Chapter 1
THE MINUTE I saw the furrow between Trent’s eyebrows, I knew there was a problem. When we’d left for P-town four days ago, most of the details of our over-the-top ceremony had been worked out to everyone’s satisfaction. Trent had grumbled throughout the negotiation but was convinced to allow the extravagant affair when Max showed him the staggering amount the paparazzi were willing to pay for this once-in-a-lifetime photo op. After all, we were the first celebrity couple to hop on the new right-to-marry train that had gay New Yorkers standing outside city hall in a frenzied need to join the mainstream. Now Max wanted to change everything.
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Trent snorted disapprovingly, having taken one look at the Regency wear Max had conjured up at the last minute. “There’s no way in fucking hell I’m wearing tights on my wedding day,” he continued, following up his defiant proclamation with a loud slam. He’d barricaded himself in his study and wouldn’t unlock the door despite my best imitation of Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory.
“Trent,” I begged, knocking like a demented woodpecker. “Let me in. Please? Trent… will you open the fucking door!”
After five minutes, the lock turned and the door swung open, revealing one pissed-off Dom. He’d changed into his club leathers while I was trying to get his attention and looked more formidable than ever. Before I could protest, he cut me off. “Not another word! Max isn’t subjecting us to more ridicule than necessary, Sloan. It’s bad enough you’ve agreed to be Little Lord Fauntleroy, but I absolutely refuse to look like some foppish duke to appease this sudden surge of Britishmania that’s swept the country since the royal wedding. NO. FUCKING. WAY!”
He punctuated every word with a finger poke to my chest, but I remained undeterred. “It could mean a condo overlooking Central Park.”
Trent scowled. “Since when has money been so important to you?”
“Honestly? I couldn’t give a rat’s ass, but I owe Max big-time and he’s pushing for this.”
“You’ve made him a bloody fortune over the years. Why do you think you owe him?” Trent demanded. “And while we’re on the subject of modeling, you should be the first to know I’ve about had it with the whole experience.”
“Wait—what?”
“Max can take his agency and shove it.”
“Come on, Trent. Be reasonable.” How could I explain my complex relationship with a man who’d taken me under his wing over eight years ago and turned me into a household name? I’d been nothing but an insecure cutter, underweight and miserably confused, until Max showed me that underneath the bones was a beautiful person. America had fallen in love with me, and in the process, so had Max. He’d been my lover for a very brief time, but beyond that, he’d been the mentor I’d never had, the brother Junior could never be, and the best friend anyone could ask for. I would have done anything for him, which included facing the wrath of my soon-to-be-legal husband.
“Reason has nothing to do with it!” he snapped. “I’m tired of catering to the high-and-mighty Max.”
“I know you don’t understand why I feel the way I do when it comes to Max, but it is what it is. Consider this your wedding present to me if nothing else. I would be eternally grateful.”
“No,” Trent said adamantly. “I won’t put on a powdered wig or one of those repulsive beauty marks. I’d do almost anything for you, Sloan, you know that, but don’t ask me to look like a fool on the most important day of my life.”
“Even if I lick your boots and promise a long session of bondage as your reward?”
Trent paused, appearing to consider my offer, then shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.” He brushed past me and headed toward the front door.
“Where are you going?”
“I need some time at the club to cool down.”
I turned away and let him walk out the door. There was still a part of me that hated the idea of Trent continuing his role as Dom at Wilde, the BDSM club where he and Max had first met. We’d argued about it on the yacht on our way to Provincetown, and it had almost ruined our expedition, but he’d convinced me that his need to dominate and inflict pain on a willing sub was an integral part of his makeup, and at the time, I’d accepted that as gospel, especially when he swore that sex wasn’t involved. So long as he didn’t fuck any of his subs, we were good. Still, the vision of him in black leather wielding a whip and getting turned on by a stranger made me clench my teeth and want to scratch the eyes out of his submissive-for-the-hour without an ounce of remorse. Then again, I took comfort in the fact that he would come home to me, randy and ready for a good, long session of rough pounding. It would be my reward for allowing him to have his own space.
I shrugged in resignation, hoping his time at the club would put Max’s request into perspective. Why was Trent making such a big deal over this anyway? We’d already had our private commitment ceremony, exchanging the most meaningful vows meant only for our ears. They were too personal to share with the world, and I wouldn’t have wanted to, even if Trent had insisted we reenact that special hour. Why not give the onlookers the circus instead?
After being a model for so long, I’d learned to tune out the looky-loos and get into my zone. One or one hundred people in the wings made no difference to me, but if it made Max happy and kept the bling flowing, why not? Where was the harm in it? Surely Trent could see the economic benefits: he was a financial planner. The additional zeroes might also allow me to cut back on my work and devote more time to him. It could be a win-win if he’d only listen to reason.
I threw a load of laundry into the washing machine and sorted through the usual pile of junk mail before retrieving my phone messages. I rarely gave out my mobile number, for the obvious reason: I didn’t want to fend calls all day long. The only ones privy to my iPhone were family and close friends. Staring at the blank screen reminded me to turn it back on. Trent and I had sworn to remain incommunicado for our impromptu weekend, and it had paid off. We’d had the most romantic four days of our lives, but now, reality came crashing in. I saw with a growing sense of alarm that there were over a dozen missed calls from Cole. Christ, now what? I thought the guy was settled in his new relationship with Bryce and resigned to my upcoming nuptials. Trust him to fuck this up at the last minute. He was good at shaking me up without even trying.
I listened to the first few voice mails. Most of them were a terse “Call me.” Then his voice changed, going from reasonable to quietly desperate. By the tenth message, he could barely talk. It was so creepy it made my skin crawl. What could have frightened him so badly? I prayed that he wasn’t spiraling again. There was no way I’d find the strength to talk Cole off the ledge a second time if this was another suicide attempt.
Bracing for the worst, I tapped in his number. He answered on the first ring and broke down when he heard my voice. I was frozen as I listened to the strangled sobs coming through the line. Cole was exceedingly reserved and proud to the point of haughtiness. He despised public displays of emotion and had always criticized my lack of restraint in that regard, so this unprecedented breakdown was so shocking I didn’t know how to respond.
“They’re gone,” he said, trying to get the words out between each stuttering breath.
“Sorry?” I had no idea who or what he was talking about.
“The twins are gone,” he said brokenly.
“Cole, try to calm down,” I soothed, even though I was starting to freak out. “Did Noriko take them on a trip without telling you?”
Clearing his throat, he said, “I can’t discuss this over the phone. Please come over as soon as possible.”
He hung up before I could respond, and I stared at my phone for several minutes. This didn’t sound like another ploy to grab my attention. Cole was obviously frightened and at his wits’ end. He would have never called me if he could handle the situation on his own. Respecting our boundaries had been his top priority since our last discussion. This call was a serious breach, so I had to go and find out what in the hell had happened in the last four days.
Everything had been working out so beautifully since that horrible suicide attempt over a year and a half ago. He’d come to terms with our breakup, done the right thing by divorcing his wife, and had even begun seeing someone. His future was certainly much brighter than it had been for a long time, and now this. Christ, would he ever find peace?
I tried calling Trent, but it went to voice mail. I gave him an abridged version of the last fifteen minutes and hoped he’d listen to his messages before rushing home to fuck the lights out of me. Finding me gone might set him off again, and I wanted to warn him so he wouldn’t be disappointed.
Opting for a cab instead of the subway, I stewed in traffic far longer than necessary. The underground would have been a better choice, but it was too late to do anything about it. By the time the cabbie delivered me to Cole’s apartment, I was a wreck. My imagination was doing a number on me, and I envisioned blood and entrails everywhere. It was easy because I’d seen it once before—the blood that is, minus the slimy guts. Cole had tried to commit seppuku during some pretty tough times. It had been a really close call, but thankfully, he’d made a full recovery mentally as well as physically. Nonetheless, it didn’t stop me from picturing the worst.
I caught myself digging my nails into my jean-clad thighs and shook my hand in annoyance. Dammit, would I ever be rid of this nasty form of pain management? Just when I thought I was permanently cured of my cutting, shit would happen, and I’d catch myself wanting to break skin. It was my knee-jerk reaction to stress, an impulse I’d been struggling with for years.
I pulled out the keys Cole had given me long ago. The locks had never been changed, and he’d never asked for their return. Babysitting had become part of my weekly routine, and getting in and out of the place without bothering Cole was much easier than waiting for someone to open the door.
The apartment was pristine and as quiet as a library. The only noise breaking the silence was the sound of Freddie’s nails on the hardwood floor as he came to the door to greet me. He was Cole’s guide dog and had known me from the start of his partnership with his master.
Sticking his head into his favorite spot in between my legs, he wagged his tail happily as I rubbed behind his ears. “What’s going on with Daddy, boy? Will ya take me to him?”
He woofed and then spun around, leading me to Cole’s bedroom. The lights were off, but that was normal around here. Blind people never bothered turning them on. It had been a bone of contention when we lived together, as I was constantly bashing into furniture when he’d forget I needed to see. This time I didn’t bother to switch on the lamps, letting the overhead from the hallway spill into his room. He was lying on the bed, fully clothed and intact. I didn’t see any blood or knives and heaved a sigh of relief. Perching on one side of him, I grabbed his hand and gently squeezed.
“I’m here.”
“Thank God,” he sighed, turning toward my voice.
“What’s going on, Cole?”
He sat up and ran long fingers through his hair, pushing the thick mane away from his face. He groped for the covered elastic on the nightstand and gathered the strands into a loose tail at the back of his neck. “You can switch on the lamp if you want.”
I did, and when the room lit up, I could see that he’d had some sort of shock. He was unshaven, a rare sight considering his fastidious nature, and the scraggly stubble made him look ashen and defeated. The lines around his mouth were more pronounced and his clothes were wrinkled, another sign that his world had been turned upside down. Usually the color of freshly brewed tea, Cole was a perfect combination of Irish and Japanese genes that had been my undoing for years. Under normal circumstances, he was an attractive man who’d hardly aged since we met years ago except for the jet-black hair that was now more salt than pepper. In a year or two, the white would overtake the entire lot, making him a silver fox before his fortieth birthday, a striking contrast to his youthful physique. His eyes, however, remained unchanged. They were still the same compelling blue that bore into me and made me catch my breath, even if he couldn’t see a damn thing. It always felt like he had a fast track into my soul.
“Thanks for coming, Sloan.”
“You want to tell me what’s making you so miserable?”
“Let me show you instead,” he said.
He stood and slipped his stocking feet into his leather slippers. Freddie and I followed him out the apartment to the bank of elevators. He hit the button for the twentieth floor, where Noriko lived with the boys and a Japanese nanny. The door to her apartment was unlocked, and I gasped when we walked in. The place had been ransacked.
“Were you robbed?” I asked immediately. “Is that why the kids are gone? Did she take them somewhere to protect them?”
He shook his head and went to the kitchen. On the dinette, there was a letter written on some flimsy paper as well as a DVD in a boxed case. The words were in English, although printed with heavy black ink in a floral hand that was almost calligraphic. I assumed the DVD was a spoken version of the letter for Cole’s benefit.
“Read it,” he said, handing me the paper.
He sat with his head in his hands as I read. The blood froze in my veins when I caught the gist of the demands. Kidnapping and ransom were ugly words no matter how flowery the script. The boys and Noriko were on their way to Japan, and the only way Cole would ever see them again was if he came up with three million dollars. The rest of the letter was a long and convoluted set of instructions I couldn’t see because of the tears filling my eyes.
“Who in hell are these people, Cole?”
“Yakuza,” he whispered, spitting out the word like it was vilest thing on the planet.
“What does it mean?”
Cole raised his head and gave me a quizzical look that spoke volumes. He was an expert at making me feel dumb. “Most people recognize the name, Sloan.”
“Enlighten me.”
“It’s the biggest organized crime syndicate in Japan. They have branches all over the world.”
“Why did they pick you?”
“It seems I’m still paying for my father’s stupidity.”
“Sorry?”
“You know about Noriko’s ancestry.”
“Tell me again so I know what I’m dealing with.”
“Noriko’s biological grandmother, Mieko, lived and worked in the same okiya, or geisha house, as my grandfather’s mistress, Rieko. They became good friends, and when Mieko died in childbirth, Rieko adopted the baby, Hana, who is Noriko’s mother.”
“Right, now I remember. Your ex-wife comes from a long line of women in the service industry.” Cole’s facial expression changed. I realized at once that sarcasm and the rehashing of our painful breakup was counterproductive to this current crisis. Putting my inner bitch back in the drawer where she belonged, I apologized. “I’m sorry, Cole, that was uncalled for.”
He nodded and continued his dissertation on the whores of Kyoto. “Reiko, who’s still alive, by the way, managed to keep the geisha house afloat during the war by borrowing money from the Yakuza. Loan-sharking is a lucrative part of their organization, and they charge usurious rates of interest. Noriko was everyone’s ticket to freedom. The fee she received for becoming my surrogate paid off her own debt to the okiya, but apparently, she continued making monthly payments to try to reduce Reiko’s astronomical balance, which had compounded through the years. Noriko kept her end of the bargain while my wife, but she stopped sending the monthly payments as soon as we divorced. She thought they’d give her a pass, seeing as how she no longer had access to my income.”
“How do you know all of this?”
“Noriko said so in the DVD.”
“But wasn’t your settlement more than generous?”
“Very generous, but if you factor in a thousand dollar payment each month on an ancient debt, it begins to pale in comparison to what she could have as my wife. Unfortunately, she never told me the truth, or I would have tried to come up with a fair solution.”
“She’s good at that.”
“What?”
“Omitting the truth,” I said, forgetting my good intentions to filter. It was one thing to forgive the monstrous lies that had led to our breakup, but this was the fucking icing on the mountain of shit I’d been dealing with since Noriko came into our lives.
“I’m just as angry as you, Sloan. She had no right to keep this from me and jeopardize my family.”
“Is she in cahoots with them?”
Silently, he pushed a small box toward me. It was made of blue velvet and looked like a jeweler’s case. It took a few heartbeats for the contents to register after I opened the box, but when I realized I was looking at Noriko’s pinkie, the one that had the Cartier puzzle ring, I hurled all over the kitchen floor. My head started to spin, and I continued to retch long after I’d emptied out my gut. Cole was beside me in a second, as soon as he heard me barf. When there was nothing left to upchuck, he wiped my mouth with a napkin he’d dipped in water, then cradled my head against his waist.
“I can assure you that Noriko is not in cahoots with these people,” he said flatly. “They’ve threatened to keep sending me more of her body parts if I don’t come up with the money by the deadline.”
I stared up at him in shock. “We have to call the police, Cole.”
“I’ll never see the boys again if we do. They’ll separate them and sell them off to desperate families who’ll pay and do anything to adopt a healthy male child, especially one with Japanese genes.”
“Trent will know exactly what to do; this is right up his alley.”
“You mustn’t tell him.”
“Don’t be so damn proud!”
“This has nothing to do with pride! Don’t you think the Yakuza know about Trent and his military connections? They know everything, Sloan. The negotiations will blow up in my face as soon as I bring him into the picture.”
“Then we’ll find someone else.”
“I won’t involve the cops or the FBI.”
“Why not ask Bryce?”
“Come on, Sloan, I barely know the guy. I can’t expect him to close down his bar indefinitely.”
“I’m sure he’d be more than happy to help you out. You are in a relationship, aren’t you?”
“Really? Now’s not the time or place to be having this discussion.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Come with me to Japan. Be my eyes so I can bring them home.”
“Won’t they suspect something if you bring along an ex-lover who happens to be engaged to someone with a military background?”
“They can’t expect me to do this alone. You were my partner for years, and it’s only natural that I turn to you for help.”
“Right… of course… it makes perfect sense.” Jesus fucking Christ….