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“Ryoichi, no!” I scream, covering my face, and I hear Ryoichi pull the trigger. When I brave a look, plumes of pure white feathers float in the air. It hits me when I see the man slumped on the floor, the massacred feather pillow over his face—my Tatsun—my fake Tatsun is . . .dead.
Ryoichi hands over the gun and strolls toward me. His knuckles follow a tender path over the side of my clammy face. “I don’t like how you allow men to treat you, Ryann. He harmed you greatly.”
“What?” My voice croaks.
“Ah, I see. You’ve still not recalled we met, Ryann. That night atA Touch of Essence. Your fearful demeanor wasn’t beyond me. I saw you with Es—”
“Ye-yes! Essence is my friend.” I focus on how Ryoichi might not want to harm me because of Essence. “That’s my friend who’s going to call. She’ll call the consulate if I don’t answer.”
“You shall answer your friend, Ry.” Delight finds its way into his tone. “You will be permitted to speak with your friends once you’ve ascertained a few things.”
“Wh-what?” I scoff, still at a loss for what the hell just occurred.Did I witness my first murder?In all my years in Los Angeles, I leave the country and . . .What the hell!“Ryoichi, what do you mean ‘ascertained a few things’?”
“You will learn how to respect yourself,bijin. No one is to harm you, not even me.”
ChapterFive
Ryann
“No one is to harm you, not even me.”Ryoichi's words have spun through my psyche on repeat like a DJ spinning. And the psycho had the nerve to appear mildly slighted when I declined his offer to shower with me before we leave.
Weleave.
“This is not happening” is on repeat in my thoughts as I shakily slide into a pair of dark-wash jeans.
We are leaving tonight?
Bad people prefer the night.
Um-hmm, that's right. And you once were good peoples, Ry Pie. Now, you’re an accessory to murder. But are you still an accessory if you’re being held under duress?God forgive me. I’m so confused.Help!I hope God hears my silent prayer and forgives me. If I get out of this, there will be no more, don’t ask for permission now and beg forgiveness later.
I grind my teeth, ceasing the uninvited thoughts of self-loathing. Once I've shrugged into a gray cable-knit sweater and tennis shoes, I stroll toward the suite telephone for another attempt.
Hand clutching the receiver on its antique cradle, I tremble out a prayer. Seconds later, I try it.Silence.
“Awww, Lord, I took a vacay, so you took a vacay. But I need—”
There's a tiny rasp on the bedroom door. I march over and yank it open.
With my lips jerked into a snarl, I ask, “Yes?”
I'm at eye level with one of Ryoichi's thugs. He bends into a respectful bow, then pulls back up to offer a humble smile. “Ms. Ryann, shall we?”
“No.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I-I don't want to go with you people. I want to forget that this night happened. Yes,” I lick my lips pensively, “I'll forget what happened. Give me something to sign that says I'll never speak of Ryo—of what's his name. Never. Ever.”
The man stares at me. “I'm Umito. Ryoichi Ziatso's—”
“Why are you saying his entire name?” I let out a tiny croak. I know the man's name. My only endeavor is toforgethis name.
And the way his fingers moved feather-light over my skin while binding me.
And the way his lips fit perfectly over my . . .
I tune back in.
