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I want to know if he’s laid a finger on Fumi. If he’s tasted her the way I have. If he’s feasted on her darkness and devoured her sweet submission.
If he has, I might not be able to stop his fate from playing out in a very, very not-so-nice way.
“Who is he?”
Kratos clears his throat and drops the file folder on the desk in front of me. I open it to find some grainy still shots he snagged from the Conrad Hotel’s security tapes, plus a few other black and white photos of the same guy exiting a building, or getting into a car.
“Your mystery man is Takato Ito.”
My jaw tightens.
“He’s Yakuza, Gabriel, and not a small-time nobody, either. His uncle?—”
“Is Orochi Ito, head of the Kyoto Hato-kai,” I growl, my eyes narrowing on the dossier. “Yeah, I know.”
“These guys are fucking serious, Gabriel,” Kratos says quietly. “Like ninjas dropping out of your ceiling at night with samurai swords serious.”
I cock a brow. “Ninjas? With samurai swords?”
“Fuck off, Mr. History Channel,” he sighs, rolling his eyes. “But for real, take this shit seriously. They don’t have much of a presence in New York, but the Hato-kai run Kyoto. They’re not someone I’d take lightly.”
“Noted,” I mutter, standing and reaching across the desk to shake his hand. “Thanks, Kratos.”
“Any time,” he rumbles. “Just keep me out of it if this comes up with Ares. He’d have a heart attack if he thought I was stirring shit up with the Yakuza.”
I thank the Greek giant again before he takes his leave. Then I find myself sitting by the window of my office, staring at the information he’s collected on Takato.
And wondering why the fuck Fumi is talking to the Yakuza.
21
FUMI
It’s thrilling, having this secret.
I’ll catch a glimpse of Gabriel with a client through the glass wall of a conference room. Or we’ll pass each other in the kitchen at home in the morning. And I’ll bite back a tingling throb of excitement.
It’s happened twice now.
The first was the night I followed him in the cab, only to see him walk into Club Venom. The night he led me down to that basement room and chased me like a psychopath before fucking me like a savage.
In a sane world, I’d never go back. A normal person wouldn’t willingly return to a place where a man chased her through the dark, ripped her clothes off, slammed her to the ground, and fucked her so roughly she could barely walk the next day.
But, again, I’m not normal.
So I did go back, and the second time, the weekend after the wedding, was even more intense.
I mean, he used a fucking knife.
I can safely say that has never been part of the violent, twisted fantasies in my head. But holy hell, the sensation of him cutting off my panties and then burying his swollen cock in my aching pussy as he dragged the edge of that steel blade across my nipple—pure fucking adrenaline.
An extreme rush, and a dangerous thrill.
And no one knows it but me.
Gabriel, unbeknownst to him, has met two versions of me now. The first Fumi is the hardworking attorney with the mouth that doesn’t always stay shut when it should. The tenacious woman who barged into his fake wife auditions and stole the whole shebang. His fake bride.
But he also knows me—without realizing it’s me—as his “kitten”: the submissive, depraved, eager but unspeaking little cum slut from Venom who has the same vicious fantasies that he does.
