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“Yeah? What’s it to you?”
The Yakuza lord shrugs and casually rubs his hand over my stomach. “To me? Not much. Just a minor inconvenience that we’ll take care of when the time comes. To you? I can’t imagine what it’s like seeing your so-called wife pregnant with another man’s baby.”
I freeze.
So does Martin.
Raizo drops his hand to my thigh and continues to rub me in all the wrong ways, both literally and figuratively. He’s playing some fucked-up game and enjoying every moment of our reactions.
“So it sounds like you’re in quite a mess,” he calmly continues, no longer looking at Martin even though the conversation is definitely for him. He’s too busy touching my hair, stroking my back. “Since you’ve brought my sweet Clara back to me, and withbonusmerchandise, I have no problems expressing my gratitude. Tell me, Martin, how can I help?”
Martin stammers for a second, then shakes his head. “I, uh…” He watches Raizo caress my stomach again, his mouth hanging open. Then he gives himself another shake and looks away. “I need to get out of here. Out of the country. I don’t care where-the-fuck-ever—just help me get out before they come for me.”
Raizo snorts. “That’s cowardice.”
“No, that’s fucking survival. I don’t want to find out what they do to dirty cops in prison.”
“Fair enough,” Raizo chuckles. “I can’t say I blame you. Consider it done.”
Martin looks surprised. “What? Really?”
“As long as you leave my fucking office right now. Wait outside for instructions. We’ll get you on our next shipment out.”
The men stare at each other, Martin in actual shock that his request was granted, and Raizo with no small amount of barely-concealed impatience. Finally, Martin nods, awkwardly bows a little, and ducks out of the office.
Raizo pulls me closer and nuzzles my neck. “You have been such a naughty girl, haven’t you?” He purrs in my ear. “I’m so tempted to keep you here with me. Show you what it’s like to be my special prize.”
Something clicks inside my head. Something from long ago, back when I was a little girl.
Back when I knew Raizo as a completely different man.
I shove down the nausea to lean into him, and his approval rumbles through his chest as he starts to kiss the curve of my shoulder. “Can I ask you something?”
His eyes slowly lift to meet mine. At first, I’m terrified that I pushed too far. But then he tilts his head and gives me a little nod. “Of course.”
“What happened to you?”
The silence that suddenly fills the room is heavy. So, so heavy and filled with unspoken secrets I probably have no right digging into.
But if I’m going to be sold again—hell, if I’m going to becomehispersonal slave—I think, maybe, I do actually have the right to know what happened to the man I once called “Uncle Raizo.”
He slowly pushes me off his lap.
His touch is no longer sensual or seductive. Instead, it’s enough to let me go and guide me away from his reach as he stares at the top of his desk.
And then he looks up at me.
And for the first time, I see his eyes grow bloodshot.
“Sometimes,” he croaks, “when someone dies, we die along with them.”
He doesn’t have to say anything more. I don’t need an explanation; I only need the memory of him and my mother. And the memory of him at her gravesite, with white roses in one hand and the other balled into a fist as he glared at my father.
He loved my mother.
And her loss broke him.
Raizo clears his throat and blinks away the unshed tears like they never should have existed to begin with. “I can’t help you,” he says, “other than to keep you here with me.”
