23. Vi
CHAPTER 23
VI
It’s been a few days since the mirror room, but my hand reflexively goes to my neck. The red line circling it like a choker has faded to a purplish-blue. It’s vibrant and hypnotizing, always catching my eye in the mirror. It’s scary too. Especially when I think about how I got off on it. How I’d do it again.
The door bursts open, and Kenzo hums loudly. “There’s my wife,” he croons, and my heart stops.
Two uniformed men follow behind him, boxes in their arms.
“Over there is fine,” Kenzo says to the men, gesturing toward the dining table. “Thanks.”
My body aches just being near him, like I’m getting sensual flashbacks of every time he’s put his hands on me. All of my sexual experience had been blurry before, but nothing about Kenzo is muddled. The sex is always intense. I feel everything. His curved cock inside of me. The increasing pressure of his hand on my neck. His tongue roaming every inch of my skin.
It makes it hard to concentrate. Like right now.
The men set down the boxes. Kenzo tips them, and they leave. He winks at me from the kitchen, sucking down a glass of water.
“You finally finished moving in?” I joke.
He tilts his head. “It’s for you.”
I furrow my brows, but then I’m intrigued, and I pry through a box. Jars of different shapes and sizes shine back at me. The next is full of packets of wax flakes and wicks. There’s even a double broiler and a scale. The last box contains essential oils and fragrance oils, packaged in bubble wrap. My jaw hangs open. I’ve never seen so much candle-making material in one place. Uncle Jay always pressures us to save up for our dream house, reminding me we can’t keep that stuff in storage anyway. I’d only buy enough supplies to make one or two candles, then we’d leave the rest behind.
This is a small fortune to me.
“Why?” I whisper.
“You don’t like store-bought candles, so I figured this would work instead.”
Kenzo says it so matter-of-factly, it sends another wave of shock through me. It’s been over a year since I actually had the chance to make candles myself. Shock transforms into giddiness, my insides bubbling into pure mush.
“Why would you buy all of this?” I ask. Accusation flutters in my tone, when I should be grateful. It’s thoughtful, sweet, and out of the blue. But I’m not used to it. And when it comes to who I am—and what my job is here—I don’t deserve it. I’m in the middle of selling his business secrets, not becoming his actual wife.
“It’s not just for you,” Kenzo says. “I have a nose too.”
I glance at him for a second, taking in his look of satisfaction. There’s a softness to his brown eyes, and I want to melt to my knees right in front of him. Why is he so sweet when I’m a backstabber?
It makes it even harder to tell Uncle Jay what I’ve learned. He’s been calling me like crazy, fishing for leads, but I haven’t told him anything. I like having power over Uncle Jay for once. Uncle Jay can’t control me from inside the penthouse.
Kenzo can control me, though. Maybe I’m keeping secrets from Uncle Jay because I want to be around Kenzo for a little while longer.
“Who took your virginity?” Kenzo asks, breaking me out of my thoughts. A wave of heat rolls through me.
I hit my head. “So this gift is to get me to talk, huh?” I tease.
“It’s not a gift. It’s for both of us.” He runs a hand through his thick hair. I love that he keeps insisting it’s not a big deal. It’s sweet. The only candle in the house is the Gucci gift. He doesn’t seem to actually care about scents.
“I’m curious,” he says. “Enlighten me. Who took your virginity?”
Part of me knows I shouldn’t tell him the truth, but the other part of me wants to tell him exactly what happened. I owe it to him, and that’s even before the candle-making gifts.
Maybe I want to be closer to him.
I leaf through the oils, marveling at the potential scent combinations. In a quiet voice, I say, “Patrick.”
“Your cousin took your virginity?”
I don’t answer, pretending like I’m too busy paying attention to the oils, and I hope Kenzo knows Patrick and I may not even be first cousins. It’s hard to tell with our family tree—though I guess it’s still taboo either way.
“What happened?” Kenzo asks. There’s a gentleness in his voice I’m surprised he’s capable of. His eyes are a nurturing, rich brown that captivates me.
I go back to the box. “What’s your favorite scent?”
“Vi,” he says, his tone low and stern.
I grab the vial of coconut fragrance oil. “What about this and vanilla?” I ask. “It’ll be like a tropical paradise.”
“Vivian, tell me now.”
My cheeks are warm at my full name, but I keep rambling: “It’ll be good enough to eat. Like a coconut cake.”
I shouldn’t have said anything about Patrick. No matter how sweet or kind or attentive Kenzo is, he’s a job. He’s not safe. He’s not home.
So why can’t I stop myself from telling him the truth?
“I can get it out of you the hard way, but I prefer if you told me yourself,” he says as he grabs my wrist, then crouches down beside me until we’re looking into each other’s eyes.
I lower my eyes. As much as I enjoy the strangulation and vibrator combination, the idea of doing that just to get me to say some words about my past isn’t what I want to do right now. But it’s hard to explain. I can’t throw my family under the bus. Patrick and Uncle Jay may be jerks, but they’re all I have.
A sudden shift changes Kenzo’s face, rage fuming in his eyes. He flips around, racing for the door.
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” he says.
My heart beats so fast my chest hurts. Everything is tight. That’s what he meant by “the hard way?”
I race after him, but he’s already at the door.
“Kenzo! Please—” I grab his white suit jacket, yanking him back as hard as I can. “Don’t leave me,” I whisper. “Stay with me.”
He freezes in place. Seconds pass as I hold my breath. His shoulder shifts, and he relaxes. The front door’s lock clicks into place. Relief flows through me, and I push Kenzo towards the boxes of supplies at the dining table. I grab the right materials, then bring them into the kitchen, motioning for Kenzo to join me. Using the scale and the measuring cup, I weigh out what I need for one of the smaller jars.
“He doesn’t have the right to touch you like that,” Kenzo says.
I set the double broiler on the stove. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.
“And if you won’t tell me what happened, what am I supposed to think?”
He has a point, but I stay focused on the materials in front of me, finding solace in knowing these lumps of wax will eventually melt together and burn brightly. You just have to give them time.
Maybe that’s all I need right now: more time with Kenzo. More time to finish this job and forget I ever felt anything for him.
“Uncle Jay and Patrick didn’t have the best situation at home,” I say carefully. Inside of the double broiler, the wax melts down like little flakes of snow. “Patrick’s mom left Uncle Jay as soon as he was born, and the next woman—this fling my uncle had with a woman from Bakersfield—robbed them of everything they had. She even sent her husband to beat up Uncle Jay.”
And this was before he started conning. At least, that’s how the story goes. I used to never question it, but the older I get, the harder it is to make sense of the past. But like Uncle Jay always says, it’s best to focus on the future. On our dream house. You can’t change the past, but you can find the next step right in front of you.
I don’t tell Kenzo about the day Uncle Jay found me in the back of a car, how he saved me when my parents had just been killed, how he promised to never leave me. I don’t tell him Uncle Jay promised he would give me my dream house one day. A perfect home. If I only trusted him to take care of me.
Kenzo shifts beside me, his fingers tapping his side. I can tell that this—candle making and listening to someone before he makes a move—is uncomfortable for him. He needs to be moving. I understand that. But I also know he hasn’t left my side, and that means something to me. And because of that, I want to tell him the truth.
I continue: “I guess after everything Uncle Jay and Patrick went through, they both agreed that—” I pause. I’ve never shared any of this before. Bile burns at the back of my throat, and my body is stiff and sore. “They thought it would be best if I was exposed to it, you know? Better to give me a good experience before someone else forced it upon me. They wanted to make sure it was gentle.”
Back then, I could barely feel anything. They made sure I was drunk. Said it would make everything easier for me.
I’ll make sure he’s gentle, Uncle Jay had said. Don’t worry. Patrick is going to take care of you.
My stomach churns, and I let the memory fade.
“It’s just a different way to teach someone what’s out there,” I say. “They were protecting me.”
Kenzo stifles a sigh, like my words are searing his brain, and the truth is they’re hurting me too. I’ve never talked to anyone about this before, and maybe the only reason I’m telling Kenzo is because he’s not some oblivious con job or stranger I’ve run into. He’s a criminal, like me, and his past isn’t sunshine and daisies either. His forehead wrinkles, like he’s keeping his anger inside, and I squeeze his fingers. He stares at the melted wax with blank eyes, and my body prickles with pins and needles. My cousin took my virginity, and now Kenzo knows the ugly truth.
“Do you think I’m disgusting?” I whisper.
Finally, Kenzo looks up at me, his eyes wide. “Why would I think that?”
“Because you’re not my first. Because I had sex with my cousin. I’m tainted, and?—”
He puts a finger to my lips, silencing me. “Your cousin is the disgusting one. He’s a fucking piece of shit.”
Comfort simmers through my shoulders. I turn back to the materials and check the temperature of the wax. I add the fragrance oils and breathe in through my nose, taking in the scent. Coconut and vanilla, two of my favorites. As plain as they may be, it reminds me of summer, when it seems like nothing can hurt you. Like the beach. Like a cottage on the coast. A dream home you never want to leave.
“Whether he was truly ‘protecting’ you or not,” Kenzo mutters. “You don’t hurt your family like that.”
I curl my lips, gnawing on them. “They didn’t hurt me,” I argue. “Patrick was gentle. Uncle Jay coached him and made sure he was nice to me. It was supposed to prepare me for the real world, you know?”
So one of our jobs didn’t hurt me. So I didn’t cry when it actually happened, in case we had money on the line. I don’t tell Kenzo that though.
Kenzo shakes his head, and I can’t help but feel defensive of Uncle Jay and Patrick. They’re messed up, sure, but so am I, and so is Kenzo. I grab his arm, and Kenzo’s eyes impale me, an iciness etched into his expression. Pure, frigid rage.
I’m not sure why this bothers him—if it’s a jealousy thing, if he sees me as property, or if he has strong beliefs about what it means to be family—but I want him to understand where I’m coming from. I need my family as much as he needs the Endo-kai.
“They didn’t hurt me,” I repeat. “But some day, your family might hurt you, or you might hurt your family too. You won’t mean to do it, but you will. Sometimes, it’s the only way to move forward, you know?” I bob my head, trying to get him to agree with me, and finally, his chin lowers almost in agreement. “You have to move on. You have to see they’re still your family. That you’ll always be there for each other. That even if you hurt each other, it might be the best thing for everyone involved. It’s the only way a family survives.”
Kenzo lowers his eyes. Maybe he can relate.
“Your cousin is still a piece of shit,” Kenzo says.
“I never said he wasn’t,” I say, adding a little humor to my voice, but it’s lost in the conversation. Kenzo doesn’t even blink. “He did it to protect me, Kenzo,” I plead. “So that someone else didn’t hurt me first.”
Kenzo’s eyes meet mine, but there’s a barrier between us made of tall stones, so thick and strong, not even a boulder can break it.
“No,” he says.
“No what?”
“Did you want to fuck him, Vivian?”
When I was sixteen, I didn’t know what I wanted, only that I had to do what Uncle Jay and Patrick told me. I was drunk and numb, and their logic seemed fine. How could I tell my own family “no” when they just wanted to protect me? When my whole life was comfortable and safe because they had done everything for me? Uncle Jay always looked out for me, and he said it was okay.
I start: “That’s not?—”
Kenzo grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. A lightning bolt of warning charges inside of him, his eyes burning like hot coals, ready to set the world on fire.
“It’s a yes or no question, Vivian,” he says. “Did you want to fuck him?”
I gawk like an idiot, but it’s not that simple. The truth is I agreed. Verbally. I didn’t really have a choice.
But did I want it? Maybe not.
I lower my eyes, and Kenzo lets go of me. “I knew it,” he growls, irritation leaking into his voice again. “I fucking knew it.”
“Knew what?” I ask, annoyance building inside of me too. “I didn’t say anything.”
“He raped you.”
“No, he didn’t. He was protecting me?—”
“Did you want it, Vi?” he asks again. “Agreeing because you think you have to do something and agreeing because you actually want to do it—those are two different things, aren’t they?”
“I-it wasn’t rape,” I stammer. “Besides, what about us at the gala? On the balcony? In the mirror room?” I shove it back in his face. “That wasn’t exactly ‘nice’ now, was it?”
“I gave you outs.” He grits his teeth. “You inched closer to me. You told me to choke you. You agreed to the game. I even had you mark your exits at the gala in case you wanted to run. If you ran, I never would have come after you. Do you remember what I said? That your uncle had already paid for his debts? Our relationship was never about him.”
He shakes his head, and I know he’s right. It’s always been different with Kenzo. I’ve always wanted him, even when I knew I shouldn’t.
“Rape comes in different forms,” he continues. “It can even be gentle. Sometimes, it’s with the people who are closest to you. Just because Patrick is nice to you, it doesn’t excuse his behavior. If you didn’t want it, and he did it anyway, it’s rape. ”
A dull ache settles in the bottom of my stomach. Was it rape?
I don’t want to do this, I had whispered to Uncle Jay. Please. Another night.
We don’t have time, Uncle Jay said. We’re entertaining Mr. Berger tomorrow, and he wants to meet you.
In that memory, my eyes shifted to Patrick. His pink cock dangled between his legs like a pendulum. The room spun around me.
You kissed that guy, Patrick said. Why am I any different? At least you know I won’t hurt you.
Vomit crept in my throat, but I swallowed it down, knowing they were right. I had to do this before I met with their “friend.”
I looked at Uncle Jay, begging him with my eyes to make it stop.
If you think it’s okay, then okay, I said, nodding my head, tears in my eyes.
He’ll be nice, Uncle Jay had said, stroking my hair. Better him than someone else, sweetheart.
Nice. Patrick was always nice to me.
Kenzo grunts, and I’m back in the penthouse. My head is floating, and I lean on the kitchen counter, balancing myself. Kenzo grips an arm around me, keeping me steady, but the room spins, and I close my eyes.
Kenzo can be soft, but he’s not a nice man. I don’t want to lose myself in that memory anymore. I just want this to be over.
“Just be nice. Please,” I beg Kenzo. Tears sting my eyes. “He’s your family too.”
And at that, Kenzo rubs a hand across his face.
“Family,” he mutters. “You and I have different definitions of what it means to be family.”
I cross my arms, eager to shift the conversation. “All right. Then what does family mean to you?”
“Being there for someone, no matter what crosses your path. Putting them first.” He brushes the red hair out of my eyes. His gaze is tender again, but it’s at war with the furious coals inside of him fighting for dominance.
He wants to save me, but he wants to kill my definition of family too. And he can’t do both.
“And what if Uncle Jay and Patrick were just protecting me?” I ask.
“Then they would kill anyone in the world who hurt you,” he says calmly. “It’s as simple as that.”
He kisses my forehead, and there’s a reluctance in his eyes that makes my stomach twist in knots. I understand what he’s saying, but he doesn’t understand me. Patrick is still my family, and Uncle Jay only suggested we have sex that night to protect me in case Mr. Berger was cruel to me. They wanted my first time to be nice.
I never met Mr. Berger. Not that I remember. Maybe Uncle Jay protected me from him.
“I’ve got a meeting to make,” Kenzo says. He pushes himself toward the front door.
“Right now?”
“We can’t keep Golden Honor Firearms waiting, and I’ve got other errands to run.”
Kenzo heads toward the door. My stomach curdles.
Errands to run. I know what that means.
“Don’t hurt him,” I shout frantically. Kenzo stops at the door. “Please,” I beg.
“I don’t make promises. I make deals, baby.”
“Then what do you want?”
We stare at each other for a moment, but I’m desperate for an answer. For anything to stop him from hurting my cousin. I plead with everything I have.
“Just be nice to him,” I say. “Please, Kenzo.”
“I only care about keeping you safe.”
With that, the door closes behind him, and I find my phone. It’s not over, and I don’t know what’s going to happen next.
I should warn Patrick. Kenzo may hurt him—he may even kill him—and that would emotionally gut Uncle Jay.
Uncle Jay. I have to tell him.
I call. It rings once, then he answers.
“Jesus Christ, Vi. Where the hell have you been?” he asks.
I swallow a breath. “I’ve?—”
“You got anything for the client? They need answers before they transfer the first payment,” he grumbles. “You’d think that with their culture, they’d be more polite than this, but no, their courteous reputation runs out the door when they want something from you. But they need a sample, you know? A little taste of what we can give them. What do you have for me?”
Bitter acid twists in my throat. He didn’t even ask how I’ve been in my new married life.
I guess I thought Uncle Jay would be more worried about what Kenzo was like as a husband, but he’s not. It’s always about business. And maybe that’s all my virginity was to Uncle Jay—a business decision to make sure I wouldn’t mess up when it came time to my first date with a “friend.” Maybe that’s why I was always so drunk. I couldn’t complain. Not very loudly, anyway.
I bite my tongue. I don’t want anything to happen to anyone, but I also don’t want Kenzo to get hurt. If I tell Uncle Jay I told Kenzo about that night, he’ll freak out. I was never supposed to tell anyone about our family secrets, but now, Kenzo knows, and Kenzo is digging deeper into my heart.
I’m ruining everything, but I have to say something. I have to make this job worth it.
“Tell them about Legendary Analysis,” I say, remembering the notes I found in Kenzo’s office. “It’s a testing kit company.”
I hang up before I’m forced to say anything else. A minute passes, and I brace myself.
My stomach aches. I’ve never been on this side of a con; I’ve always been on the outside, finding information to help Uncle Jay and Patrick manipulate “friends” into giving them money. But worse than that, I didn’t say anything to protect Patrick.
I run to the toilet and vomit. I close my eyes, pleading Kenzo will be nice to Patrick, just like Patrick was nice to me.