Page 65 of Dangerous Deceit

I cross my arms. “A sweater is fancy?”

“Fancy for this, yeah.”

He grabs my hand, and we take his flashy red convertible. I ask him a million times where we’re going and what we’re doing, but he just laughs.

“It’s a surprise!” he yells.

He turns up the music so loud that I can’t talk, and we drive down the 15. Hypnotizing bright lights flash to the sides of us until they fade into darkness, and then it’s pitch black desert. Cacti and Joshua trees hover in the shadows. The car’s headlights are our only guide. Finally, Kenzo lowers the volume of the radio.

“This song is called ‘Feel Like Makin’ Love.’ Bad Company. You know this one?” he asks.

He hums along to the lyrics, and I smile, wondering if he’s somehow implying it’s our song. I must be staring a little too hard, because he reaches over and pinches my arm.

“It just fits us, right?” he says.

My shoulders sink. “You want to make love?” I ask. “That’s not you.”

“Baby, you don’t know all of me yet,” he winks. “Just listen.”

I listen to the lyrics, but my mind is so buzzed with anticipation, I can’t focus, even though I like the guitar portion of the song. It’s somehow hard and soft at the same time, just like Kenzo. He’s got such different sides to him: harsh, yet easygoing. Completely controlling,yetprotective. Maybe the song does fit in a way.

Forty-five minutes later, we take the ramp to another highway, then a short while after that, we pull onto a gravel road. Nerves twist in my stomach. I bite my bottom lip, and Kenzo stretches his arm over the back of my seat, his fingers tickling my neck. The wheels crunch over the rocks and a slab of pavement before he parks on the flat surface.

Kenzo pops the trunk and gets out. He swings black garbage bags in his hands, carrying them over to a concrete circle a few yards away. I reach to help him with the cargo. He stops me.

“Stay here for a second,” he says. “I’ll tell you when.”

I fiddle with my outfit, impatient I can’t even dump garbage bags with him, but I’m not going to argue about work with a yakuza gangster.

Not many cars pass on the highway, and those that do, probably can’t see us from back here on the gravel road. I study the area where Kenzo drops the garbage bags. It’s a big centerpiece, surrounded by cement. A firepit maybe.

It’s dead silent, and I feel like I’m breathing too loud. Kenzo must have noticed the silence too, because he starts humming to himself as he rips open the bags.

Something wet and heavy sloshes into the fire pit. My stomach curdles. I don’t want to ask him what it is, but I’m afraid I already know. It’s a body. And I’m pretty sure I knowwhoit is.

Ten minutes go by. Then twenty.

Fire cackles to life, burning behind me. I spin around. The flame lights Kenzo’s dark eyes, and I wrap an arm around my stomach.

“Are you allowed to light fires out here?” I ask hesitantly.

“If I’m not, I know the sheriff,” he says. “I think there’s something about personal fires in Nevada law.” He lifts his shoulders. “This ispersonal.”

“I thought you said this was about work.”

“It’s all the same to me, baby.”

He puts an arm around me, and guilt fills me up. It’s Patrick’s body burning in the pit in front of us, and I should be crying. I should feel bitter. I should hate Kenzo for what he did. Patrick may have done some terrible things to me, but he was still my cousin and basically my adoptive brother. I feel like garbage.

But I feel like trash because I don’t miss him at all. If anything, I’m worried about Uncle Jay, but that’s it.

Kenzo pulls me in closer. I should be afraid of him. He killed my adoptive brother for something that happened to me years ago, and yet, I’m not afraid.

Elation. Safety. Comfort.That’swhat I feel.

I look up at Kenzo, and I realize I’m going to be sad when this is over. Kenzo has always acted like there was an expiration date on our marriage, but since he made me promise not to have sex with anyone else, I’m beginning to wonder if he’s starting to question that supposedly bleak future too. Maybe I don’t want it to be over. Maybe Kenzo doesn’t either.

Those feelings simmer inside of me as the scent of charred flesh floats through the air. It should be disgusting, but it’s not. I’m secretlyrelieved.Patrick was always one step away from offering a date with me to his “friends,” using it as a threat to get me to do exactly what he wanted. Uncle Jay always looks out for me, but he could never do much about Patrick since he was his kid too. But Kenzo immediately made sure Patrick would never hurt me again.

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