Page 80 of Dangerous Deceit

“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’tknowwho 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’malive.It was scary as hell, and maybe I’m an idiot, but I still don’t think Kenzo will kill me.

But hewillhurt 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 apacket. We’ll eat hundreds of bowls until we both feel like we’re ourselves again.

But that’s not how this works.

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