Chapter 53

Chapter Fifty-Three

GREY

The quiet is thicker than a fog.

Finn's fingers are white-knuckled as he grips the steering wheel. I have a million questions rumbling under the surface, but I shove them back into my throat and zip my mouth closed.

Restless, I pick up my phone that was charging and log into Jinx's app.

The notifications pile up to an overwhelming number.

Jinx hasn't stopped reporting the scandals of Redwood Prep. Dutch and Cadence are still a prominent feature. Sol's change in style and boosted confidence gets a mention. And there's even a story about The Kings' new ‘lap dog'—probably referring to Hall. Even I get a little write-up about ‘being a runaway Snare Queen'.

But as I keep going, I notice something strange.

Every so often, a story will pop up about Jarod Cross's campaign or a random public figure being demoted, arrested, or fined.

Since when does Jinx report on news outside of Redwood?

The stories have gained zero traction. By the numbers, Jinx should stop talking about politics. No one subscribes to her app to read about congressmen and board members being fired for accepting bribes or sexual misconduct.

Yet, she keeps posting about it.

I peek at Finn again, wanting so badly to talk, but his discomfort is palpable. It's like his nerves are swirling around in the air, a tornado picking up everything and slamming them around.

Fighting back a sigh, I stare at the passing scenery.

Zane would talk to you.

The thought makes me achingly sad.

Zane was always around, teasing me and getting in my space. I didn't appreciate it then. But now, I realize I'd quietly come to rely on it. There's something about knowing when someone actually enjoys being around you. And Zane never hid his affection from me. When I was with him, I felt appreciated, cared for and seen .

Don't think about that now, Grey. You need to survive this first and figure things out with Zane later.

What am I going to do when I meet Finn's father?

Should I secretly record our conversation? Get his confession? Send it out to the world and die as was my original plan?

Something tells me I would die in vain. Finn's biological dad allowed me to come to him which means he doesn't fear me.

A man like him didn't earn his position because he saved cats in trees and helped little old ladies cross the street. He's a cold-hearted, brutal killer. The leader of many cold-hearted and brutal killers.

I can't take down the yakuza by being stupid or impatient.

"We're almost there," Finn says abruptly.

I look out at the open space, seeing nothing up ahead.

Where would a crime lord live?

I picture gathering storm clouds and lightning flashing around a dark, medieval castle.

Pushing my imagination further, I close my eyes.

Crime bosses should live in dungeons with mossy brick steps leading into their torture chambers. Flickering candles in iron sconces should light the way, fire sending shadows dancing across damp walls that have absorbed centuries of screams.

Blood would trickle like the drip-drip-drip of rain, down the walls and the stairs and the gurney where their prisoners were punished for their sins.

However, instead of going down into the bowels of a basement, Finn parks the car inside a quiet, idyllic property outside the city. The grounds boast the kind of garden I've only seen in a home magazine.

Birds chirp and play on the branches of blossoming trees. Pink petals blow in the wind, dancing to a melody crooned by an invisible orchestra. It feels almost irreverent when our car doors slam, shattering the sounds of picturesque harmony.

Finn's expensive vintage sneakers crunch the stones as he strides to the front of the car. I join him, my steps hesitant and my eyes darting around.

"Where are the security guards?" I ask, noticing the beautiful but empty garden path.

I would have expected that there were people stopping us at the gate. Or at least someone coming out to rub us down and make sure we weren't taking weapons and recording devices.

Finn doesn't break his stride or look at me as he says, "Do you think they didn't know we were coming? They were watching since the motel."

"Since the…" My breath rattles in my throat. I start to wrap my brain around how truly scary these people are.

Finn's long legs carry him away.

I scramble to keep up.

"But," I whisper, "your father knows I've been trying to take down The Grateful Project. What happens if his hidden security think that we're a threat?"

I use the word ‘we', but Finn is the son of the yakuza. There's no way they'll allow him to be hurt. I'm the one who'll be standing in the cross-hairs of disaster.

His eyes rove to mine. "Do you plan to hurt him?"

My tongue darts out to wet my lips. Is he concerned for me or for his father?

"You're here with my protection, but that won't stretch very far. These men are trained fighters. You'll be dead before you can make a move. And if you end up dying, Zane will never forgive me."

I suck in a deep breath.

Finn continues up the path. I follow him and wipe my sweaty palms on the side of my pants.

Up ahead, a gazebo stands deep in the heart of the garden. There's a man inside with his back to us and a security guard to his right. The man dips his hands into a bag and throws food into the pond.

As we cross a wooden bridge, I look over and spot lily pads floating in the water. On the other side, white fish with orange spots swim close to the surface.

Our footsteps clatter on the gazebo steps.

The closer we get, the more my heart races.

There's a filmy, dream-like quality to this moment. Like I'm experiencing something that isn't quite real. Did I think when I woke up this morning that my world would change this drastically? That I'd be face-to-face with the man who gave the order to traffic and then murder Sloane?

No.

In all my imaginings of this moment, I saw myself having the upper hand. I tasted the victory of collecting all the evidence and blowing the case wide open.

Instead, I'm facing Sloane's murderer like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

At least she's not here to witness this. It's enough to battle my own conflicting emotions without her in my ear.

Finn's father keeps his back to us despite knowing we're here. He speaks something in Japanese.

A long silence follows.

With every second that ticks by, I can see his back muscles stiffening.

I glance up at Finn. There's no change in his expression, but when I observe closely, his fingers are pulled into fists.

"You know I don't speak Japanese," Finn says finally.

The man turns his face to the side. The wind picks up and the ends of his long black shirt and wide-legged trousers flap against his body.

"You will learn." There's a heavy accent around his words, but even I can tell he's not asking. He wipes his hands against his pants and spins fully around. Sharp, dangerous eyes fasten on Finn like a hawk to its prey.

"Miss Jamieson, this is Ninomae Kurosaki." Finn gestures.

He doesn't introduce Kurosaki as his ‘father' and, from the flash in the older man's eyes, I'm not the only one who observed that.

Slowly, Kurosaki's gaze drags away from his son to me and I shrink back into myself. There's something about Kurosaki that's more menacing than I expected, but it's in a totally different way than it is with Jarod Cross.

The rockstar is smoothly sinister, an excessive smoothness that makes him almost oily. It feels like Jarod Cross is slick, bathed in danger and cunning. Like if you touch him, your fingers will slide right off.

But with Kurosaki, there's no oil. No smoothness. There's nothing slick enough to grease the wheels of a machine. He's dry and to the point.

Jarod Cross likes to hear himself talk, but when Kurosaki pulls the gun on you, there will be no soliloquies or grand pontifications. There will just be his eyes and then death.

"This is Miss Jamieson." Finn gestures to me.

"So you are the woman the blue-eyed one loves," Kurosaki says.

Bile rises in my throat.

"Come. Sit. There is tea." He folds himself into a chair.

Tea?

I'm not having tea with Sloane's murderer.

Sure, Kurosaki wasn't seen in the video, but his assassin was working on orders. Sloane's blood is on his hands as much as it is on his assassin's.

Finn nudges me.

Grudgingly, I walk to the table, but I refuse to reach for the cup after Kurosaki pours. He takes a sip, looking out at the scenery with heavily wrinkled eyes.

So calm.

So easy.

Did he look this unaffected when he decided whether Sloane would live or die?

"We can't stay long," Finn says in an aggrieved voice. I get the feeling that he's saying that because he's even more uncomfortable than I am. "You promised me?—"

"Do you remember what you promised me ?" His eyes land on Finn with a gravity that steals my breath.

"What did you promise him, Finn?" I whisper.

Finn ignores me. "I gave you my word."

"And a Kurosaki always keeps his word." The father sips his tea, lips curling up secretly in a way I've seen Finn do a million times. When he turns his attention to me, he seems almost warm and inviting. "You are familiar with the yakuza, yes?"

I nod sharply, still bothered by the thought of Finn striking deals with his father. Like Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice, he will demand every inch of his pound of flesh.

"My father was the patriarch of my clan, in charge of thousands of men, but after another patriarch launched a war for territory, I was left with the leadership position and two choices—death for me and my men or expansion to regain the territory that was lost."

He blows the steam rising from his cup. "The others feared expansion, but I had been to the States before and I understood the potential. Despite pretending to be morally superior, Westerners all bow if the price is right."

I bristle at his condescending tone.

"I knew that I could regain our strength if I followed the path outside of Japan. But it was a dangerous road to walk. I had already lost Finn's mother to the war. I could not leave the heir of our clan in harm's way." His eyes slide to Finn. "So I arranged for a caregiver and charged him with keeping my son's true lineage a secret."

Finn's jaw clenches.

I lean forward. "How did you meet Jarod Cross?"

"He had already begun to form alliances with the Russians to transport product. Did you not know this?" He arches a brow at Finn.

Gripping my hands together beneath the table to keep them from shaking, I soak that knowledge in.

"The operation was not well-organized. The Russians are too violent and impulsive." He shakes his head. "Cross knew this and he was wary of continuing with them. So I offered him a solution. Rather than product, he agreed to smuggle a person into his home."

A glance below the table shows I'm not the only one hiding their fists.

"The Grateful Project," Finn grinds out, "stick to that."

Kurosaki narrows his eyes but obliges. "The other clans had seen our expansion and were rushing into the territory to gain ground. We were not at our strongest and did not have the advantage. The competition was also stronger. Here in the US, there are the Italians, the Russians, other powerful families and factions. I needed to strengthen our roots here."

"And pimping out children would do it," I spit.

He glances at me calmly.

His voice when he answers me is firm, authoritative. It tells me that he doesn't need to raise his voice to be obeyed. "If your leaders, your politicians, your prominent families wanted something else, do you think I would not give them? This is what they wanted."

"Teenage girls?" Finn bites out.

"No." His father seems disappointed in the outburst. "Power. The power to know they can have what they should not. The power to act on the impulses that they should not act on. The power to walk away from having done these acts and not suffered the consequences."

A shudder runs down my spine.

It's his directness that affects me. Kurosaki looks at us as if this is the reality of the world and we're the crazy ones.

Who gave him the right to exercise that power over innocent children? Over my best friend? Who gave him the right to decide if she lived or died?

"What did Sloane do?" I ask, my nostrils flaring. "To die in such an inhumane way?"

Kurosaki opens his hands.

Immediately, his guard sets a book in it.

He proceeds to flip through the pages. Watching him, I realize he has no idea who Sloane is. She was nothing but a pebble in his path. He kicked her away without thought.

I dig my nails into my palms until they draw blood.

He stops on a page. "Someone's mask fell during one of the parties. She saw a face that she shouldn't see."

"Mask," I wheeze, my throat closing up.

"Yes, discretion was a priority."

"Discretion is another word for not getting caught. Which makes sense. You fed the scholarship students at Redwood Prep to a sex club." I'm trembling harder now. "Everyone who participated in The Grateful Project was a criminal."

Kurosaki sips his tea calmly. "Those students were well compensated. I am not an animal."

My heart is thumping so hard I feel like I'm on the verge of a heart attack. It's strange knowing I'm looking right into the eyes of evil and I don't have a gun or a plan.

"From the very beginning, we made it clear what behavior was expected. This young lady broke her contract and wanted to threaten us with what she knew. It was a problem of her creation, and so she was invited out one night to discuss a negotiation."

"It was a call from Harris. "

I gasp when I hear Sloane's voice and find her sitting beside me around the table. Her face is bruised, her hair mussed and her shirt is hanging off her shoulder, exposing her bra.

She's staring, unseeing into the blue sky. All her spark is gone. All her smiles and mischievous quips.

A shell of the brilliant, charismatic girl I knew.

I launch to my feet.

Finn jumps up too.

Immediately, I see men rushing out of the trees, emerging from their hiding places.

Kurosaki lifts a hand.

"You abused and mistreated her. You sold her like she was cattle. Then, you killed her when she tried to get out."

"Get out?" Kurosaki arches an eyebrow. "On the contrary, your friend wasn't trying to leave."

The seconds slow down so I can hear every desperate breath, rattling in my lungs.

What is he talking about?

"She wanted more money."

The world starts spinning. "You're lying."

"I'm sorry, Grey."

"Did you notice that your friend was depressed before her demise? Did she seem like anyone who was being mistreated?"

I glance to the side.

Sloane avoids eye contact.

Thinking back, I had no idea what was going on with her. I saw that we were going out to eat more often and that her mom kept mentioning their bills being taken care of, but…

"She was a willing participant," Kurosaki adds.

I remember Sloane smiling at me just before she took the call from Harris that night. I remember the small wrinkle between her eyebrows when she hurried out the door.

"No," I stammer.

"She was defiled long before she joined the club, but at least we gave her money for her time and skillset."

"He's right, Grey."

"No!" I scream. Tears fill my eyes. "No. I don't care if she came begging on her hands and knees. She was sixteen years old. Six-teen . You had no right to use her, to diminish her like that. You had no right to take someone in a desperate situation and sacrifice them on the altar of your twisted empire.

He blinks slowly. "If my deeds were so despicable, why did none of the others speak out when you investigated?"

"Maybe because you chopped Sloane into pieces to send them all a message."

He smiles.

I see red. " You are the adult and you took advantage of her and of all the students in The Grateful Project."

"This… coming from a woman married to a high school student?" His tea is finished. He pours another cup.

My snarl melts off my face.

Finn lets out a growl of frustration. "I told you to keep my brothers out of this."

Kurosaki drinks his tea without a care in the world.

Something breaks inside me as I look at him, the mastermind behind The Grateful Project.

One by one, scales are falling off my eyes.

The world will look on us from the outside and judge us both. Just like Kurosaki thinks Sloane accepting payment meant he was not committing a crime, all society will hear if I try to explain myself is lackluster excuses.

I'm done offering any.

I am married to Zane Cross, an eighteen year old. They might point fingers at me and accuse me of leading him astray. That I acted inappropriately. That I abused my power as his teacher, but I know the truth.

I lean forward and grip the edges of the table. Finn's eyes are drilling into my back.

I'm sure all of Kurosaki's guards are feeling trigger happy.

Not that I care.

"Here's why you and I are very, very different." I see the amusement cast over his expression, but that doesn't move me. "I didn't want any part of Zane Cross, but I was forced into a marriage with him. Along the way, things changed. And then I fell in love."

I feel rather than hear Finn's quick intake of surprise.

"But you, you weren't forced into this, and yet, you fell in love with your selfishness, with crime and with destruction. I still have my conscience, but you, Kurosaki, you don't have one and you never will. There is no bottom line for a man who lives for his own gain. He will only want more and more. He will leave war and brokenness in his wake. And he will never, ever live happily. But I will."

I rise to my full height and look down at Sloane who's staring at me with awe. Slowly, the bruises start to fade from her face.

"Do you really mean it, Grey. Will you live happily now?"

I nod.

"Will you still remember me as someone you cared about, even after hearing the truth?"

I smile and nod, recalling a conversation once where Sloane made me promise to never leave her, no matter what gossip I heard.

Now I know why she requested that of me.

And now I know I can maintain my half of that promise.

You are still loved, Sloane.

A tear slips down Sloane's cheek, followed by another.

And another.

You are not less valuable because of the choices you made. You deserved to live. You deserved peace. You deserved to be happy. And I will always be proud to call you my best friend. So be at peace now.

"Thank you."

A tear slips down her cheek and, slowly, Sloane disappears.

I know, deep in my heart, that she won't be back.