Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
FINN
My phone call with J is interrupted by a knock on the door.
I end the call abruptly and call out, “Hayato?”
Last night, Hayato and Ren brought me to Kurosaki’s acreage and escorted me to this room. They told me to wait for my father to call me.
At first, I eyed the large bed, the wooden desk, and the folding wooden door with suspicion, but as the night rolled on, I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
Figuring that Kurosaki could just as well kill me in my own bed as this one, I decided to take a short, hour-long power nap.
When I woke, Kurosaki still hadn’t summoned me, but Ren and Hayato were right outside the door. They asked if there was anything I needed, so I gave Ren a task to complete before J woke up and planned on using their absence to sneak out.
But it was clear, from the way Hayato followed me to the bathroom and the gazebo, that I couldn’t leave the compound until Kurosaki and I had a talk.
I’m starting to think that my new “protectors” double as my prison guards.
The knock sounds again.
Is Kurosaki finally showing up?
Unsure of what I’m about to face, I open the door and find a short, stout woman. She waddles into the cavernous room, carrying a bundle of clothes in her arms.
“Can I help you?” I arch a brow.
She shoves the clothes at me and speaks in rapid Japanese.
I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”
She points to the clothes and then to me, gesturing that I should take my shirt off.
“No, I’m good.”
She looks at me with eyes narrowed. Her gestures become more insistent, and she pulls at her own shirt, flapping it intently. Then she points at me.
“I…”—I speak slowly and cross my arms in an ‘x’—“don’t need it.”
Once I’m done with Kurosaki, I’ll shower at home.
Voice climbing, she moves her hands back and forth. We don’t speak the same language, but I understand a scolding when I hear one. Martina used to snap at us the same way after we ruined her freshly mopped floors by tromping into the house with our boots on.
I raise both hands. “Fine. Fine. I’ll change.”
She nods, sets the bundle of clothes on the bed, and gestures for me to follow her. I watch as she shoves the wooden folding door aside to reveal a bathtub. The tub sits on a raised platform and is surprisingly large, almost like it was bought with someone of my frame in mind.
She looks over her shoulder proudly at me, an eyebrow raised as if to say “huh? You like?”
I give her a curt nod. I prefer showers to baths, but I’m not going to be rude to an old lady.
The woman unrolls something from her shirt and shows it to me. It looks like a satchel. She fills the tub, drops the satchel inside, and then she pats at her shoulders and does a thumbs-up gesture.
“It’s… good for me?” I try to guess.
She nods, although I get the sense she didn’t understand a word I said.
When the tub is filled, she tests the temperature by swishing her hand in the water, and then she beckons me forward. While I hesitantly approach the tub, the tornado of a woman backs away and pulls the wall divider.
I stand there, waiting for the door to click shut, but it doesn’t. When the silence drags on too long, the woman bangs her hand on the divider and calls out in Japanese.
Seems like she’s not leaving until I’m naked.
I glance at the warm water in the tub. What the hell. I might as well.
Stripping off my clothes, I throw them on top of the divider. As soon as I set them down, they slither over the divider. When I’ve shed all my clothes, the woman says something else in Japanese.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks,” I mumble, confused.
Her footsteps pad silently away, and the door bangs shut.
Inching forward, I stick my toe into the water. Is it poisoned or something? I wait for a stinging or burning sensation, but it seems like a regular bath.
Cautiously, I dip my full body inside.
The water is the perfect temperature, and I’m surprised by how good it feels. I lean my head against the rim as the knots in my neck and shoulder loosen.
This isn’t too bad.
My thoughts travel as the silence settles around me and an herbal scent fills the air.
My brothers are always on my mind. I should text Dutch and Zane to let them know I’m okay. We didn’t end our call last night on the best of terms.
And Sol? In all this chaos, who knows what the hell he’s thinking? I need to convince him to see a therapist again before his penchant for fires burns all of us down with him.
Sensei. Maybe I should avoid going to his nursing home for a while. Jarod Cross was waiting outside for me. Which means he knows about my martial arts teacher. I can’t take the chance that Sensei gets dragged into this mess.
I sink deeper into the water, a hum of satisfaction on my lips. Sunlight filters through the window behind me, seeping past the divider. The golden hue reminds me of J’s blonde hair.
My lips curve up automatically. I expected some kind of response from her, but she sounded pissed that I’d taken her candy. She must have decided to end the cutesy act with me.
I can’t say I mind this fiesty version of her.
There’s another knock on the door.
Thinking it’s the laundry lady, I yell, “Come in!”
Heavy footsteps thud on the floor, and I stiffen immediately. Those are not the footsteps of a five-foot-one, one-hundred-pound Japanese woman.
My arms slosh into the water, and I push myself up.
“I did not realize you were still bathing.” Kurosaki’s voice cuts like an arrow through the wood divider.
Grabbing the towel hanging from the hook, I wrap it around myself.
“No need to rush on my account,” he adds.
I jump out of the tub so fast that water spills over the sides. Fumbling for the clothes the laundry woman set aside, I get dressed. It’s one thing to be caught off guard, but I’m also naked.
A double whammy.
My body’s still damp, but I don’t care as I wrench a long tunic-like shirt over my head, pull on long, loose pants, and step into the indoor slippers that Ren offered me before I could walk into the large Japanese-inspired villa.
Kurosaki waits near the large window overlooking the east of the property. It faces an orchard that Ren mentioned was meant to be cherry blossoms, but the transplanted trees didn’t take to the soil, so they never bloom.
At present, the cherry blossoms look like gnarled and haunted trunks that reach for the sky, claws shaking at the heavens and begging to be put out of their misery.
Kurosaki turns around. His face, as usual, is a serene mask. “Did you sleep well?”
A dark, unpleasant feeling digs into my chest. Every time Kurosaki shows up in front of me, the meeting rarely ends in a happy, father-son bonding moment.
“Fine,” I spit. Why is he pretending to be nice? What exactly does he want?
Kurosaki’s eyes slide over me. “The clothes suit you.”
I look down and realize that I’m wearing an outfit similar to his. My lips tighten in displeasure, and I pull at the sleeve, wondering if there’s any way I can get the laundry woman to return with my old clothes.
His sharp eyes follow the movement. “Do you need Kenji to see to the wound on your arm?”
“No.” I put a hand over my sleeve. The gauze J wrapped for me fell off a long time ago, so I’ve been tending to it myself.
Kurosaki’s gaze trails to the tub. “I asked Yuki to prepare a mugwort and perilla leaf herb tonic. It should help with your recovery. I will have her pack enough satchels with you to take back.”
Does he want a thank you? All of these injuries are because of him. I’m still recovering from that time his lieutenants beat me to a pulp, and it was his man who cut my arm with a knife during sparring practice.
“Come.” Kurosaki plants his hands behind his back. “Walk with me.”
I follow him through the door, my chest tightening.
When I’m around Kurosaki, I feel like I’m balancing on a tight rope. At any moment, I can make a wrong move and go plummeting, yet I have no choice but to keep moving forward, always with a knife at my back, waiting for that inevitable drop to the bottom or a stab from behind.
Hayato is outside the door, and he bows when Kurosaki walks past. We turn a bend, and there are more people in the hallway. They all acknowledge Kurosaki the same way.
He glances at my face. “You look upset. Do you dislike it?” He motions to one of the bowing lieutenants. “The respect shown?”
Is it respect or fear?
I look away rather than answer.
Kurosaki leads me through the front door and into a courtyard with neatly mowed grass. Cobblestone paths lead to different parts of the compound—the kitchen to the left, the training hall straight ahead, and a few more buildings that I haven’t seen yet.
“Westerners believe that life is about making yourself happy. The individual comes first.” He makes a low sound in his throat and squints into the sunlight. “Here, we believe that when everyone is happy, one is happy.”
Again, I don’t respond.
Kurosaki’s eyebrows pull close and down, creating a forehead crease. “Speak. I wish to hear your thoughts.”
Only a fool would think that was a request.
Everything in me itches to fight, even if the only rebellion is my silence. But the faster I get done with Kurosaki, the faster I can go home.
“I’m not going to mock your culture, the way you mock mine. I’ll get used to the bowing thing.”
He chuckles. “Your culture? Americans have nothing if not their pride.”
I frown.
He continues walking, still with that amused smirk. “Bowing is not only about culture. As the leader, I serve them and they serve me. We are servants of each other.”
“Then why are they the only ones who bow?” I point out.
“To be a leader is to bear a heavy burden.” He looks out at the horizon. “They are given a task to contribute to the mission. In exchange, I must protect, provide, and enrich each of their lives. They serve one to one. I serve one to many. This is the exchange.”
We pass one of the gnarled, flowerless cherry blossom trees.