by LJ Evans
I reached across the desk to try and grab the note from him, but he pulled it away and took a step back.
“Jada. Did you get a warning? From the Kyōdaina? Because you went to see your grandmother?”
“No,” I lied perfectly.
He waved the paper at me. “Then what, pour l'amour de Dieu, is this?”
I crossed my arms over my chest, rolled my eyes, and said, “It’s a drawing, Armaud. Give it back.”
“Did you draw it?” Concern filled his voice for a different reason. A woman slitting her wrist. Kaikens had been used for ritualized suicides for centuries.
“I’m not that talented with a pen,” I told him. “I’m also not ready to commit suicide, but if you don’t hand it back to me, leave me alone, and tell the super twins to back off, I might be close to committing murder.”
He took out his phone and snapped a picture.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked. I was around the desk and in his space before he could move farther away. I grabbed the paper, and he grabbed my wrist.
“Tell me what it says, or I’ll send it to someone who can.” The slow growl in his voice was appealing in all the ways it shouldn’t have been.
“You do not get to demand anything of me, Armaud. Not. One. Thing.” I raised my chin and fought against his grip.
He looked down at the hold he had on my wrist and let go as if I’d burned him. As if touching me were painful. Maybe it was. Just being close to him was enough to send my libido into a torturous overdrive, an ache of desire shooting through me. It didn’t help that my dry spell had been months long. Dax’s body had always promised me things… The memory of sweet kisses and the one time we’d even come close―the one time I’d come apart on his mouth―was enough to make my nipples tighten.
My body trembled as I turned away, both to hide my reaction and to give myself some much-needed space. I went back to the bag on my desk and slipped the paper in with the other items. When I looked back up, Dax was staring down at his phone again. There was no doubt he’d find out what it said. He had enough resources. Enough friends around the globe who spoke whatever the hell language he needed. I didn’t want him talking to Vi and Dawson about it. I didn’t want them to find out and come running back from their honeymoon in order to try and save me yet again. They’d saved me too many times already.
I sighed.
“It says, ‘Retribution is a duty that will only wait so long,’” I said.
His eyes widened. “It is a threat.”
I shrugged, but my skin prickled again, not from the way Dax’s body made mine heat up but from the icy sensation of someone being in my home and leaving behind the note. A message claiming I only had a short time before something more serious came my way.
“Is that all it says?” he pushed.
“It essentially says, ‘Time’s up,’” I told him.
“Putain de bordel de merde.”
Holy fucking hell was right, but I didn’t say anything aloud. I couldn’t. If I did, I might break down completely, and I had plenty to do today.
“Rana is amping up your security?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Where was the note left?”
I sat down, swallowing. “Why does it matter?”
He read me—like always.
“Here?! They left it here? They were in your home?” He pushed a hand through his stylized hair, ruffling the stiff peaks, mussing it more and making it even sexier, as if it had been tousled in bed. “Fire her. I’ll have Cillian and his team take over.”
“I don’t need your concern or your team. Rana is as pissed as you are, and it sure as hell motivated her to cover our weak spots. They’re figuring it out. We’ll know who it was soon and take care of it.”
“Did you call the police?”
I laughed sarcastically. “No, Armaud. I didn’t. I won’t be calling the police. Isn’t that what got me into this mess to begin with? Working with the FBI?”
He was more upset than I’d expected. He was pacing, hands still running through his hair before stopping to open and close the clasp on his watch—a tell as old as my phone twirling.
“You should tell them—the FBI,” he said.
“And have them run to Dawson? No way,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “If you tell them and ruin their honeymoon, I’ll hire a hitman to come after you myself.”
“They’re already worried. I have to call them.”
“So, call them, but if you mention this, that image on the warning will be you,” I said, forcing every word to be deadly and calm. I was my father’s daughter. I couldn’t escape it.
“I can’t lie to them. We promised each other only truth after…” he trailed off, looking up at the ceiling and then back to me.
“So, tell them the truth, which is that I’m exhausted. That’s what Vi heard in my voice. I’ll get more rest tonight.”
He scoffed, “Yeah, right. Good luck sleeping with that hanging over you.”
He waved a hand to the note I’d tucked away. I wasn’t sure I’d be sleeping again for months. Not until we found who’d sneaked into my place without leaving even a shadow on the security tapes. Not until I talked with my father and figured out who was coming after me when he’d promised no one would. I’d done one little thing. I’d gone back to Obaasan’s when she needed someone. That loyalty should have been rewarded even if it was in direct violation of our agreement.
“Come with me to the boat show. It’ll take your mind off of it, if nothing else,” he circled back to his original request.
“I have meetings today at Violette. With Violet gone and me in New York for the last three weeks, I need to put in an appearance. We left Joel in charge, which means everything could have been given away by now,” I told Dax, trying to lighten the tension in the air with a jab at our overly bubbly lab tech who’d grown into our operations manager. Joel was the gentlest, kindest man I knew, but he didn’t know how to say no.
“We don’t need to be at the boat show until four. We can stop by the office first.”
“Why are you pushing this?” I demanded, frustration leaking into my tone for the first time.
“Dawson and Violet will never forgive me if I let something happen to you.”
It hurt, stabbing at old wounds—the dark, secret part of my soul that longed for him to say he couldn’t forgive himself if something bad happened to me. Forget Dawson and Violet. I wanted him to need me safe because it would destroy him if I wasn’t. I could admit that much to myself, even if I couldn’t admit why I wanted those things from him. Why was Dax the only one to push those buttons deep inside me?
I knew he cared for me more than most of our so-called friends in the social circle we’d whirled around the globe with. But caring would never turn into something more. It would never be enough for him to forget I was Tsuyoshi Mori’s daughter and he was Étienne Armaud’s son. It would never be enough for us to lose ourselves to the refrain our bodies sang to one another, but I still couldn’t resist him.
I hated that, out of all the things in my world that had tried to undo me, he was the one that actually could.
Dax
IT’S YOUR VOODOO WORKING
“Round and round same old thing,
Heartache misery trouble and pain.”
Performed by Imelda May
Written by Charles Sheffield
From the moment the drape had dropped to reveal our yacht elegantly displayed at the show alongside the McLaren 720S that had been perfectly matched to it, the press and the crowd had been clamoring at me. As I answered questions about the Conquista line, my gaze kept darting to the sidelines where Jada waited with Cillian and Rana in tow. Both bodyguards were eyeballing the crowd as if they were ready to pounce.
I’d been surprised when Jada had acquiesced to my request, leaving me to wonder if she was more shaken up than she’d let on. We’d first gone to her office, where the st
aff of Force de la Violette had been giddy to see her. Their operations manager, Joel, had directed flirtatious looks at me the entire time he’d been in her office, discussing a new scent he was working on—something called Romeo. The name had made me want to laugh, but I knew better. Jada hadn’t held back. She’d rolled her eyes at the name, made some suggestions about the ingredients, and then sent him scurrying back to the lab while she filtered through stacks of messages, emails, and sales numbers.
Then, she’d graciously accompanied me to the convention center. Without a fight. Without more boulders thrown down as reasons not to come. And now, she was waiting for me on the sidelines with her sexy curves still screaming at me like they had all day long. As they had for a lifetime.
My assistant, Cara, finally put a hand over the mic and looked out to the crowd. “That’s it for today. If you still have questions, message me at Armaud Racing, and I’ll get back to you.”
Cara was a tall, willowy redhead who dressed in the latest Éclair styles. Her wardrobe was part of her compensation package, and she took full advantage of it. In truth, it was as good of an advertisement for Papa’s company as me wearing his newest fashions.
Cara matched my stride as we stepped away from the podium and headed toward Jada and our bodyguards.
“Did you get the reservation I asked for?” I asked her.
She nodded. “Yes. Seven o’clock in the booth at the back, like normal.”
“Thanks, Cara.”
As I reached Jada’s side, Cara took off. Discretion was one of the things I paid her for. “Do you want to look around before we leave?” I asked Jada.
She eyed the crowd streaming through the aisles of the boat show. It definitely wasn’t a Jada-like event. Before I’d met Dawson, I hadn’t cared about these things either. I hadn’t had a business dependent on how our yachts compared to our competitors. Not that we had much real competition. Our yachts were unique, custom-built, and cost more than most people had in their retirement accounts. They weren’t for the average Joe taking in the sights at the boat show, but the unveiling would draw the eyes of the Bay Area elite—semiconductor, telecom, and social media gurus who had enough change in their pockets to buy our yachts without blinking.
“It’s not really my thing,” she said, “but if I don’t get food soon, I might pass out.”
“I have reservations at En Feu,” I told her as I took her elbow to guide her through the crowd. Not that she needed it. Jada could storm her way through an angry mob, but it was how I’d been raised. The problem was, touching Jada sent more flames through me than would be on display at the restaurant when we got there.
As our bodyguards led us to the back entrance, Cillian took up the rear and Rana the front. Our vehicles waited for us in the alley. Black. Unmarked with tinted windows. Cillian was driving the Escalade, and Rana’s team was using a Cadillac that sat behind it. They weren’t subtle cars. They screamed “dignitaries” or “someone important.” I barely noticed it on most occasions. It was just my life. Dawson had teased me once about going from leather to leather to leather as if my ass was too good to sit on vinyl. While it was true, I also didn’t feel like it defined me. If I didn’t have those things tomorrow, I wasn’t sure I’d miss them.
After assisting Jada into the SUV, I slid into the back seat next to her. The doors shut behind us, cutting off the sounds of the city streets. My eyes drifted to her legs. The white skin was illuminated against the black fabric like moonlight.
“How many yachts do you have in production already?” Jada asked, bringing my eyes up to her face. Her lips were twisted sardonically because she’d caught me staring.
“Five. And another five will be ready by spring,” I told her.
Her eyes traveled the length of me before winding back to my face as she said, “You know, it’s sort of frustrating.”
“What?” I almost choked as my body considered all the reasons for her frustration. Were they the same as mine? The need to feel our bodies notched together?
“You sell ten yachts and make more money than Vi and I do selling thousands of products.”
I smiled. “It’s like comparing the sale of a mansion to that of a chair.”
“A top-of-the-line, one-of-a-kind chair.”
I grinned. “Well, yes, but still a chair.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.
“We have a tail.” Cillian’s cool voice from the front drew both our eyes to him. “We’re going to split up and take some side streets to try and shake them.”
“Is splitting up really wise?” I asked. “If they saw us get into the vehicles, they won’t be distracted by following Jada’s team.”
“Mike, Terrence, and Armando are going to pick us up,” Cillian said. They were members of Reinard Security, who I knew from times when I needed more than just Cillian watching my back.
I turned my head to take in Jada. She was flipping her phone over in her lap. She’d somehow gotten smaller in the two seconds that had passed from her declaring the quality of Violette’s products to now, as if she’d shrunken in on herself.
“I should go home,” she said quietly. “No need to put anyone else at risk.”
“The home that got breached?” I said dryly.
“They won’t care, Armaud,” she said, dropping her voice so Cillian couldn’t hear. “They’ll just shoot their way through whoever is there.”
“So, what are you suggesting? We all should just put you at the front and take ten steps back?” I growled. The thought of her being shot―again―was too much to think about.
Two years ago, her father’s lieutenant had gone rogue when he’d found out she’d been working with Dawson and the FBI. He’d shot her and almost killed Violet and Dawson in the process. When I’d finally gotten to the hospital and seen her looking tiny and frail in the hospital bed, my heart had truly stopped. I’d thought I’d have to have the crash cart applied to my chest.
She’d teased me that day about going soft, but I’d barely been able to speak as I’d taken her in. She’d looked completely opposite from the confident, larger-than-life Jada Mori I’d known. She’d looked frail in a way she’d never once looked at any moment in the years I’d known her.
Her fragility had overwhelmed me. The knowledge that I hadn’t been at her side when it had all gone down, because I was throwing a childish tantrum, had filled me with guilt. I’d left the party she’d held for Dawson and me early because she was dancing with Malik, the Russian scum who used to procure her tranquilizers. I’d left because she’d had an engagement ring on her finger… a ring tying her not only to the man who’d shot her but also to the entire criminal syndicate her father headed. The one my family hated with a deep and unyielding force and secrets that not even Jada knew about. Seeing her recovering from the bullet hole her fiancé had put in her, I’d been pushed into action. I’d promised myself I’d never abandon her to assholes again. And yet, I still had…my duty to my family had won out once again.
Now, waiting for her to respond after basically agreeing to put herself in the line of fire to save others, my heart clenched tightly. I gritted my teeth and said, “You act like you deserve this. Like it’s inevitable. As if you want it to happen.”
Her face flamed, shoulders springing back, chin lifting. “I don’t want to die. It’s the second time you’ve suggested it today. Stop.”
“Giving in to them is the same, isn’t it?” I pushed. Her fire grew with every word I spoke, and I was happy to see it. I wanted her to remember the self-assured thirteen-year-old she’d been when we first met, turning my fifteen-year-old body into a stumbling, uncouth pile of hormones.
“Giving in and keeping people safe isn’t the same thing,” she said.
“It’s their job to keep you safe,” I reminded her. “It’s what you’re paying them for.”
We pulled down an alley that dropped us at the back of En Feu. Another black vehicle pulled in behind us, and
Cillian’s teammates emerged. They opened my passenger door, and I got out, giving Jada my hand. She took it, and I felt a tremor run through her. I wasn’t sure if it was from our bodies colliding, the car following us, or the warning she’d been given with a bloody image accompanying it.
We stepped inside the restaurant’s kitchen and were met by a fluttering butterfly of a man, Ilan, who was the owner. He air-kissed Jada, repeated it with me, and then led us to a booth at the back of the restaurant. With our entourage of bodyguards, it was hard to blend in, and we drew eyes and whispers. Neither Jada nor I were celebrities that the Americans seemed to worship like the British did their royal family, but we were well-known by the gossip rags and the media. We were interesting if not worship-worthy.
Jada slid into the dark leather booth, and I followed.
“Ordering or letting us pick for you tonight?” Ilan asked. His thin, goatee-lined face was full of eagerness.
“I’ll always trust you to know what I like, Ilan,” I answered.
He grinned and hurried away, leaving us in silence that the quiet murmur of the candlelit restaurant didn’t quite fill.
Rana and her team entered from the front entrance and weaved through the tables littered with silver-rimmed china and cut-glass crystal to join us. It drew even more eyes our way.
“It was an unmarked sedan. We lost them a few blocks away, but I think the driver was female,” Rana said, sending a knowing look at Jada.
Until two years ago, Jada’s driver and bodyguard was a female in her father’s employ. I wasn’t sure what had become of Kaida Ito since Jada had left the fold, but as there were very few women in that kind of position in the Kyōdaina, there was a good chance it had been her at the wheel.
Proving the unspoken thoughts right, Ito-san strode into the restaurant. She ignored the eager hostess and approached our table as our teams closed in, shielding us. She’d bleached her hair since I’d seen her last. The short, white-blonde spikes and shaved sides gleamed against even whiter skin, making her eyes stand out, dark and cold, as if all emotion had been removed along with her color.
