“But—”
“Return to the bedroom at once,bijin.” Ryoichi’s lip presses to my cheek. A single finger dashes over the hair at my temple. Damn, these simple acts make me complacent . . . but . . .
My mind whirls with dark possibilities as Ryoichi threads his fingers through mine. “Allow me to see if some . . . inebriated guest has mistaken the door to their room. Drunk people have a penchant for violence.”
Ryoichi guides me into the bedroom. A few seconds pass, and he’s in his pants and out the door, closing it behind him. I lift my hand then my throat snaps tight.
He took it!He took my iPhone while dropping a kiss over my cheekbone.
I glance toward the landline on the dresser, then toward the door. I hastily twist the lock, then amble over the bed. I dart faster than a chick in a Lifetime film just to clasp the phone in my hand.
Relief washes over me as I place the receiver to my ear.
Only to hear . . .
Silence.
I called for room service this morning.
I look at the door. There’s no sound of a disturbance outside the room.
Don’t you open that door . . . But . . . Girl, you tripping.
“No, I’m good. He’s putting on a show! I got the diamond package, which included a surprise.”
While shrugging into Ryoichi’s blazer, I place a trembling hand on the door and deceive myself as best as I can.
Yeah, Book Boyfriend Extraordinaire accidentally keyed me in for the diamond package. Yeah, that’s why they keep calling. Shoot, they wanna tell me that they’ve charged me the difference.
I snort-laugh. “This is all a part of the diamond package.” Laughing at myself, I slowly slide the door open and peek out.
Trepidation claws up my throat, and panic swells in my stomach, churning the blood in my veins. My alert gaze leaps from the crown of Ryoichi’s head down to his shiny loafers. Nothing’s out of place. He’s the perfect facade.
Kneeling before him is a Chinese man. His bloodied, battered face is wrought with pain. He’s tugging at the binding behind his back while four other Japanese men surround him. All of them are familiar.Oh, no! I know him. I saw the Chinese guy at the restaurant—the man wearing thetsubakiwho waved. He’d looked troubled. And the four Japanese men were sitting in twos at tables around us.
A silky petal from the flower on the Chinese dude’s lapel floats to the marble floor as Ryoichi catches his throat, placing a gun into his mouth. “How did you get away from my men? They haven’t yet finished questioning you.”
The victim chokes on the tip of Ryoichi’s gun.
“Did you harm—”
As my entire body shuts down, one of Ryoichi’s friends, who’s facing me, clears his throat.
He says boss in his native tongue. I’ve read enough manga that I’m versed in the cuss words and crime words in Japanese.
Ryoichi looks up. “Ah,bijin, I wished to spare you such a sight. Is this the man who harmed you?”
Braindead, I stutter, “N-no.”
Ryoichi’s fingers slide into his enemy’s hair, yanking the man’s neck into an impossible position. As calm as a juniper breeze, Ryoichi asks, “Please, Ryann. After all the time we’ve spent in each other’s presence, you may be honest with me. Did he blacken your eye weeks ago?”
I laugh. Well, it’s something between a pathetic chuckle and an all-out struggle for oxygen. “No-no. I’ve never met him.”
Disappointment and disbelief edge into Ryoichi’s sexy, smooth tone. “He waved at you, Ryann. He knows you.”
“He-he, he’s—”
As I attempt to speak, Ryoichi gestures to one of his men. Ryoichi’s handed a pillow, which he places between the man’s face and his gun.