Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
FINN
Kurosaki takes me to a dining room inside the compound, and I push in ahead, eyes scanning every inch of the place. Large windows. Wooden table. China closet.
No Dutch or Zane.
My head whips back and forth, frantically searching for my brothers. I check for adjoining rooms, but there are no doors.
The room is empty except for us.
I call Dutch again.
He doesn’t answer.
I call Zane next.
Nothing from him either.
“Where are they?” I ask in a still, threatening tone.
Kurosaki takes a seat at the long, wooden table. Its legs are trembling under the weight of a breakfast feast. Doughnuts, waffles, pancakes, heaps of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, and other pastries are laid out.
I slam my fist on the table. The silverware trembles, but Kurosaki doesn’t blink.
“If you hurt my people, if you touch even a single hair on their head, our deal is off. I will burn this place to the ground, and I will take you down with me.”
His lips form that amused half-smirk. “The food is getting cold.”
“Where the hell are they?”
Kurosaki gestures to the chair at the end of the table. “I prepared a Western feast as I figured your palate is more accustomed to that.”
My chest balloons and caves with each tortured breath.
“Sit,” Kurosaki repeats himself and there’s a bite to his tone.
The last thing I want to do is eat. My stomach is in knots, and it would all taste like ash, but I have no power here. Wrapping my fingers around the back of the chair, I pull it out and force myself to do as instructed.
Kurosaki shares a pastry with some kind of jam in the middle.
“I did not have a chance to raise you,” he says conversationally, as if we didn’t just fight in front of the cherry blossoms a minute ago.
“There were many things I missed out on. Teaching you how to tie your shoes. How to ride a bike. Small things, really. But when I saw a child, I always thought of you. You were never far from my mind. Here, try a scone.”
My jaw hardens.
He arches a brow, sees that I haven’t reached for the pastry, and then lowers the plate. With a long-suffering sigh, Kurosaki rests both elbows on the table and slides his fingers together.
“Your brothers are unharmed. For now.”
I bristle but refuse to let him needle me. Calmly, I look across the table and swear, “If that ever changes, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“They are not your blood.”
“I don’t need to share their blood. They’re my family.” I stare him down, daring him to debate me on that.
Kurosaki purses his lips as he reaches for a piece of toast. “I have no squabble with them.”
“Then why…?”
“Yesterday, their father took you somewhere without my permission.”
At first, I’m surprised he knows about that. But then I realize who I’m talking to. Kurosaki had Ren and Hayato following me for days, and I had no idea. Even his guards blended right into the shadows until they were ready to be seen.
Kurosaki takes a bite of the toast and then wipes his mouth with a cloth napkin. Raising a hand, he gestures for someone to enter the room.
Two men scurry in, pushing a large television monitor on a rolling desk. They leave the television in place, bow, and shuffle out quietly.
On the screen is surveillance footage of an empty Japanese restaurant. Dutch and Zane are walking in to greet Jarod Cross.
I scramble to the edge of my seat. “What is this?”
“Sh.” Kurosaki places a finger on his lips, and with his other hand, he opens his palm. Someone shuffles forward and puts a phone straight into his waiting hand.
Bringing the phone close, he commands, “Wave to the camera.”
Goosebumps pop on my skin when Jarod Cross raises his hand and starts waving.
“Who are you waving at?” Dutch’s voice sounds muffled from the television speakers.
Kurosaki mutes the television and speaks to the phone again. “Jarod, I’m grateful to you for raising Keiji. This is true. However, I am here now, and you must learn not to overstep your bounds.”
No sound comes from the phone.
This isn’t a two-way call.
I whip my gaze back to the television where Jarod Cross is sitting stiffly, shoulders hiked to his ears and his fingers clenched around his utensils.
“A king raised as a commoner will rule like a commoner. I do not blame my son for his lack of training. He is simply a king who does not know he is royalty yet.” Kurosaki points to his temple with a hand. “But I made myself clear. I am the one who will teach my son the truth.”
On the screen, Dutch and Zane are taking seats across from Jarod. They have no idea what’s going on.
“How dare you take him to that place of death before he was ready? How dare you teach my son to find joy in torture as if these things are what make a leader. Do you think I lack the men to train him in these matters? You must have forgotten how capable my people are with knives.”
I shudder, remembering Grey’s best friend Sloane. Her death was so horrific that her family couldn’t identify her remains without DNA testing.
“The things a leader must learn are things you can never teach him. Self-restraint. Strategy. He must be equally strong and flexible. He must learn to bide his time. Perhaps if you had attempted to teach him these things, but no…” His voice climbs. “You are so shortsighted and impatient…”
Kurosaki blows out an aggravated breath and collects himself. In a lower voice, he says, “You believed you could train him better than I could. This is what disappoints me. I am here now. I told you this. He is my son.”
My throat thickens to the point that I can’t swallow.
On the screen, Jarod Cross is becoming visibly red.
Kurosaki shakes his head. “Finn.”
I look across the table, my lips pressed tightly together.
He speaks in Japanese and then translates. “An eye for an eye. He took my son and taught him a lesson… without my permission. I should take his sons”—Kurosaki lifts a hand when I open my mouth to protest—“but, I will have him pay back in front of his sons.”
One of Kurosaki’s men takes the phone from him and brings it to the other side of the table where I’m sitting.
I want to skate away from the phone like it’s radioactive, but Kurosaki is watching me closely. Forcing myself to stay still, I take the device.
“You had no control that day.” Kurosaki picks up a knife and digs into his meal. “He will listen to everything you say until you are satisfied.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“The wine at his right hand is poisoned.” He selects a cut of kiwi. “At any moment, he can decide to drink it.”
I suddenly can’t swallow.
My eyes move to the television. Jarod Cross is still facing Dutch and Zane, but his eyes are on the camera. Shining. Defiant.
He’s waiting for me.
This moment doesn’t feel real. I’m in a sick and twisted reality. A bizzarro world.
“And if I don’t want to?”
“Then I will shoot him the way he shot at you. Perhaps a bullet will stray to someone else in the room. They would not be the target, but accidents happen.”
Bile rises in my throat.
“But I do not believe my son will waste this opportunity,” Kurosaki says with a confident grin. “I know of what Jarod Cross has done to your brothers. He has manipulated and used you all for his own selfish ambitions. I was an absent father, but he… he was not a good one.”
He’s not wrong.
“Go ahead.” Kurosaki gestures to me. “If you tell him to stab his own hand with a knife, he will do it.”
My heart thunders, but Kurosaki eats calmly, and it reminds me of how uncaring he was the day his lieutenants sent me to the hospital.
Speaking into the phone, I whisper, “Hello, Dad.”
His eyes dart to the camera as if he can see me.
“Remember when you told me to take off my mask?” I exhale shakily. “I hope you don’t regret that.”
Jarod Cross blinks rapidly…
“The first thing I want you to do is lift the wine glass,” I order.
On the screen, Jarod Cross hesitates.
“Lift. It,” I growl.
I can see him trembling as he curls his fingers around the wine and raises it to eye level.
Across the table, Kurosaki’s lips curl up.
“Now, pour the wine on the ground.”
Kurosaki’s victorious smile shifts to fury. The fork he had in his grip clatters to the plate, and his lips disappear into a thin line.
Jarod Cross wastes no time. He hurriedly pours out the wine.
Dutch and Zane look on in silent horror.
“Now,” I speak slowly and deliberately. “Tell Dutch and Zane to leave, get into their car, and drive straight home.”
Jarod says something to them. Dutch and Zane watch each other in confusion, but they both push their chairs away from the table and speed out of the restaurant.
“Enough!” He waves a hand angrily and someone comes to snatch the phone from me. Kurosaki snarls, “What a waste of an opportunity.”
“If you call me a leader, then don’t expect me to blindly follow orders.” I jut my chin at him. “Even yours.”
He grinds his teeth together. “I am trying to protect you.”
No, he’s trying to turn me into the very monster Jarod Cross wanted to see.
And maybe they’re both right. Maybe I will become a monster, but I won’t become a pawn in either Kurosaki or Jarod Cross’s hands.
I won’t ever be a monster on a leash.