He nodded. “Yeah.”
“Why would a real estate agent need to know about a fire that ravaged houses that weren't for sale?”
“Because my development company owns the properties on the other side where the fire began.”
“You work at AAM Development?”
He shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I own it.”
Little more than an hour ago she was laying in his bed, quivering with need, falling victim to the pleasure he expertly doled out. Now, she was standing in the wake of the destruction she’d helped unleash on her own people. And worse yet, the man she’d been so captivated by for the last three months was part of what had led her down this dark path.
Dear God, I’m sleeping with the enemy.
3
O shun sat in front of her computer watching as each line of info she scrolled climbed up the screen. She wasn't the greatest hacker in the world, but she knew enough to get the information she was looking for. Birth records, social security number, citizenship, educational documents, professional licenses, and property listings was some of the information she’d been able to get so far. Masaki Yamaguchi’s life was spread out for her inspection on the large computer screen. Now, she just had to dissect it and piece it all together to make sense of the confusion in her head.
Everything was as Mas had told her. He was born in Tokyo, Japan, immigrated with his parents to the States when he was a toddler, spent his life living in Canarsie with his parents, and owned AAM Developing.
Oshun rubbed the side of her temple, trying to stave off the headache she could feel creeping up behind her eyes. This was outrageous. How could everything come back so clean if he was in bed with the Yakuza?
He lived in a simple two-family home in Canarsie, Brooklyn that he’d converted into a duplex. He was a product of public education. He wore a suit and tie to work every day. He was clean, maybe too clean.
She allowed memories of their union over the last three months to play in her head. Nothing about their time together pointed to anything screaming a Yakuza connection.
He doesn’t even have full body tattoos.
She allowed her mind to conjure up the image of him naked. She took a deep breath to remind herself this wasn’t about pleasure, this was about the survival of her organization and her community.
Tanned skin, smooth to the touch with very little body hair. His chest, was strong and carved, and his arms…
“Oh, my God! His arms.”
She was right, he didn’t have the extensive full-body tattoos Yakuza members were notorious for. However, he did have full-sleeve tattoos on each arm.
She pressed harder against her temple as she remembered a distinct conversation they’d had about his tats. The first night they’d slept together, she’d noticed them, noting how strange it was to find them on a man who looked so pristine. He’d laughed, telling her they were a result of rebellion against his father, and the life his father had planned for him.
It was a perfectly fitting answer; one she never questioned until this moment. Now that she knew he was the owner of AAM, she wasn’t certain if Masaki’s answer felt as true as it once had.
Dull vibrating against her desk pulled her eyes away from the computer and down to her phone. Masaki’s name flashing across the screen made the bottom of her stomach twist into an uncomfortable knot. She slid her finger left, sending the call to voicemail.
She’d been ducking him since the fire. That was a week ago. A week of gaining access to government databases and sorting through all the information she’d procured, yet she still didn’t have a definitive answer. Was Masaki involved with the Yakuza, or wasn’t he?
Nothing in the documents presented a clear picture. Nothing definitively said, “Yes, I belong to an evil, criminal organization that is trying to destroy your community.”
Determined to find what she was looking for, she delved back into the data on her screen, scouring it once again in hopes of either vindicating Masaki, or convicting him. This middle ground filled with uncertainty and doubt was an uncomfortable place she refused to dwell.
If Masaki was mixed up in the Yakuza, he'd go down with them. It wasn’t a choice she wanted to have to make. In fact, she desperately wanted this all to be some crazy misunderstanding.
Though she’d never admit it to him, Masaki had become someone important to her. He wasn’t just a fuckboy she’d picked up at the club. The truth was, even though that’s what she’d told herself all the time, she’d been in denial about how strongly she felt for the man. She’d allowed herself to believe her only interest in him was the sex. The way her heart leapt when he’d asked her to move in completely destroyed any idea that their connection was only about their sex. Your heart didn’t dance when an insignificant fuck buddy asked you to commit.
Sadness filled her as she pondered what all the latest developments meant for them. She’d known soon enough she would have to walk away. Him giving her keys to his place, asking her to move in, was the beginning of the end for them. But, even though she’d sensed the end approaching, she hadn’t thought she might have to bring harm to Masaki if they went their separate ways. A connection with the Yakuza meant there’d be no amicable parting. This would mean war, and war was always bloody.
A loud banging on the door made her jump to her feet and focus her attention toward the foyer. The sound repeated itself, making her reflexes kick into overdrive. She reached in the drawer of her desk to remove her pistol. She cocked it, and flipped the safety off.
The loud thumping kept rumbling against the door. She stepped quietly and carefully toward the sound. A brief peek at the security monitors on the nearby hall table showed an animated Masaki banging on her door with such force she could feel the vibrations through the floor.
Securing her gun behind her back, she called out through the door, “What do you want?”
