Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 96404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
It should make me happy, but for some reason, I’m just apprehensive about his next move. Akira’s silence is never good. It means he’s plotting someone’s ruin and building another person’s hell.
A familiar sound causes me to halt in front of his bedroom. The door is ajar, which is why I’m able to hear what’s happening inside.
I carefully push it open, my fingers sweaty. The scene that unfolds in front of me nearly drops my jaw to the ground.
Akira stands in the middle of his black-themed bedroom in direct view of the rays of the sun that are slipping through the window.
He’s wearing his yukata, but it’s open, revealing his lean muscled chest and his cock as he rams it into the mouth of the last person I expected.
Ren.
My father’s guard is on his knees in front of my husband, his shirt open, his face flushed, and his wrists are wrapped in thick rope behind his back.
One of Akira’s hands is grabbing Ren by the hair while the other has a knife in it. The blade shines in the air with droplets of blood before he runs it down Ren’s neck, over the tattoos on his nape, and then back to his pulse point.
The sound of his cock driving in and out of the guard’s mouth is savage and relentless, like he’s on a mission to break his jaw.
“Open wider,” Akira grunts, lust audible in his voice, but he somehow still sounds like he holds his usual calm. “Make it good.”
Ren’s eyes are defiant, but his face is red and he’s fucking bleeding due to Akira’s knife. Red soaks his shirt, his skin, and even drips onto the floor.
“Do it right or I’ll use your ass, Ren. Actually, I’m using it anyway, but whether I take it easy or tear through you while you scream depends on how you please me,” Akira warns, his pace increasing by the second.
The scene is like the weirdest nightmare. My husband Akira, the damn liar, and my nemesis Ren, who I’ve been metaphorically stabbing in my brain.
How? When?
Though I should’ve suspected something was going on when Akira insisted on working with him instead of Kai, and Ren’s reaction to it.
Or the endless hours they spend together.
Or everything in between, really.
My hand shakes as I retrieve my phone and snap a picture of what’s happening in front of me. The flash goes off.
Shit.
Both Akira’s and Ren’s attention are directed at me. Akira’s bored and a bit annoyed. Ren’s wide and frantic, as if he’s been caught masturbating in public.
I feign calm as I slip my phone back in my bag and lean against the doorframe, acting cool. “Don’t let me stop you.”
Ren jerks backward, releasing Akira’s very big and very unsatisfied shaft. Spit, precum, and blood trickle down his chin as he scrambles across the floor, then stands up.
A few cuts mar his chest, abdomen, and neck and soak the collar of his white shirt.
Ouch. That looks painful.
“Untie me,” he hisses at Akira.
My husband, who’s been watching his frantic movements while toying with the knife, releases a breath. “Know your fucking place. I’m the one who gives the orders, not the other way around.”
“Akira,” he mutters.
“Say it right.”
“Onegai…” Ren pleads under his breath, then blurts the honorific term, “Desu.”
“Good. Now say that again and mean it.”
Ren’s dark eyes snap to mine before he bows his head and murmurs, “Your wife is here.”
“Don’t mind me. Take all the time you need.” I pretend to be studying my black nails.
Ren frowns, then holds his head high, even while he begs Akira to let him go. A dark gleam covers my husband’s features as he tilts his head to the side and closely watches Ren scrambling for words.
Color me surprised. Akira is actually having fun.
He also seems to be egging Ren on just to hear him deal with being out of his element.
And the ever-collected Ren is playing right into his hands like a marionette.
I never thought I needed this scene until I witnessed it.
Akira finally cuts Ren’s ropes and the younger man closes his shirt with a hand as he storms to the door.
He stops in front of me, his chest heaving and his face still covered with blood and spit and drops of semen.
There’s shame there, embarrassment, and I revel in every negative emotion he feels, because no matter how dark they are, they can’t be as painful as what I felt when he shot Sebastian seven years ago.
Or when he continued to threaten his life, per his boss’s order.
“I…” He swallows. “I’m…”
“Save it.” I square my shoulders. “I have evidence of your preferences, Ren. Something that will get you kicked out of the Yakuza and have you killed by Kai’s sword.”
“No! He made me!” He points a finger at Akira, who’s merely watching us with a tilted head.