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I leaned against the wall, taking in her setup. Two laptops, headphones, a phone, a gun, and a sixteen ounce sugar-free Red Bull.

“Come on. We’re going to your initiation,” I said, turning to leave for my own room on the other side of the apartment.

“Wait, what do you mean by that? Kenji.” The pattering of bare feet trailed after me. Her hand grasped my shoulder. “Kenji, what the fuck does that mean?”

I turned to face her, gripping her chin between my thumb and forefinger. “That means, little one, that you are going to need to dress for action. We’re going to the fighting rings tonight.”

Her sculpted brows dipped in confusion for a second before she broke out in a wide grin. “Give me five minutes.” She skipped off to her room. I wasn’t entirely sure what response I’d expected, but it hadn’t been that level of cheeriness.

She didn’t need the full five. By the time I’d made it to the living room, she was already coming out, hair pulled up in a ponytail and black leggings that hugged her ass in a way that made me want to bury my face between her cheeks. There was also a black backpack strapped to her back, but I was too distracted by her ribbed burgundy sports bra to ask about what she was bringing with her.

“Where’s your shirt?” The question was out before I could think better of it.

“Excuse me?” She narrowed her gaze on me. “Kenji, you walk around with a fucking katana and your chest spattered with blood, and I don’t say shit. If I want to walk around with my tits and ass out, I can.” She crossed her arms against her chest in indignation. She was fucking intimidating; I’d give her that. But she was also hot as fuck while scolding me. Honestly, I liked the idea of her pushing me around.

“We’re taking my bike. You’re probably going to want something more than just your sports bra.”

She stalked in close, our chests touching. “How about you take care of yourself, Kenji?” she said, her voice dripping with snark.

I leaned forward, licking the seam of her lips and using her surprise as the opportunity to suck on her tongue. Her little gasps sent electric shocks straight to my balls.

“I have been taking care of myself, Scar. Remember my video? I’m waiting for you to come to do it for me,” I said against her mouth before pulling away and walking into the elevator.

CHAPTER 27

SCAR

“PLASTER THAT PUSSY TO THE BACK OF MY ASS CHEEKS”

Initiation. Hopefully, theirs was more pleasant than the one my uncle had put me through. My entire childhood had been an initiation. I was fifteen when I met Enzo. His dad was a capo in the organization, and he started bringing Enzo around so he could become immersed in the life. Luca pitied me, so he suggested to Dominick that it would be good for me to train and learn along with Enzo.

Why waste a resource, Dominick? You have the girl; you should use her. Teach her to be useful, bring her into the fold. She can train with Enzo. It will be good. She can protect the girls later.

One day after training, Luca pulled me aside and told me that if I wanted to survive, I should do myself the favor and become a weapon. Use the fact that I was underestimated as a strength. I never got to ask him why he bothered to care. He died in a job gone wrong later that year. That was when Enzo and I really became close. We were each other’s emotional support—a friendship that blossomed into first love and then first backstabbing.

“Here, little one. We don’t want that pretty face getting fucked up if we eat shit,” Kenji said, shoving a sleek black full-face helmet into my hands.

He looked delicious standing in front of a matching matte black Ducati with red accents on its wheels. The gray sweatpants he was wearing hung low on his trim hips, and I really wished he’d lift up his graphic T-shirt a bit so I could drool over the defined V I knew he had. I’d gotten a peek earlier when he’d sheathed his katana.

“Can you not handle her?” I indicated to the bike with my chin, stepping closer to the pair. “Because if you can’t, I sure as fuck can.”

Our bodies were inches apart, and the parking garage faded away. There’d always been an easy banter with Kenji. He drew out my daredevil side. We both wanted to fall into chaos. Revving each other higher and higher. Getting on a bike that went as fast as this one did was probably a death wish waiting to happen, but I couldn’t seem to care.

“Oh, babe, I can handle her just fine. In fact, I could handle her and fuck you with my fingers if I wanted to,” he answered, his eyes dipping toward where I was licking my lips at his proposal. But then he turned, swinging a leg over the beauty. “Too bad we’ve got places to be. So put the helmet on and plaster that pussy to the back of my ass cheeks.”

Laughter spilled from my lips. Kenji might be broken as fuck—weren’t we all?—but damn if the cheerful facade bullshit he fed to people wasn’t funny.

It’s what made him dangerous.

The easy smile and jokes caused people to let their guard down. Before they knew it, they’d look down to find his blade through their chest and an insane grin on his face. What concerned me was that I liked both sides of the fucker.

My chest barely brushed his, and he pulled out of the spot, taking the corner of the garage at a breakneck speed. I squealed in excitement, my adrenaline spiking and making me feel alive. I flipped the visor down right as he pulled out into city traffic, weaving through the taxis and cars.

Kenji had a special holster mounted to the side of his bike that held his katana, allowing me to plaster my body to his. My thighs were practically molded to his, and they were going to be sore as fuck after this ride with the way I had to keep them flexed to grip his.

I had my own bike. In fact, I had this very same Ducati, but there was something about riding with Kenji that was a completely different experience. Every single nerve ending was alive as we cut across lanes of traffic at reckless speeds. Blood pounded in my ears, and my cheeks hurt from how big I was smiling. Buildings were a blur as we made our way through the city. I had a feeling I knew where we were going. It was a part of Brooklyn I was pretty familiar with. These boys probably thought I didn’t know shit about the underbelly of the criminal world, but I had my claws deep in that part of our world.

Remaining anonymous and lurking in the shadows had a lot of advantages. But I was well known when I stepped into certain circles. Or cages. That was how Ryan and I had met—in the illegal fight circuit. I was working a job out in Arizona, and my mark was supposed to be at a fight night held by Los Muertos. The only way in was to enter the bracket.