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“And you did. Did you not, Ry?” he asks in a deep, subdued tone, which washes over me like a steamy shower after a night of torment. He brings my bound hands up to kiss the silk of my knuckles.
“Ryoichi, listen, as I said, I’m not like the other women who seek your services. I’ve scheduled a few must-see tours I’ve set aside money for, and I intend to do them.”
“But you also intend todome. Yes?”
Yes, please.“Pending your price.” I rub my hands together, irritated that Ryoichi has pulled at the bind, unraveling it from my wrists. I yearn for whatever positions he’d like to tie me up in.
I shake my head at myself. All this from the woman who was theWhat Would Jesus Do?poster girl when the trend launched in the early 2000s. Some girls had the keychain. Not only did I have that, but I had the shirt, the hoodie, and the friggen WWJD shoestrings.
I’ve repped the Lord all my life.
Tonight, though, I’ve fun in mind. I’ll pray God forgives me . . . tomorrow.
ChapterThree
Ryoichi
All around the room, I have an underling eagerly awaiting my next order. As a honey glow floats over Ryann’s skin, she blossoms for me like a flower. I discreetly divulge a few secrets of the yakuza. The very consideration of sharing why we operate and our approach to various activities would label me a disgrace to myoyabun, Osaka Tatchan. It has been almost three decades since I was inducted into the yakuza, yet I recall every moment. Every word Osaka’s second in charge, Banri, thewakagashina, said. The delicate floral aroma of the tea we drank. And most crucial was the moment Osaka declared that he was honored that I joined the House of Tatchan.
My leader was honored to have me, while the opposite had always been standard.
What would he say now as I spill our secrets?
My only defense is that I’m caught by captivating eyes that have seen no offense. A lush mouth that I’m confident has never partaken in sin.
Ryann runs a nervous hand over her forearm, her fingers stalling where I’d restrained her momentarily.Does she beg for more?
She will.
My second in command, Umito, nods as a server places food before us. A while ago, a man of Chinese descent wearing the tsubaki flower on his suit had waved toward Ryann. The man’s gaze darted away from mine. The second he attempted to gather her attention again, two of my men rerouted him. Now, Umito’s gesturing that we may leave. But I must admit, Ryann’s company brings light to my life. After acquiring wealth beyond one’s imagination, I’m rarely fascinated by new things. And Ryann fell straight into my lap after weeks of following her.
Though I’ve stalked her, which I’ll not admit, tonight has been a serendipitous encounter—if you don’t count an underling bribing the concierge for her plans.
For the past few weeks, Ryann’s been this illusory creature, perhaps a figment of my mind. I wondered whether I had indeed encountered her in Los Angeles. She’s hidden in one hotel room or another. On one rare occasion, out of frustration I’m sure, an underling of mine suggested that we abduct her. That unwarranted advice was severely corrected. Now, I have a six-sense that my bodyguards are still restless. There’s been no verbal defiance to accompany the jitter in their legs when they sit or how they glimpse their mobile for a lover’s text. They wouldn’t dare.
In another particular instance, about a week ago, I secured a room across from Ryann in Australia. I observed her for hours. She was a half shell of the woman in her Instagram photo. She wore oversized sunglasses and large-brimmed floppy hats. She ducked her head and didn’t make eye contact with those she interacted with when she finally left her room. I wondered who had left Ryann covering every inch of herself. Just as I’d witnessed at the art gallery all those weeks ago?
None of my men extracted any information via social media, such as who Ryann might be dating. Nevertheless, per Umito’s signal, I’m positive that a few of the others are entertaining the Chinese man. They’ll extract the truth from him, or I’ll have encouraged Ryann’s honesty. Either way, I’ll have my answer and the offender’s death.
I slice my tongue between my teeth to cease this incessant urge to command Ryann. “Are you enjoying the food?”
“Uhhh . . . yes . . . the fish melts in my mouth.” Ryann’s eyes fall to the table as if perceiving the innuendo of her statement.
I dote on her like I would one of my past pets, but I already know there is something special about Ryann. She deserves more. “You must try my buri daikon.”
The change of subject revives her. “What’s that?”
“Yellowtail simmered with daikon radish. Yellowtail was my first taste of fish. Of any meat. I was fourteen.”
“First taste of . . . what? Like you grew up a vegetarian?”
I let out a huff. “Not by choice.”
Ryann laughs softly. “You make me aware of so much, Ryoichi. I have this hunch that you don’t take life for granted. It’s refreshing. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cut in. Tell me more.”
As I fork another piece, I reply, “Finish. We have all night.”
“For as long as I can remember, I’ve been stagnant.” Ryann shakes her head, allowing a fleeting thought to sink its teeth into her for a moment. “Actually, I’ve been the same ol’, same ol’ Ry all my life. Anyway, little, nerdy me must’ve argued with my momma every other night about baked chicken. And there you were, fourteen and tasting fish for the first time.”
