The Devil Inside Read online

  Maybe we could come here together, like a regular couple.

  Is that too much to hope for?

  Will she accept me, in all my fucked up glory?

  A hand taps me on the shoulder and I spin around, startled. But it’s only a wandering couple. They look like tourists, both young and tanned, wearing easy, relaxed smiles.

  A flash of envy courses through me.

  “‘Scuse me, mate.” The boyfriend holds out a camera. “You mind taking a photo of the two of us?” His accent tells me he’s not from around here. Australian, maybe.

  “Sure.” I take a few snaps of the happy pair as they stand in front of the city skyline, beaming. They thank me and move off to the far end to get a few more shots of each other.

  I turn and walk away, feeling out of place in the beautiful sunshine.

  Kaito

  By the time Tuesday comes around, I can’t take it anymore. I spend the day visiting Kuroda owned businesses around town, balancing accounts, taking laundered cash, depositing money into the bank, making wire transfers. It’s a standard day’s work.

  But I’m distracted the whole time.

  It must be a sickness of some kind. Maybe this is what happens to guys who go too long without pussy.

  I find an excuse to swing by the Fat Dragon on my way home. I don’t usually turn up there this early in the week, but I need to see Adele.

  I have this weird thought that I might just ask her out to dinner.

  It’d be a first for me. I’ve been with many women, but I’ve never asked one on a date.

  When I arrive, the place is busy. Welcoming calls of “irrashaimase” echo from inside the restaurant. There’s a line again, snaking out the door and onto the sidewalk. They’re running some kind of promotion. All plates two dollars.

  I walk in and see Rei and some other waitress I don’t recognize working the floor.

  Rei’s eyes go wide when she sees me. I pull her aside. “Adele not working tonight?”

  Surprise flits across her face, before she masks it with a smile. “I’m sorry, but she’s called in sick tonight. Do you want me to pass on a message?”

  Her eyes dart around the room and I can tell she’s lying. It’s written in her artificial smile and the way she won’t look at me directly. I’ve always been good at catching lies.

  She’s hiding something. I don’t like it.

  I lean in close, switching to Japanese. “You absolutely sure she’s off sick?” My voice is soft, but she doesn’t miss the intent. She flinches. I know she’s suspicious of me. I caught her looking at my severed finger the other night. My fault for being distracted. I usually keep it tucked underneath. Even some non-Japanese put two and two together when they see it.

  Rei swallows and gives me a flat stare, before looking down at her feet. “It’s none of your business,” she murmurs.

  “I’m making it my business.” Seeing the fear in her eyes, I relent. She’s only trying to protect her friend. “I’m not going to cause any trouble, Rei. I’m just worried about her. Seems like there’s something going on. Maybe I can help.”

  “You’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?” Realization dawns on her and a small, almost-smile appears. She’s still not sure whether she can trust me.

  “What do you think?” I sigh, suddenly feeling like the awkward one.

  “You’re serious about this.”

  “I am.”

  “You’re not going to let it go.”

  “No.”

  Rei considers me for a long time, searching my face for something, I don’t know what. “You’re not who you’re pretending to be, Araki-san. Is that going to be a problem for her?”

  “That’s for Adele to decide.” Customers are lining up to pay. Rei shoots them a nervous glance. I gesture at her to carry on. “I’m interrupting your work. Think about it. I’ll be in the office when you have a moment.”

  Rei nods and heads for the till.

  When business dies down, Rei finds me in the small office, going over some figures. “Why are you looking for her, Araki-san?”

  I shrug. “I wanted to ask her on a date.”

  “A date?” She blinks, twice, taken aback. It’s probably the last thing she was expecting to hear. “That’s, er, unexpectedly romantic.”

  “Do I not seem like the romantic type?” I raise an eyebrow mockingly. Rei chooses to hold her tongue, rather than reply to my sarcasm.

  “Is this going to end up with Adele getting hurt?” Instead, she hits me with a blunt question.

  “That’s not my intention at all.”

  “Doesn’t mean it won’t happen.”

  “Just tell me where she is, Rei.” I stand and move close to her. She’s a small girl, the top of her head reaching only to my chest. “If she’s in some kind of trouble right now, I can help her.”

  “Your kind of help is not without conditions, I’m sure.” Rei shrinks back, wary as a cat.

  “No strings attached.” I spread my hands, trying to appear less intimidating. “I’m not into those kinds of relationships. I’m not a fucking sarakin.” I use the Japanese term for loan shark. Locking people into impossible agreements they can’t ever hope to fulfill; that just isn’t my style.

  Rei looks at me through narrowed eyes for a long time. She’s gauging me, trying to figure out if she can trust me. I don’t blame her.

  “She’s working at Black Rose,” she blurts eventually, breaking the awkward silence.

  “What?” I demand, wild thoughts taking over. Anger, so familiar and raw, courses through me. I’ve lived with the emotion my entire life, harnessed it, used it. But right now, I’m on the verge of losing control. I can’t stand the thought of another man touching her. And Black Rose isn’t what it seems, on the surface. It’s owned by the Kuroda Group. I know what goes on behind closed doors in those places. “Did you introduce her to that shit, Rei?”

  Rei backs away, her face pale, alarm creasing her features. “Wait, Araki-san.” She holds up her hands in a placating gesture. “Let me explain.”

  But I’m out the door already. If Adele wants to play hostess tonight, she’s going to have one customer only.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Adele

  There’s a hand on my thigh. Clumsy fingers pluck at the hem of my short, tight skirt. I laugh and gently push the hand away. I’m sitting in a corner booth in the Black Rose, making small talk. The lounge is crowded, even though it’s a Tuesday night. A thin fog of cigarette smoke hangs in the air and the lights are dim, giving guests privacy. An elegant jazz soundtrack fills the room.

  “Hayashi-san, you look like you need another drink.” I force a laugh and point to the empty bottle of wine on the table. “Let me take that away and get you something nice and refreshing.”

  My client blinks at me, his small, black eyes bleary behind thin, wire-rimmed glasses. Hayashi is a forty-something, balding businessman with a thing for curvy brunettes like me.

  “You’re nice and refreshing,” he grins, his hand once again riding up my thigh. I entangle myself from his grip and slide out of the booth.

  “Why don’t you order something from the menu?” I wink at him. “I feel like something to drink, too.”

  “You’re a bit pushy, girl, but I like that.” Mr Hayashi’s speech is a little bit slurred. He grabs the menu and pretends to peruse it, but I can see he’s having trouble deciding. The alcohol has gone to his head, and he’s staring at me with a broad smile on his face.

  “May I suggest something?” I lean close to his ear, touching my hand lightly on his shoulder. “How about the Dom Perignon? It’s my first night working here, and you’re my first customer. I want to celebrate with you.”

  I pause, my heart skipping a beat. It’s a gamble. At five hundred dollars a bottle, the Dom Perignon is one of the most expensive items on the menu. It’s ridiculously overpriced, like all the other drinks.

  Along with the tips, it’s how the hostesses get paid.

  Mama-san explained t
o me that for every drink sale, I get to take home fifty percent. That’s why the prices are so high. The customers accept it, knowing it’s part of the service.

  Pushing the drinks too hard can be off-putting for some guests, and a quick way to fast-track to the bottom of the popularity list.

  I’m relying on the fact that Mr Hayashi is nicely drunk and more interested in getting his fingers up my skirt. Hopefully, that’s enough to distract him from the prices on the menu.

  “Hayashi-san?” I insist, as his wandering eyes refocus on my face. “I’ll bring it over.”

  “Sure,” he mumbles.

  Before he can protest, I slip away, adjusting my skirt. I’m teetering on six inch heels and wearing a purple mini dress that shows off my legs and clings to my ass. It has long sleeves though, and covers my cleavage. I figured I better keep some part of me clothed.

  So far, I think I’m doing okay. Mr Hayashi has gone through two expensive bottles of wine, while I sip twenty dollar bottles of Perrier, all paid for. And for most of the night, we’ve just talked. He’s told me about his job. He works as a salesman for some Japanese computer technology company. He’s just arrived in LA from Tokyo, on his way to some convention in Vegas. He’s married, with a wife and two kids living in Japan. The children are both in high school. He barely sees them, because he’s traveling all the time for his job.

  His wife is sleeping with a male host. Apparently in Japan, they have clubs like this full of young men who entertain lonely housewives. Sex can be bought, for the right money. She doesn’t know Mr Hayashi knows about it. He’s set up some kind of recording device in their apartment.

  He showed me the live feed on his smartphone. Thank God the room was empty. That’s some creepy, fucked up shit.

  It’s a life I can’t comprehend. Yet Mr Hayashi sits beside me and talks about all these things as if they were an everyday thing, like the weather.

  Maybe this is how he deals with it, by paying women so he can talk to them. Maybe this is kind of like therapy for him.

  The conversation started off okay, but after all that alcohol, he’s starting to get a bit frisky. I’m counting on the generously priced fancy French champagne to distract him.

  As I lean over the bar to place an order, Mama-san appears at my side. “You need to say goodnight to that man now, Adele.” She inclines her head, a curious look coming into her eyes. “One of our guests has specifically requested you.”

  “But he’s just ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon,” I protest, seeing the dollars sliding out of my grasp. Normally, I wouldn’t even dare sell something like this. I feel a bit sorry for Mr Hayashi. But my family needs the cash, and I can’t afford to let myself go all soft just because his wife’s cheating on him.

  “Let it go.” Mama-san orders. “One of the other girls will take care of him. I want you to take this to our new guest.” She’s holding a tray with a glass of neat whisky and an ashtray. She passes it to me. I roll my eyes. Great. A smoker.

  Rei didn’t tell me about the occupational hazards.

  “Who is so important that you’ll drag me away from my most obliging customer, Mama-san?” I can’t help the sarcasm that laces my voice.

  “Shh!” I feel a sharp dig in my ribs. Mama-san is actually elbowing me. “You need to behave with this next customer, Adele. Don’t force him to buy drinks. Just make conversation.”

  “May I ask why this guy gets the special treatment?”

  Mama-san leans in close, her voice low. “Adele, in this business, you’ll come across men who are wolves dressed as sheep. You need to recognize them. It’s in the speech, the behavior, the small tells in their mannerisms.” The strong musk of her perfume surrounds me, making me feel lightheaded. “If you happen to serve a Japanese man who has tattoos or a missing finger, don’t you even pretend to try and swindle him.”

  I blink, trying to filter what Mama-san’s trying to tell me. “You mean don’t cheat the criminals?”

  “Something like that.” Mama-san cringes, seemingly uncomfortable with my bluntness. “You’ll get better at picking them, over time. After a while, you’ll be able to tell the difference without thinking.” Her eyes dart to the corner of the room. “Go now, take him his drink. Table nine, in the corner.”

  I follow her gaze and almost drop the tray.

  Kaito stares back at me. A cigarette sits between his fingers, a stray tendril of smoke drifting upwards. He’s wearing all black; a tailored black suit jacket over a collared black shirt. I take a moment to appreciate the way it suits him before the shock of seeing him here sinks in. What the hell is he doing here? Is he a regular? Or did Rei tell him I was here? Is she still trying to play matchmaker?

  The possibility that he’s here because of me sends a thrill of excitement through me.

  Don’t be ridiculous, girl.

  My heart is hammering in my chest. Kaito doesn’t move. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes, coal-black in the dim light, are burning. That intense, straight-faced look is arousing as hell.

  My anger at seeing him here dissolves as his lips curl into a slight smile. But I’m not about to let him get away that easily.

  I put my game face on.

  Steady, girl.

  Remember, he’s bothering me at work. Which is none of his business. He’s possibly gone out of his way to find me here. And for some reason, Mama-san is scared of him. She seems to think he’s some kind of bad and dangerous person.

  From what I’ve seen so far, he probably is.

  Oh, lordy.

  Game face, Adele. If Kaito wants my company during working hours, then he can damn well pay for the privilege.

  I turn and wink at Mama-san. “Don’t worry. I’m sure this one doesn’t bite.”

  Mama-san’s face turns a whiter shade of pale. The way she’s looking at me, you’d think I’ve grown another head.

  Adele

  As I walk towards Kaito’s table, holding the silver tray in one hand, he takes a slow drag of his cigarette. I cross the floor and pluck it right out of his mouth.

  “Dirty habit, remember?” I grind the offending smoke into the ashtray. I place the glass of whiskey in front of him and take a seat. “Fancy seeing you here. I didn’t know you were into this kind of thing.”

  Kaito takes a sip of his whisky and shoots me a flat look. “Likewise.” He hands me the drinks menu. “Why don’t you order something?”

  His matter-of-fact tone irritates me. There’s a sudden distance between us, as if he’s just a regular customer and we’ve never met before. “Sure.” I pluck the menu from his hands, rolling my eyes. “I’ll have an OJ with watered down vodka, and we’ll chat for a while. After three or four of those whiskeys, you’ll be ready for karaoke. Is that what you came here for?”

  “No.” Kaito leans in closer and I breathe in his complex, masculine scent. It’s like morning in a pine forest, mingled with the rich aroma of tobacco. He lifts the menu from me in one fluid motion and flips to a page at the back I hadn’t noticed before. It’s written in Japanese, with no English translation. “If you’re going to be successful in this job, you need to know this page. Don’t bother with the Japanese characters. Just look at the numbers.”

  I glance at the page and my eyes go wide. The items on that page are crazy expensive, some running into the thousands of dollars.

  “There’s a certain kind of customer who likes to spend big. The more money he drops, the more you stroke his ego. That’s what this section is for.”

  “And you’re telling me this because?”

  “You’re obviously doing this because you want quick money.” Kaito pulls another cigarette from inside his jacket. His eyes move slowly up and down, tracing along my figure. “Just trying to make it easier for you.”

  “Oh?” I take the cigarette out of his hand and break it in half, dropping the pieces into the ashtray. “In that case, I’ll have that one.” My finger lands on a menu item. I don’t know what the hell it is. It’s all written in Japanese.
But the price is easy enough to read. Two thousand dollars.

  “Ethereal Beauty sake?” Kaito raises a sardonic eyebrow. “How appropriate.”

  I snort. “Does buying that make you feel like a big man?”

  “No.” His hand brushes against mine as he lays the menu on the table. His touch is warm, and electric. A thrill courses through me. “Only an idiot would pay this much for a bottle of sake. But for some reason, you make me act like an idiot.”

  Kaito signals a waitress and orders in Japanese. She raises her eyebrows at me, but says nothing, bowing and hurrying across to the bar. She returns with a chilled bottle and two small, delicate cups made from fine pottery. There are Japanese characters written in bold, black brush strokes on the label. She’s about to serve us, but Kaito waves her away. He takes the bottle in his hands and pours the clear, slightly golden liquid into my cup. Then, he pours his own.

  He raises his cup and I do the same. I summon my courage and knock back the liquid in one gulp, and it warms my insides on the way down.

  Kaito stares at me with a stone-cold expression. Then, he bursts into laughter.

  I’m floored. It’s like the dawning sun has graced his features, transforming his face. The perfect, white smile he shows me is a thing of beauty.

  It’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh.

  “It’s a two thousand dollar bottle of sake, not tequila, Adele.” He pours me another cup. “Sip it slowly. Enjoy the subtle flavor.” Kaito takes a slow drink from his cup, with heat in his eyes. The way he’s doing it is suggestive, his lips sensuous. I hope to hell that I’m not blushing.

  I copy his actions and let the liquid slide down my throat. It’s smooth and crisp at the same time, with a hint of something citrusy. It’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted before.

  The alcohol warms me and settles in my belly, a soft, glowing sensation spreading through my body. I fight the urge to lean into Kaito’s shoulder. I shouldn’t get too comfortable here.