Page 107 of Dangerous Deceit

“Kenzo was right,” I say. My body constricts with nerves, and I laugh, every muscle in my body pulsing. “You don’t care, do you?”

“About what?”

“About me!”I shout. “You say this is about vengeance, but it’s an excuse. You hardly even cared when your own son died at the hands of the yakuza. You probably wouldn’t care at all if they killed me too!”

“You’re not going to die,” Jay scoffs. “Kenzo loves you too much. The dumb bastard.”

Love.Real love.

Giving your wife and her crappy fake uncle twenty-four hours to skip town isn’t the sweetest way to show you love someone, but it’s the only way Kenzo can save me.

And Kenzo didn’t lie about that.

“Did you get a car yet?” Jay asks. “Let’s go.”

I stand in front of him. Jay tries to go around me, back into the building, but even as he jumps into the street, I block his path. Cars swerve around us. I don’t let him pass me.

“We’re not going,” I say.

His forehead furrows, and his swollen eye barely flutters open. He leans down to me, his breath sour.

“Are you defying me, Vivy?” he asks calmly.

I straighten my shoulders. “We’re not going to steal their guns,” I say. “We’re leaving.Right now.”

“Guess I’m doing this by myself then.”

The back of Jay’s hand whacks me in the face so hard my head crashes against the window of the building. My vision goes white. I fall to my hands and knees, then wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

Slowly, I can see again. Blood smears my skin.

“Are you all right?” a stranger asks.

“What happened?” another person asks. “Did someone hurt you?”

Jay.

I scan the area for Jay. A flash of his gray-brown hair catches my eye across the road, and I shove myself up to my feet.

“What the fuck?” a man shouts as Jay cuts in front of him. Jay slides into the back seat of the taxi, slamming the door shut behind him.

I race across the lines of oncoming traffic. Tires screech and horns honk, but Jay’s taxi is already gone.

Shit!

My throat aches. I grab my phone, my fingers shaking as I dial Kenzo. It rings, but he doesn’t pick up. I stand in the taxi queue, then flip through my wallet, finding a hundred. I hand it to the person at the front.

“Please,” I beg.

He scowls. “Screw you.”

“I’ll take it,” the woman next to him says.

“Thank you,” I say.

I stand in front of her, and we wait. I could try a rideshare app, but instead, I dial Kenzo again, and this time, the call goes straight to voicemail. I smack my phone to my chest, cursing that my call isn’t going through. My temple drums.

What do I do?

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