Page 14 of Cunning Lies
“Hey!” he shouts. “You can’t just—”
I pull out my gun and shoot him in the forehead. The sound is quiet—the traffic in Las Vegas is loud as hell, and with the silencer, it’s like the pop of a corn kernel. His body slumps back onto the bed like another unshapely pillow. A trickle of blood winds down his temple.
Vi holds her mouth, her eyes wide. She’s beautiful like that—pure shock in the form of lightning bolts, flashing across her blue eyes. Red cheeks. Pink lips.
Her lips tremble, but she finally spits it out: “You killed him.”
I stow my gun. “He owed us a lot of money. He didn’t have a niece to offer. Tomo already took his pinky.”
“You’re a killer.”
Her lips pout, full of trepidation, but she stays rooted to her spot, unafraid. If she was as innocent and untouched as her uncle says, then she would’ve had more of a reaction. Eventouchingher at the gala should’ve made her squirm, but she leaned into me. Embraced it.
And this? She’s gawking. Stunned, maybe. But she’s not afraid.
The delicate blood vessels in her neck twitch. The charge in the air radiates between us as her breathing hitches.
I can’t take it anymore.
I grip my hands in her hair, yanking her back and guiding her inside of the motel room. Then I press her against the wall, the room rattling with the sudden pressure. Her thighs clench and I press my leg between them, her dress parting to the sides. Her pussy is warm and damp through my pants.
Virgin or not, she drives me wild.
“You’re right,” I say. “I am a killer. I’m from the yakuza. But I like to give people a chance. People work harder for you when it’s their choice. Don’t you agree?”
She doesn’t say anything, so I take that as a yes. I breathe onto her lips for a few seconds, inhaling her deep, burnt sugar scent, then I let go of her hair. She finds her balance on her feet. I grab a small black box from my pocket, handing it to her. She opens it.
A giant diamond ring twinkles up at her, shimmering even in the crappy fluorescent lighting.
She stutters: “Kenzo, I—”
“This is it, Vi,” I say. “I need a date for these events.” I pull out the ring and press it in her palm, clasping her thin fingers around it. “If you choose to marry me, our designer will be here in the morning. We’ll get married on Saturday.”
“In one week?”
I nod. “She’ll set you up with whatever you need.”
Vi opens up her palm. The ring cost me a hundred thousand, and I’m sure she can get a pretty-penny for it. Lying flat like that, it’s almost like a collar, and though I like the idea of a pleasure slave, what I want from Vi is different. It’s more than sex.
I want honesty. Respect. Loyalty.
In any other city, after a gunshot like that, there’d be sirens within minutes. But in Sin City, life goes on. The next-door motel neighbor increases the volume on his television, and a car honks on the main road.
No one cares.
But I still want to remind Vi that she has power. At least for now.
“You don’t have to pay for your uncle’s debts,” I say. “You have a choice. You can run away. Where you go is not my business. I won’t hunt you down.”
“But if I don’t marry you, you’ll kill my uncle,” she says calmly, but from the way her voice wavers, she knows that’s not true.
“This is about you, Vi.” I crack a smile, and she squeezes the ring in her palm. I lean in closer, smelling her: burnt sugar, vanilla, a hint of mint, champagne.
I guide her out of the motel room, then tap on the driver’s window. We speak in a mix of Japanese and English, then I turn back to Vi.
“He’ll take you wherever you want to go,” I say. Vi nods, then peeks at the motel door. There’s a dead body in the room. It means nothing to me, but it must be surreal to her. And Iwanther to feel that way. I want her to know exactly what she’s getting into. She should know that the yakuza is the real fucking deal. If she accepts my marriage proposal, there will be danger.
Her eyes are watery, a storm about to break over the desert. Too stunned to move. Part of me hopes I’ve ruined her, and that she’ll be gone in the morning.
