Page 28 of Black Site

All the blood drains from my face at her words. "Oh my God, mom! Do you know what that is? Of course you do, you're a writer. How do you get in these kinds of messes?" And more importantly, how am I going to get us out?

We prefer the title ninkyo dantai, actually." My mom interrupts the man doing the talking.

"I was just hanging out at the table and saw all the men walk through and knew in a second it must be someone very important like that. Once I got a look at that wrist though I knew." She seems so proud of herself for picking out the member of the biggest criminal empire in Japan in a packed nightclub. My eyes drop to his exposed wrist where his sleeves are rolled just a little way up and tattoos are all over his skin and running up under the shirt.

"Please sit. Call me Emon, please." He gesters for us to sit next to my mom and I don't think we have any other option but to sit. Leaving doesn't seem to be on the table just yet. "You're mother is telling me about you're channel and about her books."

Mom leans her head over with a giant smile showing me how proud she is of me.

"My daughter-in-law was from America and my grandson went to school there. His English is better than mine but mine is not bad, yes."

"Oh I think your English is very good." Mom compliments him on his ability. "He's been telling me about how he met and fell in love with his late wife." She reaches out her hand to place it over Emon's hand and the whole room seems to tense up but mom can't tell or just doesn't care. Emon laughs and pats her with his other hand.

We spend the next two hours being entertained and taken care of by Mr. Haruyoshi. His hair is salt and pepper and his face is covered in wrinkles but his eyes are kind and jump with amusement when he listens to my mother talk about her children. He tells her all about his late wife and says mom reminds him of her because she loved romance stories and American culture.

"You two are here by yourselves with no one to watch out for you?" His deep voice is filled with question when he asks.

Oh God, why is he asking if we are here all alone. "My husband had to stay back in the States with my younger children and of course there was the monetary aspect of it all. We have an excellent guide in Hoshi though. She is showing us this beautiful country of yours."

His brow crinkles and he frowns, "It is not safe for three very attractive women to be walking around always."

Please don't sell us into slavery, please don't sell us into slavery. All I can think of is how unsafe being here with this man and all of his trained thugs really is.

"You will take my grandson with you. He will offer you protection while you are visiting our city."

"Oh, we wouldn't want to put you out or be a bother."

"No bother. I insist." He calls one of his men over and whispers in his ear. For the first time since we sat down beside her, my mother looks less than thrilled and maybe a little worried. We all wait until a shadow fills the entrance of the VIP section and in steps a tall, well-built man with striking eyes. "Akio, Akio, come." He waves the man over and speaks to him in Japanese. The man doesn't look at anyone but his grandfather.

Hoshi leans over to me and whispers in my ear, "He is telling his grandson that we need protection and that he would like him to guard us."

The son speaks in rapid Japanese back to him. By the look on his face, he doesn't seem pleased to be put on guard duty.

"The grandson is saying he is not a babysitter."

The grandfather speaks again and the tension in the room ratchets up so high it is almost tangible. The grandfather slams his hand down on the table and speaks again.

"He is telling him to not disrespect us or him by calling it that. He says it is a favor for his grandfather that the boy should do out of respect and love for him."

"I don't think you can call him a boy, Hoshi." I whisper back to her but the room goes silent and I feel like I am at the center of attention for some reason. God, I hope I didn't say something that is going to cause problems for us. I straighten and turn to find the grandson's attention fully on me. His gaze bores into me before he turns back to his grandfather who is watching all of this with a very interested eye.

Without looking away from me he speaks to his grandfather who is sending curious looks back and forth between me and his grandson. "I'll do it, grandfather."

By:

Gunfights, dead bodies, and one pissed off Russian is not Kat St. Claire’s idea of a good time. But that’s exactly what she has on her hands all while trying to stay alive long enough to become an old cat lady. The next time she prays for excitement in her life she’s going to give herself a swift kick in the a$$. Ivan Dragomir’s entire world is a repeat of nothing but vice, blood, and death. He left Russia to start a new life, one that didn’t include the violence of his past, but violence wasn’t done with him yet. Now he’s on the run in his new country with a woman more used to dealing with paper cuts and printers than knife wounds and getting blood out of denim.

These two are on a collision course with a dark fate if they can’t figure out how to work together to take down a very powerful Senator before he gets away with more than just bad political moves. Hot Russians, violent murder, and sex so hot it could melt Siberia; this full-length romance has it all and then some.

In typical Jisa fashion, this insta-love thriller promises Happy Endings ;) for everyone. None of the main characters die and even though some touchy subjects are hinted at I try not to stay in that part of the book for too long but if you are sensitive to that sort of thing this book may not be the right one for you or you could skip that chapter, it’s up to you, dear reader. It’s all here, something for every one of my Lovelies, and sweet like baklava. Happy Reading.

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Ivan

I realize how close winter is when the slap of cold hits me in the face like an angry lover. Normally I don't mind D.C. in the winter but I've been thinking of moving somewhere warmer lately. The cold reminds me of things I would rather leave buried in the icy ground of Russia. American winters are never going to be as bad as Russian winters but sometimes when I'm in my apartment and I've been holed up for days working I'm reminded of where I came from. It's usually then I have to leave and head to my favorite café close to my apartment.

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