Page 13 of Cunning Lies

She must like being a good girl.

“You like candles?” I ask.

She strokes her fingers over her tattoo absentmindedly. “Everyone likes candles.”

“Not enough to get a tattoo.”

She licks her lips, then slides her hands down the side of her dress. The fabric parts at the slit, exposing her soft knees, and my dick twitches. She’s probably still soaked. God—what I wouldn’t give to lick her from her clit to her ass right here in the back of this car.

But we’ll have to wait for that. She may not know it, but right now, she’s being interviewed. And so far, I like her sarcastic honesty. It’s amusing.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask again. “We already took your uncle’s finger. You didn’t have to come here with me.”

“My uncle asked me to,” she says.

“And you do whatever your uncle says?”

She pauses for a moment. There’s a tenderness simmering behind her eyes, a storm briefly clouding over her pupils. But then she shifts, and that bad weather is gone. It’s clear skies again, like nothing is ever bad in Vi’s world.

“Yes,” she says. “That’s what you do for your family.”

Family.

I ponder that for a while. I ran away from home when I was twelve, and so, I’ve got my biological family back in Los Angeles, and the Endo-kai yakuza here in Vegas. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my biological parents or anyone in the Endo-kai, and part of me wonders if that is what this is for Vi.

Loyalty runs through her veins. I like that. Even if she doesn’t feel that way about me, there’s time. I can earn that respect from her eventually.

“If you had a choice, would you have come tonight?” I ask.

“If you were me, would you agree to a dinner date with the yakuza?”

She has a point. If I was a twenty-five-year-old woman, virgin or not, I wouldn’t go on a date with a criminal from a gang. I’d know exactly the kind of power they’d have over me.

Still, Vi never tried to leave. Never fidgeted away from my touch. Never even searched for a door. In fact, I’m sure she didn’t realize it, but she inchedcloserto my hand. Practicallymeltedwhen my fingers touched her bare neck. Sunk into me whenever we were close.

I’ve never wanted a wife, but the idea of having a partner who is like her—loyal to her family—appeals to me. The part of me that knowsfamilycomes beforeeverything else.

I tap the partition. The driver rolls it down.

“Flamingo?” he asks.

“Thanks,” I say.

The partition rolls up and Vi looks at me. “Our motel is on Paradise, not Flamingo.”

“I’ve got a job to run,” I say. “It’ll be quick. Promise.”

The driver turns onto the correct street, and my mind goes wild, imagining her pussy in my hands, her tangy scent on my fingers. I keep finding excuses to sniff my hand; she must think I’ve got a coke problem.

Eventually, we pull into the parking lot of a run-down motel. Potholes crest the lot, and a few people in tattered jackets smoke by the fenced-in pool. I slip out of the car and hold out my hand for Vi.

“Where are we?” she asks.

“I asked my brother if he had any jobs I could take off of his hands,” I say. “Part of the business, I’m afraid. Figured I’d give you a taste.”

I pull a keycard out of my pocket, about to tap it on the scanner, when she grabs my arm. A voluntary touch. Shock jolts through me—she must know what’s coming—but I don’t stop.

The lock flashes green and the door opens. Inside, a lanky, middle-aged man with yellow eyes and a stained shirt, startles from his seat on the bed.