She can’t say the rest.
I’m at a loss, because I have no idea what she’s trying to tell me. I’m only vaguely aware of Japanese culture and the strict parameters of their family law. It’s not a subject I specialised in, but now I’m wishing I’d studied more international law in university. Because I’ve got a feeling this is going to be binding. Whatever it is she’s about to say. I think it might be their version of the law.
I brush my lips against her forehead, close my eyes and just breathe in her scent, revel in the touch of her skin beneath my fingers, then I say, “Tell me, Momoko-san.”
It unlocks something inside her and she lets out a little sob.
“I am promised,” she says. “A debt my father must pay.”
“What?” I can’t voice more than that.
“Omiai,” she whispers, but I don’t know this word. “My father has promised me to another,” she adds, and my heart makes a pathetic attempt to beat out of my chest. This is not the explanation I was looking for. It’s worse. Far worse than anything to do with the Triads.
“Promised you?” I rasp and she finally lifts her moist eyes to look at my face.
I see so much pain there. I see her letting me go even before we belong to each other.
And then she confirms it.
“I must marry Tadashi in two weeks.”
Chapter 8
Strawberries And Fuckin’ Heaven
Ben
He looks like shit. I’ve never seen Finn look anythin’ other than put together. He’s smooth, smart and seriously good at what he does. But when he turns up at our house for an impromptu barbecue, it looks like he hasn’t slept in days.
“I brought the beer,” he offers, slappin’ a dozen down on the table.
“Fuck, my man,” I drawl from over by the barbecue, “it’s a Tuesday night and we’ve gotta talk business. You lookin’ to get shitfaced?”
“Maybe,” he mutters, runnin’ a hand through short, blond, spiky hair that hasn’t seen a comb in, like, forever. I scowl across the deck at him as he puts down a folder on the table with a little more care. That’ll be the contract. But I don’t think he wants to talk about Abs and my latest house purchase.
“What’s happenin’?” I ask, turnin’ the sausages over on the grill.
“Busy,” he says, simply, pullin’ a chilled bottle out of the box and twistin’ the lid. He hands one to me and then gets himself another. He’s swallowed half of it before I can think of a way to get the fuckin’ idiot to speak.
“Just busy?” I press, pretendin’ to be absorbed with the fuckin’ gunk on the plate of the barbie.
“Has Nick been talking to you?” he suddenly demands, and whoa fuck, back up the dump truck.
“No, shithead. You look like crap and I’m concerned.”
He has the courtesy to look chagrinned. I flip a steak a bit too firmly.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
“You know,” I say, switchin’ the gas down low and movin’ to a chair at the table. “You seemed a bit distracted on Friday. Everythin’ OK, e hoa?”
“Shit,” he says, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I completely forgot. What a chump. Congratulations!” he adds, thumping me on the shoulder. A little of the old Finn stares back at me.
I grunt in acceptance and look toward the window of the kitchen to where Abi should be any second. If she’s had a chance to recover from our latest session, that is. I smile to myself, rememberin' her soft curves and smooth skin and fuckin’ loud scream as I made her come all over my face as soon as we got home this evening. My cock jerks in anticipation for round two. I’ve got some strawberry flavoured condoms in the drawer beside our bed; Red’s favourite.
My gaze comes back to Finn and he’s lookin’ at me as if he knows what filthy thoughts I’ve just been havin’. Fuck him. He hasn’t got an Abi.
And then my scowl deepens.
“You got woman problems, my man?” I say, takin’ a swig from my beer bottle.
He doesn’t say anythin’ straight away, which is unusual. Finn Drake normally has a smooth line prepared for every situation. Don’t let that surfer dude look fool you, he’s sharp as a tack and equally slick with it.
That’s why I like him. He hides like I do, he just doesn’t use shadows.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” he says, takin’ a big pull on his Heinie.
I open my mouth to push him, he looks like a man who could use some serious pushin’, but Abi walks out with the salad in one arm and the plates and utensils balanced in the other. I’m out of the seat and grabbin’ her load before she’s made it even a metre.
“I’ll take those, Red,” I say. “You sit down and take a load off.”
“I’m pregnant, not incapable,” she says with a smile to soften the blow. I grunt, and drop the things on the table not carrin’ where they go.
“Hey, Finn,” she says, acceptin’ a kiss on the cheek from Drake. “How are you?”
“Not as good as you look, Abi,” he says with complete sincerity. “Really, you look fantastic.”
“Yeah, she does,” I say, wrappin’ an arm around her shoulders. I kiss the top of her head and inhale her shampoo. Fuckin’ love that stuff.
“Is that the contract?” Abi asks, pattin’ me on the chest as if to placate me. I grunt and turn back to the barbie. Nothin’ will placate me except my woman’s lips wrapped around my cock and the scent of strawberries on the air in our bedroom.
“Yeah,” Finn says. “Sign on the dotted line and it’s all yours.”
Abs claps her hands excitedly. “Dad is going to love that place. And think, Ben, he’ll be close for the baby.”
I grunt again and spear a sausage with the fork.
“He’s not so sure about having my father living so close,” Abi mock whispers to Finn.
“You’re dad won’t interfere, will he?” he asks.
“Of course not. Besides, it’s me that’s pushed for this.”
And pushed and pushed and pushed.
“We have so many years to make up for,” she says and her voice cracks.
I spin back from the barbie and throw Finn a dirty scowl, before placin’ a hand on the back of Abi’s neck. “Sign the papers, Red,” I say. “Make it official.”
“You sure?”
“Sure as shit. Sign ‘em.”
Finn pulls out a pen and opens the contract to the right place, then talks Abs through the process. It’s the first time she’ll have owned a property in her own name. The first time she’s had enough money to do it. It’ll be in a trust, though, that’s why we needed Finn.
I look down at my woman and feel my lips spread into a smile. She’s so fuckin’ excited. Finn’s awesome. He’s eggin’ her on, bolsterin’ her up, makin’ her feel like a million bucks. He’s a good man.
The beer flows - lemonade for Abi - the steak tastes fuckin’ fantatsic, if I do say so myself, and before we know it, Finn’s on his way, walkin’ back down the driveway, that contract slung under his arm ready for filing.
And it’s only then I realise, I didn’t get to help him. Somethin’s up with Finn. And I’m not sure if anyone else knows about it. I scowl after his decreasing shadow in the darkness and feel Red slip in under my arm.
“What’s wrong?” she says, way too fuckin’ in tune with my feelings.
“Don’t know,” I reply. “But somethin’ ain’t right with Finn.”
“You noticed too, huh?” she says softly.
I turn and look down at her. It never ceases to amaze me how astute my woman is. I cup my hands around her neck, stroke my fingers over her cheeks, and thank all that is good and holy in this world that she found me. Saved me. Pulled me from the shadows and stands beside me every single day, face tilted towards the sun.
“I need you,” I say.
“I’m here,” she offers.
I just stare at her, marvellin’ all over again.
“I’m takin’ you to bed, Red,” I say.
Her eyelash
es lower and she gets this fuckin’ sexy look on her face.
“I want your lips wrapped around my cock,” I add.
She licks them.
“Gonna fuck that beautiful mouth until I come,” I say, sweepin’ my thumb across her lower lip.
“Then what are you waiting for, big guy?” she says, pushing away and givin’ me a look over her shoulder that promises good things to come.
I trail after her, switchin’ off the lights, lockin’ the doors, and checkin’ the windows. She’s got the iPod on when I walk in the room. Guns ’N Roses. Sweet Child O’ Mine.
Fuck, I love this woman.
She strips slowly, drawin’ it out, makin’ me pant for breath. I rip my clothes off, not givin’ a flyin’ fuck where they land. I throw myself back on the bed and place my hands behind my head, my cock sittin’ up proud and weepin’ for her touch.
“I’m all yours,” I say.
“Damn straight,” she agrees, swipin’ the strawberry condom off the bedside table and rollin’ it down my length.
A shudder moves through me and she lifts her eyes to my face. She’s kneelin’ over me, tits hangin’ down, heavier than usual, thanks to the babe she’s carryin’ in her puku. I hold her gaze, tell her through my eyes how much I need her, want her. Love her.
“I’m waitin’,” I say.
“So demanding,” she replies and then she leans forward and takes me deep down her throat.
Fuck. She sucks me hard. She sucks me so fuckin’ good. She writhes above me, moanin’ and lickin’ and fingerin’ herself. I’m fuckin’ in heaven and this woman blowin’ me is an angel.
My angel. My Abi.
“Red!” I shout when I finally blow my wad. She shifts back, a supreme look of satisfaction on her face, and licks her lips.
And when she kisses me, she tastes like strawberries.
Strawberries and fuckin’ heaven.
Chapter 9
In My Heart
Finn
I should stay away. She’s warned me. Her life is too complicated and my name’s not on her dance card. I should stay away. But I don’t.
I find myself driving into the Viaduct Basin Wednesday evening, just when I know she’ll be shutting up shop. The sun is low on the horizon and the Harbour Bridge is glinting orange and rust red. Sail boats are out on the water, multiple white sheets against a swathe of vibrant blue. I can smell the flowers from her shop, the remnants of their scents still hanging on the air. But the bamboo wrapped buckets are all inside and the front door is closed now.
There’s no light on in the window and I wonder if I’m too late. In a fit of genius, I drive around the back of the building to where I assume Momoko parks her vehicle.
It’s not Momoko’s car I find waiting for me, though, but an ominous black van.
My heart leaps into my throat, I find it difficult to swallow. Sweat beads on my brow as I roll my car past the silent van and park it farther down the little back alleyway. No one is in the driver’s seat, but I can’t see into the back. It’s dark in there and there could be someone watching me even now, but I don’t hesitate.
She told me not to get involved, but I’m already so far into this mess that I can’t see my way out of it.
My door chimes as I open it and I wince. Stealthy the Lexus isn’t. I close the door as quietly as I can, but Auckland mid-week is noisy; I really don’t have to be so cloak and dagger. My palms are sweaty and I rub them on my suit pants, then pat down my pockets. I’m unarmed. I don’t own a weapon. And going forward seems like a very ill thought out plan.
But I can hear Momoko’s voice from inside the shop, and a deeper one that sounds threatening. At least they’re speaking in English, but if this is who I think it is, then that is the most obvious common language.
I’m sure Momoko Tanaka doesn’t speak Mandarin.
And the Triads sure as hell don’t speak Japanese.
So, English.
I check the van out when I get abreast of it; it’s empty. No back seats at all, just blankets and a toolbox, and ominously zip-ties and masking tape. I pause, staring at those two items in an otherwise clutter free interior. My hand shakes a little as I lift it to my breast pocket, feeling the cell phone inside there.
But then Momoko lets out a squeak and I spin toward the shop, almost barging inside the slightly opened back doorway without thinking.
“You have no right to do this!” she’s yelling and I hear crashes and bangs and the shattering of glass from inside.
“You’ve been warned,” a man’s voice says, dispassionately. He has a slight accent. “Huang Fu is being lenient. You refused his summons.”
“I didn’t refuse,” Momoko snarls. “But I did object to being forcibly abducted.”
It’s the same guys as on High Street, I’m sure of it now.
“You don’t get it,” the man says. “We can make life very hard for you.”
“You think broken flower pots will make me change my mind?” Momo shouts.
And then she gasps.
I’m through the doorway before I can think. God alone knows what I had planned, but once I’m inside the rear of the shop I see the entire space in little snippets of shocking colour. Reds of roses crushed beneath booted feet. Browns of the bamboo buckets broken into a thousand different pieces. White flashing brightly as light glints of shattered glass. The blue of Momo’s dress, ripped off her shoulders.
The black of the glove wrapped around her neck.
I let out a cry of rage and leap toward the thug holding Momo. For a second I see her fear, but I can’t tell if it’s for her or me. My fist connects with the man’s cheek as Momo takes the opportunity to throw back her head and connect her skull with his nose at the same time. Blood splatters and she twists away. I have a split second to see her hands are bound behind her back and then I’m knocked to the ground and my forehead connects with concrete and I see only stars for several seconds.
Pain explodes everywhere. I can’t decide if my back hurts more from the pummelling I’m receiving or my head does from the concussive blow I’ve just received. Momo is shrieking and the other guy is trying to apprehend her again, and more glass shatters and flower petals fly, and through it all I’m getting the shit beaten out of me.
I don’t know what I was thinking barging in here. I’m no ninja warrior. I’m a fucking lawyer for fuck’s sake. But Momo’s in trouble and this arsehole on my back is pissing me off, and my hands aren’t tied, so I reach out and grab a piece of glass and thrust it back into his thigh with all of my strength.
He grunts and jabs his fingers into my kidney. For a second I feel nothing, see nothing, hear nothing, just… pain.
And then his weight is removed from my body and I roll over onto my back, panting. And Momo streaks past having delivered a kick to my thug’s head as she still tries to evade capture again by the other.
She kicked him off me. I almost want to laugh. I’m lying on the floor, unhindered by zip-ties, and she’s the one who does the rescuing.
My hand finds a broken length of bamboo barrel, I heft the wood and swing it at the now recovered thug who was attacking me. I hear Momo fighting behind me, but I don’t take my eyes off my Triad. The wood connects with his jaw, and then he’s pulling a gun from his jacket.
I swing again, and somehow manage to clip the weapon, making it fly across the room and disappear out of sight. He snarls and lunges for me; his movements too fast for me to counter. I feebly attempt to defend myself with my one piece of wood, all the while taking steps back, trying to retreat from the onslaught of punches and kicks and faster-than-the-eye-can-see movements.
I swipe up a pot, still intact on a bench, and fling it at the guy’s head as I move backwards. He ducks. The pot misses. I try a pair of scissors instead. He reaches up and grabs the projectile out of the air, getting a nice cut along the inside of his hand for his efforts. But although blood drops from the wound, he simply tosses the scissors up in the air, turning the sharp tip toward me
as he catches it.
Ah, so throwing weapons he can use against me is not a good idea, then.
I try another pot instead. And then I’m flinging at him whatever is left in Momoko’s shop still in one piece as he waves the scissors in my face threateningly. A pot. A watering can. A mug of cold tea. The kettle. He avoids it all and I’m getting tired.
I also can’t hear Momoko anymore.
I’m filled with chagrin and anger. Shamed I didn’t call for help before stupidly coming in here. Enraged that these arseholes haven’t run away screaming. The anger wins.
I find myself beside the cash register. It’s an old style one, antique filigree decorates the sides. I’m sure it makes a delightful chiming sound when the drawer opens. It’s big. It’s gotta weigh a tonne.
I don’t even hesitate. And somehow I manage to lift the whole thing up over my head and bring it down at the precise moment the thug lunges.
It’s better than a baseball bat. More convincing. Because even though it just glanced him, I’m sure it crushes his skull before he even hits the ground. Blood seeps out from around his head and I almost vomit.
And then I’m running through to the back of the shop again in search of Momo. She’s on the floor, dress in tatters, bruises marring her face and upper arms. There’s a glazed look to her eyes I don’t like. I manage a half hearted attempt to ascertain the second Triad isn’t lurking around somewhere and then rush to her side. My hands hover over her body, before I carefully place them on her shoulders, bending down to look her in the eye.
“Momo,” I say. I can barely breathe. “Talk to me.”
She mumbles something in Japanese, but I get the impression she’s not concussed, so much as defeated.
“Momo,” I say, and pull her closer for a hug. Her wrists are still zip-tied, and she can’t be comfortable, but she leans into me, buries her face in the crook of my neck, and sighs.
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