Poisonous Kiss: Chapter 23

I could have lost her the other night.

The thought makes me grimace, as it has the ten thousand other times it’s crossed my mind since then.

…The night she almost saw the part of me she never can.

I reach across the back seat of the limo, entwining my fingers with hers. Fumi turns to smile at me, her eyes sparkling before she turns to stare out at Fifth Avenue as we approach the Guggenheim for tonight’s fundraiser.

Despite that smile, my thoughts are black.

I could have lost her the other night.

We revealed a lot to each other the night I chased her through my house and fucked her like a maniac. Not just that I knew from the start who she was at Venom. That I actively sought her out, even drew her into following me there the night I took her to the basement room and chased her for the first time.

But needless to say, my “other” nocturnal activities that feed the darkness inside of me were not brought up.

She doesn’t know I’m a killer. But she came close that night she followed me to Dwayne Halbertson’s apartment. If it hadn’t been for the guy with the knife, she very well could have walked in on me with my hands around Dwayne’s throat.

Instead, the piece of shit who tried to intimidate her outside caught my attention before I could even set foot in Dwayne’s apartment.

Dwayne managed to escape death that night—though I’ll certainly be paying him another visit soon. Instead, I sated my monster’s hunger with the blood of the predator who was after Fumi. The one whose throat I cut with his own knife before he could harm a single hair on Fumi’s head.

I’m not usually careless or reckless like that. And I never act—by which I mean “kill”—impulsively.

That night was a first for that.

I’d like to blame it on being over-worked, or stressed about the whole campaign. But I can’t. I’m always stretched thin at work. And it’s not the campaign.

It’s Fumi who had me distracted the other night when I went to Dwayne Halbertson’s apartment to kill him. Which is, go figure, how I missed that she’d followed me there.

Or, at least, she thinks it was me she followed there. But she doesn’t have any concrete proof. I managed to get the cab’s plate number that dropped Fumi off in that shit neighborhood. The next morning, I called the taxi company, tracked down the driver, and met up with him.

For five hundred bucks, cash, he was able to “jog his memory” about the night before. That he’d picked her up at my house, where she’d asked him to follow Trevor driving me to the office. There, he mentioned her seeing someone leaving through a side door and hailing a cab, which she also had him follow.

But she doesn’t know that the second man she followed was me, and I’ve confirmed this. The cabbie had a dash cam set up in his car. For an additional hundred bucks, he even showed me the footage. You see a figure in black stepping out of the side door of the Crown and Black building. But even with his high-def camera, from that distance you can’t tell who it is.

Fumi followed me that night thinking I was slinking off to Club Venom again. I know that because when I caught a glimpse of her following me, she was wearing fucking Versace.

But she doesn’t know for a fact it was me she followed to that shithole neighborhood that night.

But no secrets stay buried forever. Especially bad ones…

“Oh, we’re here.”

I shake away my thoughts as we pull up in front of the Guggenheim. Tonight is the biggest “blowout” fundraiser I’ve had so far, and the museum is already packed with political allies, a few celebrities, and no less than seven of New York’s resident billionaires.

Cameras flash as I step out of the limo. I slip the mask into place. I smile, I charm, I point to people I recognize with a raised brow and a wink. Then, I turn to reach inside the limo and take Fumi’s hand to help her out.

Christ, she’s stunning.

She always has been. There’s always been something about her that captivates my monster.

A glint of something sinister in her eyes. A hint of blackness behind her professional smile. Even before I met her darkness face-to-face that first night when I watched her walk into Venom in that lavender-silver wig and the mask, looking so smug, like she’d fooled everyone, I knew. We were two of a kind.

And I knew she’d be mine.

Did I let her win the audition? No. Meredith wouldn’t have allowed that to happen. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t instantly fixate on her after she came out miles ahead of anyone else vying for the position.

I didn’t have to “let” her be the best match for me. She clearly was.

And even if I didn’t quite understand it myself, the beast inside me did. And it’s that beast inside that has guided me all my life.

So that first night at Venom, when I saw her, there was no question that my monster would approach her to quell the hunger inside of me. And when she responded so eagerly, and so perfectly submissively to every cue, there was no turning back.

The first taste wasn’t enough. The second mouthful of her submission and feasting on her deviant fantasies that mirrored my own wasn’t either.

I wasn’t lying before when I said I’d never found an equal in my depravity and my darkness like my Kitten. It’s why I’ve been building the walls around us.

Drawing her close.

Binding her to me.

As I help her from the limo, with the cameras flashing around us, I realize there’s nothing “for the cameras” about this anymore. This isn’t about an image, or electoral votes.

It’s about finding the piece of yourself you didn’t even know was missing, and never wanting to let it out of your sight again.

Reporters scream questions at us—about everything from my policy ideas to who designed Fumi’s stunning green gown—as we walk along the red carpet and into the museum. Fumi’s hand tightens in mine. I turn to her, seeing the flicker of panic in her eyes that I’ve come to recognize, even when she tries to hide it.

She doesn’t love crowds, especially at events like this that involve the media. Honestly, I can’t say I blame her.

I squeeze her hand, breaking the tension in her face as she turns to me. She smiles weakly. But as she’s turning away again as if to “soldier on”, I stop us right there on the red carpet. I pull her around, pull her tight against me, and as the cameras flash, I cup her face and kiss her.

It wasn’t planned. I’m not even aware I’m doing it until my lips taste hers. I could tell myself it’s for the cameras, to make a splash by entering the gala with a headline-stealing kiss with my wife. I could even tell myself I’m playing hero, kissing her to center her to make sure she doesn’t lose it, break character, or snap in front of some reporter and fuck up this entire thing.

But as I kiss her, I realize it’s not about anyone else. It’s not about playing hero.

It’s just about her, and me.

Fumi’s flushed as I pull away. Our eyes lock, and she opens her mouth to say something. But just then, Meredith hustles over and ushers us into the Guggenheim.

The event is taking place mostly on the ground floor. But it also extends to curve up the Guggenheim’s famous spiral walkway that slowly winds up the perimeter of the building, open to the interior.

Fumi and I are quickly pulled apart—her to talk about her dress to someone from Vogue, and me to gladhand wealthy donors and take pictures with potential political allies and the celebrities that have shown up to support the campaign. Hell, I even get to shake hands with Jackson Havoc, the frontman for Velvet Guillotine, who’s donated a signed guitar and some original lyric sheets to the silent auction tonight.

Maeve’s brought Elsa’s younger sister Nora along to the event. The two of them beam ear to ear when I let them step in for selfies with Jackson as I move on to keep making rounds. I’ve just started to chat with Ed Lee—the alderman Fumi chewed Meredith out for not inviting to the last event—when my phone rings in my pocket.

“My sincerest apologies, Ed⁠—”

“Hey, welcome to politics, Gabriel,” Ed smirks. “It never stops, and it’s only going to get worse when you get elected.”

I smile at him before turning away. Eagerly, I answer the call from Jason—a young lawyer who worked briefly for Crown and Black before deciding to pursue public defense. He’s also currently clerking for Judge Myers downtown.

And Judge Myers is the friend who’s going to help me out with those sealed files on Governor Hall. You know, the ones that might bury him.

“How’s shaking hands and kissing babies going?”

I roll my eyes. “Tedious.”

He chuckles. “Listen, I know you’re busy at that fundraiser of yours, but I think you’ll want to hear this.”

My pulse quickens. “Please tell me Judge Myers signed off on the files.”

“Yes and no,” Jason grunts. “He did, but there’s a fair amount of redaction in them. Myers is pissed about it, because they’re not supposed to be redacted—just sealed. He’s already sent word to the attorney who filed the original paperwork that he’s got a week to get the un-redacted version to him, or he’s gonna get spanked.”

I grin. “Fantastic, Jason. Thanks, I⁠—”

“You haven’t heard the best part, bud.”

My brow cocks. “Oh?”

“Yeah, the important names are redacted. But man…” he whistles. “Governor Hall was a bad, bad boy when he was on that first gubernatorial campaign trail.”

I smile wolfishly. “How bad?”

“How about an affair.”

My lips curl. Fuck yes.

One of Preston Hall’s favorite things to bleat on about in his campaign is “family values”.

A sealed file on him having an affair is a golden fucking bullet presented to me on a velvet cushion.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

Jason chuckles. “Nope. And it gets better. She was just a teenager.”

Jesus, Preston. I’m going to FUCK you with this.

“Not only that, but when the dear Governor tried to end things, she went nuts. This girl tried every trick in the book: accused him of assault, asked for money, threatened to tell his wife…serious Jerry Springer shit.”

“How real is this file?”

“Oh, it’s real. Signed affidavits, court documents, police reports. It’s all there. As soon as Judge Myers gets the un-redacted version on his desk, I’ll make sure it heads your way.”

“Jason, if you ever decide you’d like to make real money again…”

He chuckles. “Yup, you’ll be the first guy I call. Better have a corner office waiting for me.”

“It’s a deal.”

“Enjoy the Guggenheim, Gabriel. I’ll be in touch.”

I’m grinning from ear to ear as I hang up. This is better than I was even hoping for. Governor Hall is going to be fucked when my campaign makes sure this “leaks”. I mean he was already getting knocked around over the corruption and bribery allegations, and the rumors about him being a bag of dicks to his staff. But that kind of thing doesn’t sway voters.

Cheating on your wife with a teenaged intern sure as fuck does, though.

I mention what I’ve heard to Meredith, who looks downright gleeful as she starts hammering away on her tablet, like she’s already hiring the decorators to redo the Governor’s mansion.

I catch Fumi’s eye across the museum floor. When she grins at me, there’s no stopping the one that creeps over my face.

Fuck me. I think I’m falling for my fake wife.

I move smoothly around the event, shaking hands and smiling for cameras. Behind the mask, all I’m thinking about is that somehow, I’ve found in her an equal who shares in the same violent delights and dark cravings that I do.

The only question is, how deep will she get?

How deep into my true darkness could she get before she runs for the hills?

Eventually, I find myself on one of the upper levels of the Guggenheim, looking down on the gala below.

“You throw a wonderful party, Mr. Black.”

I sigh silently, sliding my mask back into place. I turn to thank whoever it is who’s found me up here. Then I freeze, and my jaw grits.

“You don’t have a Columbia Law reunion tonight, Mr. Ito?” I smile, my eyes narrowed.

Takato grins a dark, malicious smile at me.

“I’m confident you weren’t on tonight’s guest list,” I growl. “So I suggest you make your exit before I have security do it for you.”

Takato just keeps smiling. He lifts a brow, turning to rake his nails down his jaw as he strolls over next to me. He grips the edge of the banister and looks down at the gala crowd.

“I see you’ve done some homework since the last time we met, Mr. Black.”

“Good. I was hoping that would be glaringly obvious by the way I just told you to get the fuck out.”

“Please don’t make yourself look like a cheap, lying politician by telling me it’s because I’m with the Yakuza, Mr. Black.” He nods down at the people below. “Because otherwise I’m not sure how men like Ares Drakos, Castle James, and Gavan Tsarenko would have made it in.”

I’m glaring at him with my jaw clenched as he turns to grin at me.

“Which leads me to think your disdain for me maybe isn’t so much that I’m Yakuza, but more that I know your wife so well…”

My teeth grind as I stand a little taller. Takato leers at me.

“Perhaps the real question isn’t why I was talking to your wife like I know her, Mr. Black. But rather, why your wife was talking to the Yakuza as if she knows me.”

“I would advise you, Mr. Ito,” I growl quietly, “to walk away right now.”

“Perhaps you’d like to hear a small proposition I have for you first.”

“Whatever your proposition is, it’s well beyond my scope of interest. You talking about my wife like that, however⁠—”

“It concerns the five million dollars you’ve paid me.”

What.

I frown, my head cocking as my eyes bore into him.

“Excuse me?”

He grins slowly at me, his brow arching. “Ahh. Interesting,” Takato muses. “Very, very interesting.”

“Start talking,” I mutter.

“About what, Mr. Black? About how perhaps you don’t know your wife as well as you think you do?” He grins widely at me. “Do you know Ms. Yamaguchi at all, Mr. Black? Do you truly know who it is you’ve married⁠—”

With a low growl, I shove Takato back, pushing him away from the railing and out of sight of anyone else as I slam him against the wall right next to Renoir’s Woman with Parrot.

“Start. Talking,” I growl.

He smiles maliciously at me. “Now this is the sort of governor that I can get behind. True power. A man who knows how to⁠—”

“START. TALKING,” I snarl.

Takato bristles when I roar in his face, but keeps his eyes locked on mine.

“She’s like me, Mr. Black.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to⁠—”

“She’s Yakuza.”

I flinch, blinking as it hits me like a slap, even though I know this is bullshit. We obviously ran a background check on Fumi when she was hired at Crown and Black. And there’s no way Meredith didn’t do the same after the auditions.

“That’s not true.”

Takato grins. “Well, not quite like me. But I’m beginning to realize that you don’t know her very well. Her or her father.”

“Mr. Ito,” I growl, “whatever your goal was in coming here tonight, all you’ve accomplished is pissing me the fuck off. I don’t give a shit about your little stories, and I didn’t pay you five⁠—”

“No, but your wife did.”

I tense.

“Let me tell you a tale, Mr. Black. Years ago, before my uncle and my family’s clan were as prominent as they are now, a different Yakuza family ruled Japan. The Mori-kai.” He smiles. “They were powerful, wealthy, and very well-connected with the government. But then, their oyabun lost his way. He got tangled up with a woman not of the Yakuza way. A foreigner, no less, and they had a daughter together.”

My pulse skips.

“Those two things together made him weak. He fled, taking his daughter with him, when this woman of his was killed. After that, the once great Mori-kai folded, scattered to the four winds. My family was bold enough to sweep up the broken pieces and build them into an empire. But there are remnants of the Mori-kai still out there. And a man who could unite them would rule all of Japan.”

“That’s a wonderful bedtime story for the kids,” I hiss. “Next time, though, I think you should throw in some dragons and magic⁠—”

“The oyabun who fled Japan and the Mori-kai is Hideo Yamaguchi.”

I go still.

“Formerly known as Hideo Mori. And, since you’re such an intelligent man, I presume you know where I’m going with this…”

Sweet Jesus. Fumi. He’s talking about Fumi.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think this is supposed to prove.”

He grins. “I’m not interested in proving anything, Mr. Black. I came here today because blood talks. And so does money.” He steps closer to me. “I came here tonight, Mr. Black, to make you this offer: divorce Fumi. Let me marry her instead. The five million you gave her, which she gave to me, will be returned to you. Use it for whatever you want…a new house, cars, women…” He shrugs. “Put it all into your campaign if you like, though my sources tell me you’re almost guaranteed to win.”

My heart thuds dully in my chest. A low siren whines in my ears.

“This is bigger than you, counselor,” Takato says quietly. “Far bigger. This is about me recouping what is mine to recoup. It’s about collecting the last remnants of power of the Mori-kai under my house, with the daughter of Hideo Mori at my side.”

It takes everything I have not to put my fist through the asshole’s face.

“I am who she should be married to, Gabriel.”

“She should be married to whomever she wants.”

He chuckles. “Really, counselor? Says the man who paid her five million to marry him?” He shakes his head, smiling coldly. “Don’t insult me, Mr. Black. And don’t make the mistake of crossing me or doubting my resolve with this…or any other matter.”

He slips a card into my jacket pocket.

“I’m flying back to Japan tonight. You have forty-eight hours to make this right. If what I hear whispered on the wind about what you’ve dug up on Governor Hall is true, you’ll win the election at this point even without a fake wife by your side. So…” He cocks his head. “Do the smart thing. Don’t cross me, Mr. Black,” he growls, stepping closer. “I’ve taken down far bigger than New York Governors before.”

I watch in silence, bristling with rage, as Takato strides away.

I don’t “do” threats from fuckheads like him.

The second he’s out of sight, I yank out my phone and dial a number.

Ares, Kratos’ oldest brother and the head of the Drakos family, answers with a chuckle. “You know I’m actually at the fundraiser right now, yeah? Where the fuck are you⁠—”

“I need to call in a favor.”

Ares is a smart man, and he gets my tone of voice instantly.

“Gimme a sec, lemme get somewhere we can talk.” There’s some scuffling, then he clears his throat. “Okay. What’s going on, Gabriel?”

“Do you still have connections with certain three-letter government agencies?”

A brief pause. “I do.”

“I need someone put on the no-fly list into the US. A Japanese national: Takato Ito. But I need it only to go into effect tomorrow.”

After Takato leaves the US and lands back in Japan.

Ares absolutely knows who Takato is. But, God love him, he doesn’t question any part of it.

“Consider it done,” Ares growls.

“Thank you. And you can consider my retainer to be fifty percent off for the next month.”

He chuckles. “Pfft, don’t worry about it. I’ll save any favors for when you’re living in the governor’s mansion.”

After I hang up, my pulse thuds as I storm back to the gala.

My wife and I need to have a very serious talk.

I’m just rounding a bend near some indoor potted trees and a Jackson Pollock when I stop cold.

“Felix, stop it.”

My jaw grinds.

It’s Fumi’s voice.

My brow furrows deeply as I move closer to the plants.

“Fumi…c’mon. I just… You have to hear this.”

“Felix, I really don’t. And definitely not here!”

“I can’t stop thinking about you⁠—”

What the fucking fuck.

“Felix, you’re drunk.”

“I can’t stop thinking about that night.”

Rage explodes in my chest and a lethal, vicious, fiery fury engulfs me.

“The taste of your lips⁠—”

Felix screams—I mean literally screams—when I explode from around the corner. Both he and Fumi go absolutely white, Felix almost falling backward off his feet as he scuffles away from me.

“M-Mr. B-Black!” he stammers.

“If you value your life, you will run the fuck away right the fuck now, Felix.” My voice isn’t even raised. It’s just icy steel, with a honed edge.

Felix doesn’t hesitate. Instantly, he’s turning and almost tripping over his feet as he sprints to the door.

“And you…” I growl. Fumi gasps, whimpering as I grab her arm and yank her to me, my eyes burning into her frightened dark ones. “You’re coming with me.”