Black Thorns: Chapter 33

I go home.

I step on my fucking bleeding heart and leave.

The tears came as soon as I was out of Sebastian’s apartment and they were there during the whole drive home.

But no matter how much my heart begged me to turn around and return, I just jammed the knife in deeper and didn’t listen.

Last night was magical, peaceful, and a little bit painful, too. It was the first time we didn’t have sex, but he’s never been as deep inside me as when he talked to me and hugged me.

He’s never felt as close as he did in that moment.

Everything that happened might not be perfect, but it was ours and I enjoyed every second of it.

But like any magic, there’s a timeframe for the spell to run its course.

I reached that moment.

When Sebastian told me not to go home, I wanted to say yes, I wanted to make a small place in any corner of his life and stay there.

But that’s just the emotional side of me speaking. The logical side that has allowed us to survive all this time is what should be taking the reins.

I stay in my car for a few minutes once I stop in front of Akira’s house. I fix my makeup in an attempt to chase away the puffiness of my eyes.

That damn husband of mine can’t see me at my lowest, not when he makes it his mission to exploit everyone’s weaknesses to drag them down.

I thought I could be in Sebastian’s vicinity, fuck him, be with him while staying married to someone else.

But I was wrong. Utterly and devastatingly so.

I need to somehow turn the tables on Akira so he’ll be forced to let me go.

But that would be as hard as breaking his cool façade. Besides, there’s also the threat of my father and what he’ll do to Mio if I defy him.

And then there’s Kai, but I’m never sure if that sly snake is on my side or if he’s only using me to get in my father’s good graces.

My head hurts.

I step out of the car and remove my shoes at the entrance, then put on my slippers. Instead of going to my room, I make a turn and head to Akira’s.

It could be due to the crying, the sadness, or the need for any semblance of hope. But I have to take a chance and talk to Akira.

Surprisingly, he’s kept to himself about Sebastian. I expected him to threaten and demand he works for him, but it’s been weeks and he hasn’t made an offer yet.

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.

“He’s lying,” Akira says with a gentle shrug of his shoulder. “His mouth wanted my dick as much as his body begged for my knife.”

Red creeps up Ren’s neck. “If you show Boss evidence, Akira will be implicated, too.”

“Not if I simply crop out his face from the picture.”

Ren stares between Akira’s calm expression and my taunting one. “You’re both in on this? Did you make him do that to me just to trap me?”

“You trapped yourself the day you shot Sebastian and nearly killed him.” I point a finger at his shoulder. “Mess with him or with me again, even under my father’s orders, and you can kiss your fucking career—and life—goodbye. I heard Kai likes to torture first before cutting people to pieces.”

“Fuck. You.”

“What did I say about that language?” Akira asks in a disapproving tone.

“And you!” Ren snarls at him. “Fuck you both, you weird fuckers.”

I tap my chin. “You might want to wipe all the blood and cum off before saying that.”

Ren snarls again, and as he storms past me, Akira calls after him, “You better be prepared for your punishment, brat.”

The guard pauses, his lips pursing before he leaves, his angry steps echoing down the hall.

I stare at Akira and then at his hard cock. “That must be painful and unsatisfying.”

“It wouldn’t be if you hadn’t shown up.”

“So it’s my fault?”

“You think it’s mine?”

“I’d offer a hand, but I’d rather have it cut off.”

He points at his cock that’s losing its erection, then wraps his yukata closed. “The thought of your hand is enough to turn a sinner into a priest.”

“Screw you.”

“Again, I would’ve screwed someone if you hadn’t come in here.”

“I thought you were asexual.”

“I thought so, too. Turns out, I’m just selective.”

“And Ren of all people is the one you selected?”

He smiles, it’s rare and filled with pure sadism. “He could use some discipline. A lot, actually.”

“He’s loyal to my father.”

“If I want it, his loyalty and everything he has to offer will only belong to me.”

“That’s not how it works. He’s a high-ranking member of the Yakuza and he breathes that reckless lifestyle. If you try to force him to join you in peaceful Kyoto, he’ll probably blow your car up.”

“He would.” His lips pull in a smirk that holds so much pride. “But let me worry about him.”

“Since when are you into knife play?”

“I’ve always loved knives and flesh. Oh, and blood.”

I frown. “When we talked through the letters, you never mentioned knife play, only breath play.”

He pauses, fingering his yukata’s belt. “I’ve developed a fetish.”

“You realize I’ll use that picture against you, too, right? I’m glad you found your drive and your choices, knife included. No hard feelings. I’m just looking out for myself.”

“And Sebastian, obviously.”

I ignore the sharp twist in my stomach and hold on to my cool. “Don’t bring him into this.”

Akira approaches me, then sniffs me like a dog. “I can smell him on you, wife. You’ve been carrying his scent and his marks for fucking weeks. You really thought I wouldn’t notice?”

“You…knew.”

“Of course.”

“Then why didn’t you do anything?”

“In the early Edo period, there was a famous rônin samurai named Miyamoto Musashi who was known both for his skill and his quirkiness. Many other renowned samurais challenged him to a duel, but they were all killed even though they were better skilled than him. Do you know why he won every time? It’s because he changed his tactics to fit each opponent’s weakness. If they were stern, he was playful. If they were playful, he was rigid. Being fluid and ever-changing is what gets things done, whereas brute force will sooner or later lead to someone’s ruin.”

“What’s your tactic for us then?”

“I’m still watching, just like Musashi did before his duals.”

“Don’t you dare hurt him.”

“Don’t you dare threaten me again and we’ll talk.”

“I mean it, Akira. If you do him any harm, your family will receive the picture. Your father is still alive, so you can’t own the Mori fortune just yet. He can still strip you of the leading position and hand it to your brother on a gold platter. Don’t force my hand to ruin the empire you’ve been building all these years.”

“My, Naomi. I didn’t know you had this much fire inside you.”

“I have a fucking volcano, if you want to see.”

He smiles, but it quickly vanishes. “There’ll be no divorce. Play your role or I will throw you to Abe’s wolves.”

“Then I will just bury you and Ren in return. You’re not the only one who knows my weakness.”

“You better check on your weakness then.”

The adrenaline wave slowly dissipates. I dislike Akira’s apathetic tone and face. I’ve known him long enough to realize that means he’s pissed and will soon become vindictive.

When I found the chance to threaten him, I couldn’t possibly let it pass. But maybe coming on this strong wasn’t such a bright idea.

Still, I hold on to my strength, even when my stomach tightens. “Why?”

“My gift should’ve reached him by now.”

“What type of gift?”

“No bombs, don’t worry. Just expensive Japanese essential oils that I’m sure he’ll appreciate since he was born in Japan. He’ll love the note more than the oils, though.”

“Wait. What? Sebastian was born in Japan?” How come I didn’t know that? I was aware that his grandparents shunned his parents and they had to go away, but I didn’t know it was to Japan.

“Maybe you’re not as tight as you think you are if he never told you he was Japanese-born. He lived in Tokyo for six years until his parents died.”

“Why do you know all of that?”

“I like the power it gives me. But that’s not the end of it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You might want to pay more attention the next time you’re in your father’s office.”

I spend the entire day obsessing over Akira’s words. Sebastian’s origins. The note with the essential oils.

My husband was a damn asshole and refused to divulge more—no surprise there.

As I sit behind my desk at Mom’s company, I contemplate calling Sebastian and asking, but the way I left this morning stops me.

I practically snuck out like a thief. Besides, he’s probably still groggy with the cold. The fever had gone down when I checked it before I left, but he could still be sick.

Shaking my head, I attempt to focus on the documents in front of me, but I end up sketching instead.

The whole day is spent in an unproductive funk and even Amanda shakes her head at me due to how unfocused I am. I call it a day around seven p.m. I’m really not in the mood to face Akira again, but I can pester him, make his life hell, and even cockblock him until he gives me the answers I need.

I’m driving on a secluded road when I notice a car following behind me. Its headlights are blinding, so I can’t make out the model or the color.

Rolling my eyes, I step on the brakes, drawing my car to a halt. I’m really in no mood for Father’s and Akira’s guards tonight.

I told them not to follow me as if I’m a sheltered little princess.

After closing my car door harder than needed, I march to the other car, which unsurprisingly stopped right behind mine.

I knock on the Audi’s tinted window. “Open up.”

No answer.

“Ren, is that you? I swear to God, I’m going to start getting really nasty really fast if you don’t stop playing around.”

The door opens and I startle, my heel catching on the asphalt as I meet those tropical eyes. He’s dressed in a black hoodie and sweatpants, and the early evening’s lack of light casts a shadow on his face.

“Sebastian? What are you doing here?”

“Following you, obviously.” I don’t like the coldness in his voice, even though I know where it’s coming from.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“Maybe. But you were also supposed to stay this morning.” He reaches out and grabs me by the wrist, then yanks me over. I yelp as I land on his lap.

“Sebastian! What are you doing?”

His eyes rage as he whispers in threatening dark words, “I asked you nicely to stay, but you don’t want nice, Naomi. You want me to fucking kidnap you.”