Page 12 of Cunning Lies

I want to say this is for Uncle Jay—for our dream house—for living on the beach like we’ve always dreamed of. But it’s not that.

I’m supposed to act like a virgin, but I didn’t want to stop him.

CHAPTER5

KENZO

The gala’s auction begins,but I already put in my bids, so I grab Vi and we slide out unnoticed. After giving instructions to my driver, I open the car door for Vi, then slide in next to her. The driver takes us down the Strip, so that our drive back to her motel room takes a long time. I want a couple of extra minutes with her before I take her back to her uncle.

Her cheeks are red like her hair, her big blue eyes glossy, bloodshot from the champagne. The woman had three glasses, but it’s been a long evening. She’s probably not drunk anymore, and the coffee may have balanced out her sobriety, but I don’t know for sure. I find the refrigeration compartment and give her a cold bottle of water. As she guzzles it, I study her. She looks like she was born and raised in the Midwest, though she’s got the scent of southern California on her. I want to pry back those layers.

“What’d you think?” I ask, angling my head toward the conference center.

“Aboutwhat?” she snarks. She must be a little fuzzy from the whole evening. I run a hand across my face, sniffing in her glorious scent. I can still smell her on my fingers.

“The gala.”

“Oh.” She lifts her shoulders. “It was fine.”

“And your salmon?”

She stiffens, and we both know we aren’t talking about the fish.

“It was good. I guess.”

After that, she’s quiet. She was compliant throughout the entire dinner, but now, her shoulders are stiff. She huddles toward the bottle, crunching the plastic in her hands like it’s a stress ball. Every so often, her eyes angle toward her lap, like she’s too afraid to meet my eyes. But I don’t believe that for one second. If she was afraid of me, she wouldn’t be here. But why is she trying to trick me?

“Did you enjoy your evening?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I suppose there are worse things.”

She’s not agreeing to everything I say, like I thought she would, and that intrigues me. She has uncertainties, but sheadmitsto them. She isn’t an obedient little lamb like her uncle implied.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask.

She widens her eyes. “You say that as if I have a choice.”

“You do.” I gesture toward the car doors. “The driver will stop. You can leave at any time. It’s not like I made your uncle promise me to let me take you on this date.”

“No. You only chopped off his finger.”

I chuckle and she crosses her arms, pissed at me, but she doesn’t realize that we could’ve killed him instead. Then, there would be no need to have this ‘date.’ Hell, I could’ve held her at gunpoint. It’s still an option, but I like it better like this. Watching her move on her own.

I smirk, then say, “You seemed to like your dinner a lot—”

“What was I supposed to say? ‘Stop fingering me in front of everyone?’”

Her cheeks redden, her blue eyes glowing like sapphires stuck in a cauldron. She’s even hotter when she’s pissed like that.

“You could’ve pushed my hand away,” I say. “Taken a bathroom break. But no—you kept your legs spread wide open for me. I think youlikedbeing exposed like that.”

“You,” she hisses. “You are—”

But then she stops mid-sentence, and forces her gaze out the window. I let her stew like that for a moment. I’m not a beggar, and I never will be. I know how much power I have in the yakuza, and there are plenty of virgins I can buy.

But it’s not about that with Vi. I want her hunger. Her sensual greed.

I glance at the tattoo behind her ear. A bluish-green candle, the kind that comes in a jar, in a water-color style. Even if she’s a virgin, the tattoo hints at something else. An alternative side. A symbol that she can take pain, if shewantsthe end result. The reward.