The Devil Inside Page 4
“Oh my God, Adele,” she gasps.
I rise up and glare at him, looking him in the eye. His eyes are bleary.
“Adele,” he’s pleading now, ashamed. “Sweetie. I’m sorry.”
I’m having none of it. The anger is gone now, replaced with an emptiness I haven’t felt before. “Call your loan sharks. Tell them you can give them five grand now. Get an extension on the rest. Do whatever you have to do. Sell the car, get another loan, I don’t care. But you will not bring these people to our house, ever again. I don’t want Mina and mom exposed to that kind of filth. I’ll drop the cash off in the morning.” I look at mom and Mina. “I’m leaving. If you want to come, I’ll be waiting in the car outside.”
I know no-one’s coming. But the offer’s there.
I always hope that one day, mom’s going to reach her limit and choose to leave with me. But she shares a connection with dad that I don't understand. If mom stays, Mina will too. She’s protective like that.
And they will never, ever call the cops.
I tried it once, when I was ten. Mom denied everything, of course. She just smiled and told them she fell down the stairs. Dad thought she’d been the one to call them.
He punished her for it. It was a really big deal, because dad was in the police force back then. He absolutely hated that they’d been called to our address. It struck too close to home. Mom didn’t say a word. She protected me. I was only ten, but I had to witness her being beaten for my mistake.
I reach up and touch the broken skin around my eye. It’s exquisitely tender. The funny thing is, I could have hit back. Dad’s not the strapping young police officer anymore. Most of his muscle has gone to fat.
But I refuse to lower myself to that level.
With a tight smile towards Mina and mom, I turn and leave. I don’t spare Gavin a glance.
He can drink himself to death, for all I care.
Adele
The next day, I’m back at work. It’s the lunchtime rush. It’s as busy as it gets. There’s a line of customers trailing out the door and onto the sidewalk, waiting for a seat at the conveyor belt. I’m run off my feet serving drinks and counting plates.
I woke up this morning with a massive headache and a huge shiner around my left eye. After a handful of Aspirin and Tylenol and a large cup of strong black coffee, I managed to make myself look presentable by layering on the foundation.
I dropped off the money after that. Five thousand dollars. It’s almost all of my savings. I gave it to mom. I told her to make sure it gets to the right people. Gavin was still in bed. I was relieved about that.
Hopefully that will buy them some room to breathe.
I don’t think I’ve fooled anyone at work. Rei’s been sneaking glances at me all morning, but she’s too polite to say anything. Eiji, the manager, gave me a long, sympathetic stare as I greeted him today. But he didn’t say anything either.
I’m punching another order through the till when I see a familiar figure weaving through the crowd.
What the hell is Kaito doing here?
He moves fluidly past the hungry customers, like a shark in a sea of darting fish. It’s hot outside, but he’s wearing a bomber jacket over a white t-shirt and jeans. Even dressed casually, he looks delicious.
He meets my gaze. Too late, I try to turn my face so he doesn’t see my poorly concealed black eye. I can tell by the slight narrowing of his eyes that he’s noticed.
I’m busy with a customer, so I try to ignore him.
He corners Eiji and they start speaking in rapid Japanese. At first Eiji looks upset at what Kaito’s telling him. Whatever Kaito says next subdues him, because he goes quiet and still and does a quick little bow.
I hand the lady her change, flash a smile and clear some empty plates off the counter.
I try not to look in Kaito’s direction, but I’m acutely aware of his every movement, of the way he’s looking at me with dark eyes that seem to miss nothing.
He comes over and leans in near me, whispering in my ear. “See me out back for a moment, Adele.” His soft, potent words make the fine hairs on the back of my neck tingle.
I try to ignore the sensation.
“It’s busy, Kaito.” I don’t want to talk about the bruise. I know he’s going to ask about the bruise. “See that line? Those customers aren’t going to go away.”
"No, they aren't. But they've waited long enough already. Do you think a few more minutes will matter?"
"I don't have time for this, Kaito." I try to get around the counter, but Kaito's standing in the gap, blocking my path. He raises one eyebrow, his expression cool.
The restaurant echoes with the sound of chatter and clinking glasses and the kitchen staff yelling orders to one another in Japanese. It's noisy in here, but it all fades to a distant murmur as I take in Kaito, battered face and all. He has the most intense stare. His features are composed, but his eyes hold a storm of anger and something else I can't quite understand.
If I look into his eyes for too long, if I take in the strong lines of his face and the curve of his lips and the masculine column of his neck that disappears beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, where I can see the swell of hard muscle, I might just become lost.
Steady, girl. Since when did this man-crush evolve from platonic admiration into full blown lust?
I think Kaito's caught me checking him out, because his lips curve ever so slightly. Dammit. My irritation evaporates.
That doesn't mean he's going to get to have that talk with me. I know the one. It's where he asks me what happened and I tell him, sobbing, that my own fucking father punched me in the face.
That makes two black eyes in one night. One for me, one for Kaito. We make a great pair.
Then what happens? He plays avenging angel? We call the cops?
Not going to happen.
"Whatever it is, surely it can wait?" I sigh and try to brush past him. He doesn't move.
It's weird. I've always been wishing he'd pay me more attention. Now that he finally is, it’s making me nervous.
Well, I don't mind it, but my instincts are telling me I don't want to go there with Kaito. Because last night he beat up two hardened thugs like it was an everyday thing.
I don't do violent men.
And I don't buy that accountant bullshit.
Accountant, huh? Really, Kaito? My eyes narrow as I stare at him.
Curiosity wins. I’ve changed my mind. Kaito wants to talk? Then we'll talk out back. I feel the sudden urge to call him out, to ask him who the hell he really is.
I edge past Kaito and my hip brushes against him. He steps aside and puts a hand on my waist as I pass, ever so briefly.
Smooth, bookworm.
His veneer of indifferent politeness is gone. I don't know what's changed since last night, but Kaito has allowed one of his barriers to drop.
I’m sure there are many more layers to get past. Do I really want to go there?
"Fine, let’s talk,” I snap, not bothering to look behind as I push through the staff door. I head for the back exit, craving a moment of fresh air. The restaurant smells like fish and nori and soy sauce, and all of a sudden, it feels stifling.
Kaito follows me like a shadow, wordless and silent. We reach the door, which opens into a narrow alley. He leans against the wall and pulls a pack of cigarettes from inside his jacket.
It’s a brand I haven’t seen before, called Hope.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
Kaito puts one of the cigarettes in his mouth. I glare at him.
“You’re not going to start smoking in front of me, are you?” The smell of cigarette smoke isn’t my favorite thing in the world.
He looks in my direction, blinks, then takes the smoke out of his mouth. “Sorry. Bad habit.” He almost sounds sheepish. I wonder how many other bad habits Kaito has.
His gaze roams over my face and his expression becomes hard. I know I’ve done a poor job with the makeup. It’s not fooling him.
“No, not those assholes from last night.” I sigh. “It was someone I know. We had a disagreement. Nothing to be bothered about. It won’t happen again.”
“Hmm.” He’s staring at me as if he’s expecting something more. I allow the silence to lengthen. I appreciate Kaito’s concern, but I don’t really want to discuss last night’s incident. But the pause becomes uncomfortable, and I say something to break it.
“Is that why you asked me out back? Because of this?”
“Not quite.” Kaito shrugs and slides the cigarette back into its small, white box. There’s something a bit neat and obsessive in the way he goes about it. “Well, maybe it prompted me. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, after last night. When I saw your face I thought those two men had followed you. But obviously, it was someone else.”
Wordless, I nod. The silence stretches between us again. Kaito is quiet and still, but there’s a tempest swirling in his eyes. He moves closer to me, and I catch a tendril of his scent. It’s a complex mixture of leather and spice and something raw and woody, like freshly cut pine.
Warmth floods through me.
“You know, Adele, on those first few occasions we met, I told myself I shouldn't get close to someone like you.” Kaito is beside me now, so close we’re almost touching. It’s probably my imagination, but I can almost feel the heat rolling off him. “But last night, you caught a glimpse of my world. And you didn’t run.” He sounds bitter, and the look he gives me is guarded, as if he's ready to draw back and erect his barriers again.
I'm glued to the spot, like a rabbit trapped in the gaze of a wolf. As I savor his nearness, Kaito raises his hand and traces the area around my black eye with a featherlight touch. It doesn’t hurt, even though the skin there is delicate and tender. The gesture sends a shiver down my spine.
“The person who did this to you; was it your boyfriend?”
I shake my head. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” For some reason, I want him to know that.
“Ex-boyfriend?”
“No.” I almost laugh. Both my exes wouldn’t even know how to hit straight. “I’m not going to talk about it, so you can stop wasting your time.”
“This is not a waste of time.”
“Well then, it’s none of your business.” I start to feel irritated. “What’s with the interrogation, anyway? Don’t you have better places to be on the weekend?” On impulse, I grab Kaito’s left hand and turn it over, tracing my finger across his palm. His hand is large and warm, with long, callused fingers. But part of his fifth finger is missing.
A chill slides down my spine.
“And you’re obviously not just an accountant,” I murmur. Kaito has gone still. His face is an unreadable mask. “Feel like telling me what you really do?”
Kaito softly disengages his hand. “I’m no-one important, Adele, just the guy who comes in to do the books.” His expression turns self-mocking. “And you’re not just a waitress at a sushi bar, are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“What’s a girl like you doing working here, is what I mean. I’ve been watching you, Adele. There’s more to you than tips and service.”
“No double life,” I assure him. “I don’t have any secrets. I’m just a struggling artist, trying to pay my rent.”
“An artist?” Kaito looks me up and down, a smile tugging the edges of his mouth. He looks intrigued. “You must be good. I can tell.”
“Yeah, right. There’s no way you can tell that. But enough about me.” I poke a finger at his chest, changing the subject. “What about you?”
It’s as if I’ve just pushed the wrong button. Kaito’s barriers go up, his smile disappearing, his face becoming a blank mask. “Nothing, Adele. There’s nothing else you need to know.” He gently lifts my hand away from his chest. “I think you have customers waiting.”
Annoyed, I shrug. If Kaito doesn’t want to talk about his past, then that’s his business. Such a frustrating, infuriating man. “You’re right. I have work to do. Was there anything else?”
“No,” he murmurs. But his eyes tell me otherwise. They’re hungry, roaming my face, my body. It’s not an unwelcome stare. He knows it. Arrogant bastard.
As I turn and enter the building, a warm, pleasant sensation fills my chest. Secretly, I don’t mind the attention.
When I look back, Kaito’s mouth is curved into a cryptic half-smile.
I don’t see him again that afternoon, and my shift is is filled with an endless barrage of hungry customers. But I find myself distracted by thoughts of a dark-haired, dark-eyed man who fights dirty, says little and yet stares at me with a piercing, wanting gaze.
Kaito
She’s gone. I catch a glimpse of the sweet curve of her ass as she disappears down the corridor. Her glossy, dark hair sways back and forth in its ponytail, as if in defiance.
My cock has gone hard. Adele’s always doing this to me.
She’s tempting me. I told myself I wouldn’t go there, but when I walked into the restaurant today, the look she gave me was a one-two sucker punch.
She stared at me like she wanted me and she didn’t care if I knew it.
Then I saw the shadow around her left eye. She tried to cover it up, but I’ve seen too many battered women in my lifetime. The dark anger that rose in me was surprising in its viciousness.
I'm ready to murder the asshole who hurt her.
I haven’t felt that way in a long time.
She won’t tell me what happened, or who did it. Not because she’s afraid, but because she thinks it’s none of my business. She’s fierce and proud and determined to handle things on her own.
Adele doesn’t fear me, even though she saw what I did the other night. I know women who wouldn't ever speak to me again after that little display. It can't be helped. Violence is as innate to me as breathing. She should stay the hell away from me. But after I beat the shit out of those two hardened thugs last night, she made me tea.
That was refreshing.
I light up a cigarette and inhale, savoring it. A small laugh escapes me. She’s the first person to ever lecture me about my smoking. She’s right, of course. The cancer sticks are a filthy habit.
“Fuck.” I exhale, then think twice and drop the cigarette on the ground, crushing it under my shoe. Maybe it is time to quit the smokes.
What the hell is wrong with me?
This was supposed to be a business visit; a quick explanation to the manager about what happened last night, warning him to call Masa or myself if Lucini’s people return and things get out of hand.
Instead, I end up following my dick.
I’m not used to this kind of thing. She’s not easy, this Adele. Dealing with women is not normally a problem for me. My days in Japan were filled with one night stands with beautiful predators who hid behind a demure facade. It’s a certain kind of woman who’s drawn to the world of the yakuza.
They wanted exactly what I wanted and neither of us ever lingered afterwards.
With my reputation, I wasn’t exactly relationship material.
Since coming to America, I’ve gone under the radar, acting quiet, reserved, every inch the Japanese professional. I have my reasons. There are people who would be happy if they heard I was dead or in jail.
Until this goddamn Adele comes along with her perfect face and bee-stung, cherry lips and mesmerizing green eyes and I’m lusting after her like a fucking virgin schoolboy.
I should stop right now. She’s starting to ask questions I don’t want to answer.
Like who am I, really?
I don't know how I'm supposed to explain that.
CHAPTER THREE
Adele
On Sunday, I have a day off. I decide to make the morning my own, so I sleep in, have a slow breakfast and watch crap on the intern
et for a while. The bruise around my eye has started to turn yellow. Next it’ll go green, before eventually fading.
Gross.
Having a giant, multicolored patch around one’s left eye isn’t glamorous.
At least it’s not as painful anymore.
I’ve got the apartment to myself. Dio’s gone to some tech conference in Silicon Valley for the week so I can lounge around in an oversized t-shirt, wearing only my panties. I know; I'm a slob.
It’s good to relax.
I’m half asleep on the couch, basking in the warm mid-morning sunshine when my phone vibrates.
Adi, pls come over. Dad in trouble.
Not again. A bad feeling uncoils in the pit of my stomach.
If Gavin has done anything stupid with that five thousand dollars I gave him, I'm going to kill him.
I sigh. So much for lounging around in comfort on my day off. I get dressed and call a cab. Normally, I take the bus, but in this case, time is an issue. When the driver drops me off at my family's house, there's a black Porsche parked out front.
I'm pretty sure we don't know anyone who drives a Porsche.
That bad feeling from earlier has morphed into dread.
I creep in through the open doorway and hear raised voices coming from the kitchen. On silent feet, I peer around the corner. I freeze. Gavin is seated at the kitchen table with two men. Mom and Mina are nowhere to be seen.
Dad has his head bowed. One of the men has laid a gun on the table.
"Listen, Johnny," he pleads. "I'll get your money. I just need more time."
"Time's up, Gavin." The man named Johnny leans forward. Even sitting down, I can tell he's a huge guy. His hulking frame seems to fill the entire room. His counterpart is the opposite; whip thin, but no less scary.
He has a shaved head and small, mean eyes that dart around like he's restless. "The agreement was one month. We've been plenty generous. And what do you do? Go and get into more fucking debt." Johnny's voice is soft and laced with the promise of violence. My dad looks pale, his eyes sunken. He seems small and weak, a tired echo of the man I remember.