LIAM
Ihad thought a tiger’s fur would be softer than this.
It’s coarse under my fingers, and it takes a second for me to register that I’m really doing it, that my hand is really resting on the top of a tiger’s head, between its rounded ears, and that I’m still alive and in possession of all of my fingers.
Once I start, I don’t actually want to stop. It’s nice, like petting an oversized housecat, and weirdly calming and thrilling all at once.
I wish my father could fucking seethis.
“Yoi shigoto nakama!”Kaito calls out, stretching, and the tiger shifts, making a noise deep in its throat that makes me pull back instantly, taking a large step back. “Good job, bro. You’ve got bigger balls than I gave you credit for.” He grins. “Maybe I should make the priest do it next.”
“That’s not what the deal was,” I say tersely, moving to stand in front of him again—and also blocking Max somewhat from his view. “You said if I petted the tiger, you’d give me the information. I’ve done my part. Now do yours.”
“Honestly, I didn’t think you would.” Kaito chews on his lower lip, tossing back more sake as he looks at me appraisingly. “But you’re right, Irishman. I won’t have anyone saying the Nakamurakobunhas no honor. So here you are. The man’s name is Alexandre Sartre, and he lives in the fiftharrondissementof Paris. I’m unsure of the exact address, but Volkov here ought to be able to find the man’s nose hairs with that much information. He could probably have done more with less, from what I’ve heard of him.”
“Arigato,” Levin says dryly. “Nakamura-san.”
Kaito barely looks at him. “Well, I suppose the fun is over then. Unless you’d like a trip to one of the brothels?”
“Don’t you have enough women here already?” Max asks dryly.
“Spoken like a true priest.” Kaito grins, pinching the nipple of one of the girls closest to him, wearing only a body chain. “There’s never enough women. Trust me on that, Agosti.” He glances back at Levin and me and then at the man who brought us here, who has been standing silently throughout most of Kaito’s dramatics. “Take them to the ryokan. They can rest there, free of charge. Leave Tokyo in the morning,” he continues, narrowing his eyes at us. “Or else I’ll have to reconsider the hospitality of the Nakamura clan.”
“Of course.” Levin stands, bowing at the waist, and I do the same. “Arigato,Nakamura-san. Your hospitality is much appreciated.”
The lodging that we’re taken to is rustic but pleasant, old-fashioned Japanese architecture with a sprawling garden surrounding it and a hugeonsen-style soaking pool that we’re directed to, none too gently by the old woman who runs it, who makes it plain that we’re meant to get clean before we lay down for the evening.
Max and I both balk at the idea of stripping down—I’m not exactly accustomed to bathing in a hot springs pool, indoor or outdoor, naked in front of other men—but Levin seems to have no such concerns. He shucks his clothes quickly, and when he catches our raised eyebrows, he just shrugs.
“When in Rome,” he says simply, sinking into the steaming water. “Or Tokyo. You know. Whichever.”
The bathisgood, the hot water sinking into my muscles and relieving the tension in a way that I hadn’t realized I needed until just that moment.
“All in all, I think I like Tokyo,” I say ruefully, leaning back against the stones of the pool. “Not a bad place.”
“You almost got us killed,” Levin says with his eyes narrowed. “I told you to keep that Irish mouth of yours shut.”
“I got us the information, didn’t I? Who’s to say he would have given it to you?”
“No one,” Levin says crossly. “But that wasn’t skill on your part, just luck. He could have had you killed or tortured for your insolence just as easily as been amused by it.”
“Well, it’s about time the luck of the Irish started working in my favor,” I say, tipping my head back. “And we have the information we need. Tomorrow, Paris.”
She’s so close.I can feel my anxiety building as we head to bed, dressed in cotton pajamas theryokanstaff has provided for us. With each step, we’ve gotten closer, just as I’d hoped. Now, with the Frenchman’s name and the location of his apartment, Ana is practically at my fingertips, the ability to save her only a flight away. I can’t bear the thought that it might slip from my grasp now, that I might fail her.
I wonder if she’s been holding out hope for me, if she’s thought about my coming to rescue her, if she believed that I would. I wonder if she’s dreamed about me the way I’ve dreamed about her, fantasized about the moment that I would arrive and rescue her from the Frenchman like some knight in a fairytale, her defender, her savior.
Alexandre Sartre.I can’t begin to put a face to the name. Still, I picture someone old and leering, someone, who couldn’t possibly get a girl like Ana in any way other than by illegal, deplorable means. The thought that he might have hurt her in some way makes me sick, but I have to hope that for a hundred million dollars, he wouldn’t have laid a finger on her in violence.
Of course, there are other ways to hurt someone that doesn’t have to draw blood. But I can’t think about it. I have to keep that cool head that I’ve always done my best to maintain, if I’m going to have any hope of saving Ana.
And after all this time, after I’ve come this far, I can’t believe that I’ll do anything else.
I certainly can’t entertain the thought of failure.
I dream about her that night, the way I have every night since I returned to Boston, since I left New York, since I’ve been searching for her. I dream of her in my bed and out of it; I dream of her by the window in my apartment, her blonde hair shining like a halo around her head, her blue eyes light and laughing. I imagine her walking across the hardwood floors, twirling, dancing, without a care in the world. I imagine her spinning right into my arms, her delicate body arching backward, her breasts against my chest, her pointed chin tilting up for me to kiss her full lips, for her to melt into me.
I dream of finding her in a Parisian apartment, of her face lighting up when she sees me burst in, of her mouth forming the wordsfinally, you found me, I knew you would.
I dream of her whispering that she loves me, that she believed in me, that she never gave up hope. I dream of her beingmine,at last, my girl, my lover, my wife even, if I can find a way to make it happen without destroying everything I’ve been placed in charge of.
And I’ll do it, somehow. I believe I can. If I can find Ana halfway across the world with nothing but a description and a dollar amount, I’ll find a way out of the betrothal contract. I’ll find a way to mollify Graham O’Sullivan, and I’ll make Ana my wife.
I’ll have the life I didn’t know I could imagine for myself until I met her, and everything changed.
I’ll save her, and after that, nothing else can ever hurt us, ever again.
I’ll make sure of that.