Page 29 of Cunning Lies
Up at the top of the building, Kenzo scans a card on a keypad. “One day, we’ll get you a key. If I’m not here and you need to get in, use the front desk,” he says.
Then the elevator doors open, leading to a small entrance lobby. Another scanner. Then, his penthouse. Inside, everything is accented in black and white, and circular glass decorations hang from the ceiling like a modern chandelier. It’s futuristic and stunning, but it doesn’t quite fit Kenzo. He’s loud and vibrant, but there’s hardly any color here.
Am I reading him wrong, or is there something off about this place?
He hums to himself, going straight to a wet bar on the side of the living room.
“Did you pick out the decorations?” I ask.
“It came furnished,” he laughs. “I don’t bother with that. I’m always moving anyway.”
I know what that’s like. Uncle Jay, Patrick, and I have lived out of hotels for most of our lives, only keeping storage units when we can. For us, it’s the lifestyle of pretending to be the person their ‘friends’ want us to be. But when it comes to Kenzo, I’m not sure if he likes moving, or if it’s because of his mafia background. Maybe it’s both.
The entire wall facing the Strip is covered in divided windows. The city lights are like a million different candles stacked on a mountainside.
“Jesus,” I mutter. I gawk, my jaw hanging open. I want to take it all in.
“It’s unlocked,” Kenzo says, nodding at the door to the balcony. “Go ahead.”
Outside, the breeze shifts my heavy dress, goosebumps rolling across my shoulders. I wrap my arms around myself, and the door closes behind me. Down below, a pool glows off to the side with a couple making out by the waterfall. And the ground is so far below us. It probably wouldn’t even hurt. It’d be instantaneous.
If I jump down, I’ll never have to wonder why I’m here.
The door clicks open behind me, and a tension churns in my stomach. Kenzo’s presence controls every nerve in my body. There’s something inside of Kenzo, a power rumbling through him that refuses to be contained. He’s dangerous, and I’m curious.
I shouldn’t be. I know that. I should save myself while I still can. I should jump.
But I don’t want to.
Maybe Uncle Jay and Patrick have fun on their jobs too. Maybe that’s how they find success.
Maybe it’s okay if I indulge a little.
He hands me a glass of whisky. The liquid burns my lips, and it reminds me of our first kiss on the altar.
“How’d you even get this place?” I ask, trying to get my mind to focus. It’s not a good idea toactuallybecome attracted to your ‘friends,’ otherwise, they’ll have sway over you. I’m usually just the researcher, but even I know that. I need to get information out of Kenzo as fast as I can and keep my head in the game. I continue: “It has to be worth a fortune to have a view like that.”
“It’s a rental,” he says.
“Did you kill the previous tenant or something?” I ask with a joking tone, but I’m serious. Maybe he funds this place with mob money. I lean on the banister.
“You don’t think we can make honest money,” he says.
“Clean money? No. Dirty money?” I lift my shoulders, teasing him, but then I avert my gaze. This is too much—too playful to be what I’m supposed to be. He angles toward me, his presence like magnets pulling me closer, and he tucks a loose hair behind my ear. His touch zaps me straight to my core.
“Oh?” he says. “Tell me how you think I got here.”
“I think you make a lot of money doing a lot of illegal things.” That’s what the Endo-kai does, right? They may seem like a legitimate business, but in the end, they’re an organized crime group.
“It’s also wrong for your uncle to put his arm around another man’s wife,” he counters. “It’s even worse to offer his niece for an arranged marriage when he knows her new husband is a criminal.”
“And it’s illegal toaccepthis niece in a marriage contract for a minimal transgression,” I say. “Shouldn’t that qualify as human trafficking?”
I tap my chin, revealing my smart ass side. I know I shouldn’t, but there’s a spark inside of him that intrigues me, and I want to see him get that way too, even if it is dangerous.
“Your uncle paid his debt when he gave up his finger. No one is making you stay here,” Kenzo says, his voice is cold, a hint of pleasure simmering behind his dark eyes. “I should punish you for that.”
Heat pools between my legs. I think of Patrick at the reception—how Kenzo wanted to talk to him privately. Based on his tone, I’m almost positive Kenzo said something to protect me from Patrick. No one, not even Uncle Jay, has done that for me before.
