Page 3 of Cunning Lies
“I’ve got someone better,” Tomo says. He gestures toward the heart of the building. There’s a set of offices and holding cells in the center shaft, always guarded by our soldiers.
“Dice has him?” I ask.
Tomo shakes his head. “Another enforcer. The man said something about ‘selling his niece.’” There’s a hint of laughter in Tomo’s voice. “With that gala coming up, you should hear him out. He seemseagerto get her into our hands.” Tomo shrugs. “He thinks we’ll take care of her.”
“Consider my interest piqued,” I say. I put a hand on Tomo’s back. “Thanks for looking out.”
CHAPTER2
KENZO
To the sideof the elevators, I take a door markedStaff Only.Inside, the walls are concrete, and every so often, there’s a door. Some are labeled for the regular resort staff—storage, offices, break rooms—but anything unmarked is for the yakuza. I stop at the first unmarked door without a window. I tap the surface, and the door cracks open.
One of our enforcers lets me in. Our prisoner sits handcuffed to an o-ring on top of the metal table. Red marks circle his wrists, like he struggled against them, and part of me is happy about that. It’s always sad when they don’t fight. Boring too. Streaks of brown mix through his ruffled gray hair. His face is puffy from a beating, his lips cracked. A black eye.
“I-I-I thought I was—” he stammers, but I shush him like a baby as I slide into the seat across from him.
“What are you in here for?” I ask.
“I—” He looks down at his lap. “I put my arm around his wife.”
The enforcer shakes his head. “Not me. Haruto’s wife,” he explains.
I gasp with drama in my veins, playing it up. Haruto is one of ourshingiin.Normally, a lawyer at his ranking doesn’t have a lead role in our organization, but we protect our own. The disrespect, no matter who you are in the yakuza, is the same.
You don’t mess with a yakuza member’s wife.
“I’m surprised you’re still alive,” I chuckle. The prisoner’s chapped lips tremble, and I whistle. “And how exactly are you going to pay your respects for that infraction?”
“M-my niece, sir,” he says.
“You’d give up your niece to clear your name?” I ask. “You have that much authority over her?”
“I-I-I’ve raised her since she was a kid,” he explains.
“You’re like a father to her then.” I run a hand over the stubble on my chin. I nod deeply, pretending to be amused. “But that’s not being a good uncle now, is it?”
“But you could protect her, couldn’t you?” he asks, his voice suddenly full of adrenaline. “Your boss mentioned an arranged marriage. I could rest easy as long as I knew she was safe.” He scans me with tears in his eyes. “You’ll take good care of her, won’t you?”
Tension swims in his expression like a cat circling a koi fish pond. Tomo didn’t mention an arranged marriage to me, but if his niece passes my test, then why not marry her? I can use a reliable date to those charity functions.
Butprotecther? Even if she ends up being my wife, she’ll still be in the yakuza. I grip the prisoner’s shoulder. He’s one optimistic idiot.
“Only if I decide to take her,” I say.
“My phone!” he shouts, swinging his head around to the enforcer. “Show him! Show him her picture! She’s beautiful! I’ll prove it!”
The enforcer hands the prisoner’s phone to me. I hold up the device while the prisoner types in the password from his handcuffs, then I flick to the gallery. There’s only one picture available—almost like the prisoner prepared his phone for this exact situation. Something is off, but I lose that train of thought when my eyes land on her picture.
She’s a young woman. Early twenties. Natural reddish-orange hair with the freckles to prove it. The same big blue eyes as her uncle. Light pink lips. A hoodie over her shoulders, hiding her figure. I stare at her photo for a second too long, and it’s like time stands still, as if I can walk into that picture and see the world around her. She’s hypnotizing, like a love song.
On paper, a woman with red hair and blue eyes like that should be the definition of innocence, but there’s a spark in her blue eyes, a hunger that goes deeper than that pure exterior.
But beauty isn’t enough for me. That spark, that hunger in her eyes—that’swhat I want.
I pull myself out of the daze. The fear from the prisoner’s eyes is gone, replaced with greed, like he knows that I won’t be able to say ‘no.’ Almost like hewantsto give away his niece.
“She’s a virgin, you know,” he says. “Completely untouched. Like forbidden fruit.”
