the only constants in my life, and one day, situations like this won’t matter.
“Did you hear that? I think Kenzo is calling me,” I say, changing the subject. “Maybe we should?—”
“You keep avoiding this,” he says, his words curt. His fingertips skim my arms, sending goosebumps across my skin. Blood flutters in my ears, and a memory flashes in my mind.
Lying down. The room spinning. Patrick looking down at me.
Patrick wants to teach you a few things, Uncle Jay whispered in my ear. I’ll make sure he’s gentle, sweetheart. Don’t worry.
Patrick smiles. My insides curdle, and I bite my tongue.
“You want to be good to me and Uncle Jay, don’t you, Vi?” Patrick asks softly, and it’s the constant reminder of how I owe my life to them that keeps him on top of me. Holding me down. Smothering me.
But we just have to make it through this job, then we won’t have to do this kind of thing anymore.
“Of course,” I say quietly.
“Then tonight, you’re going to suck your husband’s dick. You’re going to pretend like you don’t know what you’re doing at first.” He licks his lips, and my stomach churns. “Use your teeth. Just a little. Make it so he believes you’ve never done it before.”
I keep my eyes off to the side, refusing to focus on him.
“Do you need me to teach you how?” he asks.
I briefly close my eyes and shake my head. “No.”
“All right. After he’s good and happy, that’s when you ask to bring me in.”
A set of eyes land on us. Cherry’s brown irises, her eyelids circled with black liner, are fixed on me. As she adjusts the red robe on her shoulders, her eyes narrow with suspicion, but then her gaze flickers down, seeing my balled fist and Patrick stroking my bare arm. I internally plead for her to come over here, but she peers around, searching for someone or something.
I swallow a dry gulp. I steady myself, pulling myself out of those foggy memories before they cause me to spiral out of control.
This isn’t a lesson, I tell myself. This is just ? —
“It’s easy, Vi. You can do it,” Patrick says. “And if you can’t pull it off, well…” My entire body freezes, and he leers. “I can teach you how to do it better next time.”
Anxiety weighs down on my shoulders, and I fidget nervously. I need a way out of this conversation.
Cherry taps Kenzo on his shoulder, and Kenzo spins around to address her, but his eyes immediately land on me. I’m mostly hidden behind the tree, but I pray to the gambling gods he’ll come over here soon.
Lightning fast and ready to strike, Kenzo barrels toward us.
My mind races, eager for his presence, and warmth flutters through my veins.
My husband is here.
How can a yakuza criminal comfort me this much?
But the yakuza cut Uncle Jay for touching the kanbu’s wife. What if he hurts Patrick for touching my arm? I just want to get away from him; I don’t want him to get hurt.
“Oh,” Patrick says. He pulls back and straightens his suit. “Here comes the groom.”