34. Vi
CHAPTER 34
VI
I wake up to an empty bed, silence smothering me like a sack of heavy weights. Kenzo always wakes up and goes to work before I even stir, but this time, it seems different. There’s no text message waiting on my phone, telling me where he is and when he’ll be back. There’s no scent of apple pie in my nose, a breakfast sweet he’s gotten for me. It feels like I’m alone.
“Hello?” I ask.
No one answers.
After I slip into a nightgown and shuffle on some slippers, I wander through the penthouse. One of the spare bedrooms catches my eye. The windows have been covered with black tarps, and there’s a red light glowing in the middle of the room. A video camera.
Kenzo sits on a chair in front of the camera, handcuffs dangling from his fingers. My chest tightens, not because of the handcuffs, but because of his expression. His brow is pinched, like it’s taking everything inside of him to keep his rage in check, and as he stands and steps closer to me, my heart palpitates. I fidget with the loose fabric of my nightgown, trying to calm myself, but it doesn’t work. His body covers me in a deeper shadow.
“Sit,” he orders.
I cross my arms over my chest. I don’t mind following orders—in fact, I like when Kenzo gives them—but when I don’t know what I’m getting myself into, it makes it harder to obey. How is it that last night we fell asleep in each other’s arms, and now, he’s treating me like I’m just another yakuza victim?
“Why?” I ask.
He tilts his head, his chin held high. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. I’ve seen that face before. When he came home from killing Patrick. He’s the cruel Kenzo now, the one who won’t think twice about bloodshed.
“I trust you,” he says, but his words are cold and flat. Like he’s mad at me.
My stomach quivers. Stop overreacting, I tell myself, but I can’t stop my thoughts: Kenzo is lying for once.
“Don’t you trust me?” he asks.
Before I can answer, he lunges forward. Instinct pulses through me, and I run. Kenzo wouldn’t hurt me—I don’t think so, at least—but he’s still part of Endo-kai. Did he finally figure out my uncle and I have been plotting against him? Maybe he knew all along.
I fling myself down the hallway, almost making it to the front door when he pulls on my hair, and I crash to my knees. We’re both grunting, and I fight, but he rips off my nightgown. I’m naked, and the stench of my fear floats between us, rancid with sweat. He laughs.
“So my little slut likes being chased,” he says, mistaking my scent for arousal.
“You son of a?—”
I use my legs to knock his shins. He trips, just barely, but it gives me enough time to get to my feet. But he grabs me again, pulling me down to my hands and knees, then he uses his weight to keep me still. Once my wrists are behind my back, he locks the handcuffs into place. His cock digs into me, right between my ass cheeks, and I scowl.
“Is this a game?” I ask somewhat hopeful, but I know the answer. This isn’t a game. This is business. This is about the Endo-kai.
He yanks the short chain between the handcuffs, leading me like a dog, and the metal digs into my wrists. Once we’re in the black room, he forces me down onto the cold metal seat, then binds my chest to the chair. He closes the door behind us.
We’re swallowed in darkness, and the glowing red light is the only thing I can see. I kick my ankles against the chair, the metal banging around us. He didn’t tie my legs down. I can still run.
And how would you open the door? I argue with myself. You can’t exactly use your hands.
But my mind can’t concentrate. My head is pounding. How much does he know? How did he find out? And how can I convince him I’m on his side?
“How many people do you think are watching you right now?” he asks.
I’m naked and bound, and he’s letting the world see me like this?
“You’re live-streaming this? What the hell, Kenzo? This is?—”
A stinging sensation zips through me, making my bones curl inside of each other. If it weren’t for the chair, I’d collapse. The electricity stops, and by the time I can think again, I don’t sense him anywhere. I blink, trying to focus on something, to at least see where he is, but it’s so dark and still. I clear my throat just to hear something.
“You love being watched, don’t you, slut?” he asks. “How many men do you think are jerking off to your torture right now?”
“Torture?” I scoff. “You fucking creep.”
“Do you think they’re fucking their palms as I beat the answers out of you? Do you think they wish they were the ones beating and fucking your cunt right now?”
Is he really letting people watch this, or is he messing with me? And why—oh god, why— does that turn me on?
“Kenzo—”
“Who are you working for?”
“Working for?” I gawk, my jaw hanging open. “Jesus Christ, Kenzo. You can’t just?—”
Electricity zaps through me again, and I can’t breathe. The pain curls through every joint in my body, taking every ounce of control with it. Then it’s gone, and a buzzing device hums between my legs. A damn vibrator. I thrust it off of the chair, and Kenzo scowls.
“Which would you rather choose? The vibrator or the zapper?” he asks.
My stomach drops. I shift my hips back, opening my legs. He presses the vibrator against my clit.
“That’s what I thought,” he says with smug satisfaction. “I’m going to ask again.” His words are slow this time, so I don’t miss anything. “Who are you working for?”
“I don’t work for anyone.”
This time, a different electric heat courses through me—the tip is sharper, more intimate, but the shock is gone as quickly as it came. But the point of contact on my thigh burns. That sharp pain hits me again in a different spot, then again, and again, dotting little bites of electricity all over my legs. How many electric torture devices does he have hidden in this room?
“All right,” he says. “Who is Jay working for?”
My breaths are short and clipped. Uncle Jay. He’s bringing Uncle Jay into this. Any glimmer of hope this is a game dies inside of me. This is very real. My uncle is in trouble, and somehow, it’s my fault.
“Jay?” I stutter. “My uncle?”
The sharp pain zaps my other thigh, and I impulsively press my legs together. The vibrator rattles like a woodpecker against the chair, sending waves of confusing pleasure to my clit.
“Is it too hard to think right now, little slut?” he says playfully. “With all of those men jerking off to you, you can’t answer any questions. All you want is to give them a good show.” He chuckles darkly. “Maybe this will help.”
The vibrator moves, pressing against my clit at a different angle, and then his two fingers shove inside of me, prying me wide, and I’m on fire. Every inch of me. Every exposed piece of skin. Every single nerve ending. I try to zone out, to not give him what he wants, but all I can do is keep my eyes on the red light, knowing that someone is watching me, that Kenzo wants my humiliation and torture and pleasure on display for others to see. My cheeks tingle with desire, and I hate it— hate it —but I can’t stop the pleasure from building inside of me. His fingers curl even deeper, reaching my tender spot, and when his mouth reaches the top of my thigh and his teeth dig into me, right where the zapper buzzed my skin, I scream. The sensations are too intense, and I can’t stop it anymore. The orgasm convulses through me, not letting go until it’s finished with me.
Then, I’m covered in sweat, nearly slipping from the metal chair, and I listen for Kenzo’s satisfied growl, but it’s quiet. His fingers move inside of me again, and I whimper. It hurts. I’m too sore to do this again, but he doesn’t listen to my cries.
“Please,” I whisper. “Please. I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” he says.
He shoves a third finger inside of me. The force breaks through me, and everything feels good and hurts, and my brain is overwhelmed with the need to come again. I want to come so this will stop, and somehow, deep inside, I don’t want it to stop. But what I want doesn’t matter. Whether I’m in bliss or complete pain, Kenzo will take what he wants from me. And that makes me feel safe. Wanted. Needed. Useful.
But he’s torturing me. Interrogating me. Prying me open for information. I’m so screwed right now.
“Press your thighs together,” he demands. “Keep the vibrator in place.”
My thighs shake against the vibrator as he manipulates me with those three thick fingers. A warm tingling sensation fills my cheeks. I’m his puppet; he’s controlling me from the inside. Electricity jolts through me, my pussy clenching so tightly around his thick fingers that a tear slips down my cheek. My muscles beg for relief as I cry, but he doesn’t stop finger-fucking me. Then he zaps me again, and again, until he pushes me closer to the edge, and my pussy gushes with liquid and my brain is full of pleasure and shame.
I came. Again. From him forcing another orgasm out of me. And I liked it.
He pulls his fingers out, and my skin is so tender I whimper as his hands leave me.
“That’s all it takes, huh? A little fingering, and your cunt explodes for me,” he says. I can’t see anything, but I can hear it—his hands running over fabric. Is he touching himself? “You can always give me another one, can’t you, slut? You whine and complain, but when it comes to my power over your cunt, you give me anything I want.”
“Kenzo,” I pant, hating how desperate I sound. “Please. I can’t?—”
“No one is stopping you from running, Vi. You may not have your hands, but you can figure out a doorknob like that. Go on.” He grunts, and anger seeps into his tone. “Go ahead. Run away.”
My stomach drops, but I don’t move.
I don’t want to run. I want him. I want Kenzo’s arms around me. I want my home back.
“Who are you working for?” he asks once again in that calm and measured tone. This side of him—the controlled side—scares me the most.
“I-I—” I stammer, “I don’t know!”
He lets out a low chuckle, then I hear him shuffle with unknown objects in the corner.
“If pleasure doesn’t work, then I’ll resort to other methods,” he taunts.
Pins and needles prickle my skin, and rancid fight-or-flight pheromones stink up the air around us. Kenzo takes a deep breath in, savoring my musky fear, and my gut churns. If this is pleasure to him, then what are the other methods?
He clicks a button, and the room lights up with a spark of electricity. The crack rings through the air, making me jump out of my skin. Terror shoots through me.
“Is that a cattle prod?” I shout. “I’m not an animal! Be reasonable, Kenzo. Fuck?—”
He steps closer, and I tremble. What does Kenzo want me to say? Uncle Jay already asked him about guns. Uncle Jay knows about Golden Honor Firearms.
What more does Kenzo want?
“ Who are you working for?” he says, violence hammering through his words. His leg presses against mine, and the metal tip of the cattle prod scrapes against my leg. “I’m not going to kill you, Vi, but I can make life very, very painful for you. You’ll wish you were dead.”
“Kenzo, please?—”
“Same goes for your uncle. I will make him feel every second of my wrath. You have three seconds to give me some information I can use.”
“You can’t,” I cry out. “Please. Not Uncle Jay.”
“One,” he counts.
“Uh—”
“Two.”
I try to think. Anything to appease him. Just this once?—
His voice is low, “Three?—”
“Legendary Analysis!” I shout. I’m out of breath, but I spill those words as fast as I can: “Legendary Analysis. They hired us to come after you. They wanted to be on top of you before you came after them.”
“Legendary Analysis,” Kenzo mutters as he mulls it over. “Mark Ronald?”
I’m quivering with relief. He’s taking the bait.
“I-I don’t know his name,” I say, hoping this half-truth will be enough. In reality, I don’t know who our client is, or why they want the firearms deal. But I have to give Kenzo something so he trusts me again. “Uncle Jay is the one who spoke with him. I’m just supposed to figure out what your plan is. They want to break up your deal with Golden Honor Firearms. They think it’ll give them more power over you.”
A minute passes, but eventually, Kenzo unlocks my handcuffs and helps me stand. My legs vibrate back and forth with weakness. I have no choice but to lean on him as I hobble out of the room. I’m fragile from the electricity and the forced orgasms, but I’m alive. It was scary as hell, and maybe I’m an idiot, but I still don’t think Kenzo will kill me.
But he will hurt me. You’ll wish you were dead, he said.
I swallow the fear, then turn to Kenzo. His lips are sealed. No matter how hard his dick is, his emotions don’t leak through.
I look forward, calming myself. Uncle Jay is going to be okay. We can still find our dream house. Kenzo is satisfied. For now.
So why do I feel like the dream house isn’t the same anymore?
I can’t let those thoughts enter my head. Not after everything Uncle Jay and I have sacrificed to be here.
“Who was watching?” I ask, switching gears. “On the livestream. Was it public?”
Kenzo ignores my question, escorting me to the kitchen. Once I’m resting on a chair, he pours two glasses of water, taking one for himself. The other glass he leaves on the counter, almost as if he wants me to stay hydrated, but he knows he shouldn’t care like that.
There’s a wall between us now; I can feel it. I may be able to touch and hear him, but it’s different now. He’s closed off to me.
“Kenzo?” I ask. His brown eyes are dark and lost. “Are you mad at me?”
He scoffs, or at least, it sounds like he does, then he walks to the door. He holds it open.
“Why aren’t you running?” he asks.
I know I should, but my heart is stuck. Uncle Jay is my family, but Kenzo is my home. I don’t want this to be how we end things.
I feel so pathetic right now, but I need reassurance. I need to hear Kenzo say whatever that was back in the black room—that it’s over now. That everything between us is fine.
“Are we okay?” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer.
I sink inside of myself, my posture slumping. I head back toward the master bedroom. In the windows, the sun shines, peeking over the desert landscape, and my whole life feels like it’s been shaken inside of a snow globe. This is still me. We’re still in Kenzo’s penthouse. And we’re still alive. But nothing is the same anymore.
I want to sleep. I tell myself when I wake up, Kenzo will be singing in the kitchen again, making miso soup from a packet. We’ll eat hundreds of bowls until we both feel like we’re ourselves again.
But that’s not how this works.
Footsteps thud on the ground behind me. I tense as Kenzo’s hand lands on my shoulder. I spin around and wrap both of my arms around him in a hug, refusing to let go. He stiffens like I’m a stranger. Still, I don’t let go. If he can force orgasms out of me, then I want a fucking hug.
Finally, his shoulders relax, and he hugs me back.
“Vi?” he asks quietly. The distance is still in his eyes, but there’s something else there too. Hurt. Pain. Regret. Does he feel bad about what he did to me? “If you’re lying, innocent people will suffer.”
Suffer.
It’s a euphemism, and I know that. But I tell myself it’s okay. I should care, but after losing everything—my mom, my dad, my house, my life—and learning to live again with Uncle Jay and Patrick, I can’t think of anyone else besides my family. And those innocent people aren’t my family. They aren’t my home. I don’t care what happens to them, as long as Uncle Jay is okay.
But that’s a lie too.
Nausea twists in my stomach. I mumble out two words: “I know.”
And with that, Kenzo gently pulls himself away from me. The emotions creep in. Loneliness. Fear. Guilt.
I said the name of that company to save myself and Uncle Jay, and now, innocent people will die. And it’s my fault. I lied.
“I’ve got business to take care of,” Kenzo says. “I’ll see you later.”
My skin is clammy, but I’m too stunned to say anything else. He closes the front door, and it locks behind him, keeping me caged inside, where I’m safe. There’s no way out anymore.
In the bathroom, I fall to my knees and vomit. I’m alone again, and I don’t know what to do.