20. Vi
CHAPTER 20
VI
As soon as I lock eyes with Kenzo, I realize I should have closed the office door, but I was so eager to flee the scene of my snooping, I forgot. My throat aches, but Kenzo smiles at me, lifting up a thick candle. Gold and red metal encases the wax; Gucci is written on the front.
Gucci.
Gucci makes candles?
I inhale deeply, taking in the citrusy scent. It’s a paraffin wax with a long wick. It’s sweet of him, and maybe this gift means we’re onto something. If he actually likes me, then I can get more information out of him and figure out what he’s doing with the firearms company.
“Thank you,” I say.
He cocks his head to the side. “You don’t seem impressed.”
“I am.” I lift my shoulders. “It’s just?—”
I stop, because my thoughts are pretentious. Still, I can’t stop my brain. A designer clothes company makes clothes, not candles. It’s a nice candle, sure, but I know how to make them better.
“What?” Kenzo says. “Don’t leave me hanging.”
“I can probably make a better candle myself,” I say.
He licks his lips, genuine curiosity flickering in his eyes. “You make candles?”
I shrug. I guess it’s not every day you meet someone who likes pouring wax.
“I dabble.” That’s downplaying it, but I don’t want to seem like a weirdo. My cousin likes to tease me about it.
“Interesting,” Kenzo says.
I roll my eyes playfully. He smacks my ass, and I yelp. His laughter floods the room, that infectious noise sending heat straight to my thighs. I like this—whatever this is—with him, but I need to focus on finding information before he distracts me again.
“How was work?” I ask.
“Stockholder’s meetings can be dry. Gotta figure out what they’re after before I make my move.” He scans the living room. “What’d you do today?”
“I was decorating,” I say. It sounds right. “Thought you may want some help unpacking.”
“Don’t bother. My driver will take you around the city. We can find a new place to move into next month.”
My neck tingles. Does he move every month?
He flies down the hallway, and I bound after him. I need to stop him before he gets to the office.
“I get to pick the next rental?” I ask as I chase after him.
“We’ll switch off.”
“What about in the Fremont area? What if?—”
He stops at the office, furrowing his brows. My stomach clenches as he closes the door, using his phone to lock it.
“Were you in here?” he asks.
I could tell him about Niko unlocking it, but then that would show I knew it was locked before Niko visited. I don’t want him to know I was searching his space thoroughly. On top of that, Kenzo must know every time I lie, so I make up a half truth: “I wanted to decorate.”
His tongue swipes over his lips as he studies me, like he knows there’s something else to it, not just the interior design instincts.
Before he can figure it out, I change the subject: “Your record collection. Did you collect those from your targets over the years? Trophies from your victims?”
He laughs and goes into the master bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt. His chest is chiseled with muscle, and it’s obvious he takes pride in his body, but it’s the tattoos that take my breath away. Every inch, from his neck down to his groin, is covered in koi fish, flowers, and dark ocean waves. We fucked on the balcony yesterday, but this is the first time I’m seeing him naked. Even with the mix of blue, orange, and purple, there’s an ominous tone to his body.
He’s a masterpiece, and a killer.
And I gawk at him like a drooling idiot.
“You think all we do is steal?” he asks, taking off his shoes. “Just like you stole the sample out of my pocket, huh?”
Heat ripples in my cheeks. He smirks at my dropped jaw.
“It’s not like law-abiding citizens are the only ones who value hard work,” he says. “Our yakuza works hard too.”
He’s right. Uncle Jay, Patrick, and I work hard in our own ways, even if we are criminals too.
“So where’d you get the record collection, then?” I ask.
“It was a present.”
He sits down on the mattress and spreads his arms, shifting his weight on the bed like nothing in this world can disturb him, and that peace unsettles me. Normally, you can see a person’s weaknesses when they’re in their own homes—they’re too comfortable to hide them—but Kenzo acts like he has the world at his feet. Like I’m simply another vinyl record he’ll play.
“Tomo gave it to me when I officially joined the yakuza,” he explains. “A sakazuki gift.”
His tone carries weight. Sakazukigoto, the sake ceremony he mentioned at the reception. The record collection isn’t solely about music, then. It’s a visible demonstration of his bond with Tomo. A man who has taken care of Kenzo like his own blood.
“For joining the Endo-kai?” I ask. “The Endo-kai is your family then.”
“It’s the only thing worth fighting for.”
A warm heat builds in my stomach, flaming tendrils licking my heart. What “family” means to me has changed over the years, but I respect Kenzo for holding up the Endo-kai like that.
“Niko was here,” I say.
Kenzo’s brows lift in amusement. “Did he give you a hard time?”
I press my lips together, formulating a quick answer. “He made a sandwich or something.”
“That fucker is always after my food.”
I laugh, maybe a little too hard. I should tell Kenzo that Niko was the one who unlocked the office door, but I keep it inside. If I tell him, he’ll know I checked to see if it was locked earlier. On the one hand, it may be natural for a just-married wife to explore her new home. On the other hand, it seems too risky to admit I was looking around the place, like that truth will somehow prove I wasn’t actually decorating.
“By the way,” I say quietly. “My cousin wants to work for you.”
I shouldn’t be doing this. Too many people working on a job means there are more opportunities to mess up. But if Patrick works on the drugs, we’ll have some extra cash, and soon, we’ll be somewhere tropical and warm. And then I can even start my own family. A job like this won’t matter.
“You want him to smuggle guns?” he asks, amusement in his voice.
I grimace. Patrick can handle that, but gun smuggling is not something I want on my conscience.
“I was thinking more like your other product,” I say sheepishly.
“Shabu-8.”
I play with the hem of my shirt. “Yeah.”
His eyes study me. My cheeks warm.
“For a virgin, you sure know a lot about the Endo-kai,” he says.
“Being a virgin and being na?ve aren’t the same things,” I say. “Besides, I’m not a virgin anymore.” And I haven’t been since I was sixteen, but he doesn’t know that.
A grin is plastered on his face. He likes when I quip back at him.
“You end up trying the Shabu-8?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Drugs aren’t my thing.”
“Nah. You just like the thrill of stealing then.” He winks. Even though I’m in a loose top and leggings, his eyes drink me in, my nipples pebbling. “You think he can sell for me?”
I tilt my head to the side. “He’s a bonehead, but he’s good for it.”
And by good for it, I mean he’s good for our family and not yours.
“All right,” he says. He straightens, and relief flows through me.
That’s it? He’s already agreeing?
“Really?” I ask.
“Better to keep an eye on him. Gotta look out for my family.”
A flicker of guilt runs through me. What does he mean by that? It seems unlikely he considers Patrick his family after the chat they had at the reception, so maybe he means he’s looking out for me. That I’m his family.
My cheeks redden at the thought, but I know it’s not that. It’s more likely Kenzo knows we’re actually working against the Endo-kai right now, and he wants to keep an eye on all of us. Maybe he’s keeping me and Patrick close to him so he can kill us quicker.
My gut sinks with anxiety.
“Come here,” Kenzo says.
Heat boils inside of me at those simple words. His muscles gleam, and I want to run my hands over his hard body. His brown eyes are deep and completely focused on me. With every passing hour, Kenzo wraps his claws around me, tightening his grasp on my composure. And if this is the beginning, I’m scared to know what the end will be like.
But I carry myself forward, that darkness calling to me. I need to do this. For my family. For Uncle Jay and Patrick. For our dream house. Sandy beaches. Calming ocean waves. A paradise that will never disappear.
I stand between his legs, and he runs his palms up and down my thighs. Goosebumps flash across my arms.
“Why are you here?” Kenzo asks.
The question strikes a match inside of me. Panic swells in my throat, but I shove it down, pretending to be surprised.
“What?” I ask. “What do you mean?”
“Are you working for your uncle?”
I blink at him. “I’m sorry. What?—”
He twirls us around and hurls me against the bed. One of his large hands clutches around my throat while the other reaches up my shirt, manipulating my breast. A shiver rolls through me. The threat of violence is there, but stupid, stupid me is hot all over, full of desire. He’s not supposed to have this kind of power over me, but god, I love the way he’s got me trapped under his body, and I forget everything I’m supposed to do.
“I want to know why a girl like you is running around with your uncle,” he says in a low voice. His fingers pinch my nipple, and the soreness from last night surfaces, my nerves giving into the delicious ache. “You’re too smart to be letting your uncle take care of you. You should be on your own. Dating. Having fun. Living your life. So answer me this.” He pauses, letting those words settle between us. “Are you taking care of him, or are you working for him?”
Fear simmers in my veins. He knows I’m lying, and he hates liars.
You knew from the beginning this is a bad idea, my brain scolds. Bad idea. Bad idea. You freaking idiot.
But Kenzo’s fingers continue playing with my nipple, mixing soft caresses with flickers of pain, and the panic melts away.
That’s the messed up thing. With Kenzo, I’m helpless, but I want to be helpless. Why does he do this to me?
Suddenly, he pushes himself off of the bed. I stare at the ceiling, my mind completely blank.
“Are you going to answer?” he asks.
I should lie, but I don’t. When it comes to my family, I’m usually the one saving their asses by finding out information they can use to their advantage. I’m the one who reminds them when it’s time to get the hell out.
Maybe I am taking care of them.
“I don’t know,” I say. And really, I don’t. Sometimes, it feels like I don’t even know who I am anymore. But I know I have my family, and I can’t let anything happen to them. If I left, who would take care of them?
Who would take care of me?
A smirk rolls over Kenzo’s face, like he’s messing with me. But he’s not. He’s simply giving me a chance to relax.
For now.
“Get dressed,” he says. “I’ve got a game for you.”