Page 15 of Cunning Lies
Running away is in her best interest.
“Once you’re mine, I won’t hold back,” I murmur. “So if you don’t like how I am, then run away while you still can, Vivian.”
Her lips quiver as I say her full name. I open the car door, but before she moves, she gawks down at the big ass ring like it’s a magical treasure that will disappear if she doesn’t keep her eyes on it.
“It’s yours. Pawn it. Or wear it,” I say. “I don’t care. But if you’re still at that same motel in the morning, I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ Our lawyer will bring over the paperwork, and we’ll be married next weekend.”
In a daze, she moves toward the car. I guide her inside. At the last moment, she turns to me.
“Saturday,” she says, a hint of curiosity lingering in her voice.
“Saturday.”
I close the car door, then slap the outside. The driver leaves the parking lot, and she disappears into the night.
I may have scared the hell out of her, but something tells me she’ll still be there in the morning. She hasn’t run yet.
CHAPTER6
KENZO
Days pass,and Vi doesn’t run.
I’ve been giving her space—that is, giving her a chance to escape—but I’ve been keeping tabs on her too. She takes the bus to the UNLV campus, gets a coffee and an apple tart from the library’s cafe, then scrolls endlessly through the internet. Sometimes, it seems like normal social media browsing, and other times, it seems like she’s hunting for dirt. It’s intriguing.
She even searches for me, but the only articles and profiles you can find for me are carefully curated to represent our public-facing business, Samurai Corporation.
On Friday night, Dice, our lead enforcer, is watching her as a favor for me. Sitting in an unmarked cargo van with a kimchi sandwich, he inspects her motel door. He’s ahafu,like Cherry—half Japanese, half Korean, born and raised in the United States. Like me, he’s got the traditional irezumi tattoos you’d expect from the yakuza—a full body piece with skulls, flowers, and a geisha. But he’s a big son of a bitch, with a sumo wrestler’s bulk, a bodybuilder’s obnoxious muscle, and a shaved head. Stubble gets him sometimes, but for the most part, he keeps his face clean. Tomo used to try and get him to wear suits when we were younger, but combat clothes are his thing—except if he’s at the Gilded Stage. He dresses up in a suit for his crush there. Never spoken a word to her, and yet she has no idea that he puts on hisniceclothes for her.
Dice rolls down his window.
“Everything good?” I ask.
He nods.
“I’ll take over, then. Thanks.”
He finishes his last bite, then backs out of the parking space, disappearing onto the street. I slip back over to my car and grab the hanger from the back seat. The dress weighs more than a box of vinyl records, and honestly, I don’t know how women do it. What’s the point in wearing chains like that when you can easily get married in a short little cocktail dress or sweat pants?
Then again,Ipicked out that beaded cage. I’ve got this particular image I want when I see my wife walk down the aisle, and again when I finally get to fuck her brains out. It’s going to be perfect on her.
I knock on the motel door. Vi answers with smudged makeup, plaid pajama pants, an oversized shirt on her chest, and her hair in a sloppy ponytail. She’s objectively a sleepy mess, but I don’t see her like that.Thisis Vi, in her disheveled glory. She’s not that sweet little doll I took to a gala, nor some gold digger pulling one over on me. This is her. And with those blue eyes and her long neck, she doesn’t need anything fancy to be gorgeous.
If I didn’t have this fantasy of fucking her in this wedding dress already playing on repeat in my mind, I’d dump the beaded cage in the Hoover Dam and make her say her vows in thisexactoutfit. Right fucking now.
“Yeah?” she asks, scratching her head. Her eyes widen as she focuses on me. “Kenzo!”
I catch a glimpse inside. There are clothes everywhere, mostly male, and though it looks like she’s got her own bed, her cousin is passed out on the floor next to hers. My shoulders tighten. He’s only her cousin, but Vi doesn’t need to live like this. Not when I’m in the picture.
She steps outside, closing the door behind her. “What are you doing here?”
“Brought you a wedding dress,” I say. I lift the hanger.
She rubs her eyes. “You already sent over fifteen of them.”
“Those were from our designers. Ichosethis one.” A smug smile paints my lips, and I motion towards the motel. “Grab your bags.”
Her lips scrunch together. “Why?”
