Vessel (Cutting Cords Series Book 2) Read online

  “Why couldn’t Mieko take care of her own child?”

  “She died in childbirth.”

  “Too bad. But hold on a minute, Noriko said she had a grandmother.”

  “She was referring to Reiko, who adopted her mother, Hana. My grandfather supported them for as long as he could, but once the war broke out, communication between Japan and the United States became impossible.”

  “Ya think? They fucking bombed Pearl Harbor!”

  “Let’s not discuss world politics, Sloan.”

  Frankly, I wanted to hurl the phone across the room and tell Cole to go fuck himself. Still, there was a small part of me that wanted more answers, so I persisted.

  “What is this supposed debt you’re talking about?”

  “Once my grandfather disappeared from the scene, it became very difficult for the women of the kariyukae.”

  “The what?”

  “It means the flower and willow world. The services of a traditional geisha were no longer in demand, and the money began to dwindle. Reiko raised Hana, despite the many difficulties of staying afloat in a dying business. When Noriko was born, also out of wedlock, and again by an American flyboy, Reiko supported her as well.”

  In a voice dripping with contempt, I suggested, “Let’s recap, shall we? Noriko comes from a long line of women who had a problem keeping their knees together when it came to American men.”

  “God, Sloan. Is everything in life a dirty joke?”

  “No, but it’s not a fucking fairy tale either. Glorifying a sordid encounter between a soldier and his Japanese plaything is delusional.”

  “This conversation is over,” Cole said angrily.

  “Don’t you dare hang up, you bastard. I deserve the truth.”

  “Calm down.”

  “The hell I will! So, let me get this straight. Noriko is repaying her mother and her grandmother’s debts to this Reiko person, your grandfather’s geisha, by surrogating for you. Is that right? By becoming Noriko’s patron, your father and you, by default, have bought her loyalty. I guess it’s far more sensible than asking an American woman, who might actually pose a threat by wanting to have a say in her children’s lives.”

  “My family is paying Noriko for her services. She’ll be able to give back the money owed to Reiko while providing a secure future for two old women who have sacrificed their entire lives for her.”

  “And what’s little Ms. Tokyo getting out of this, apart from a rich husband and US citizenship?”

  “Her freedom. She will no longer have to remain in the okiya.”

  “The whorehouse?”

  “Goddamn you, Sloan!”

  “Just answer one thing, Cole.”

  “What!”

  “Have you collected on her precious mizuage? After all, it’s been handed to you on a silver platter. Have you fucked her yet?”

  The seconds ticked by, and after ten with no reply, I disconnected and hurled my phone against the wall, shattering it into a million pieces.

  Chapter 23

  My rage erupted, a five-alarm inferno, scorching any hope for reconciliation. I wanted to hop on a plane to New York and strangle Cole with my bare hands. This betrayal was finite and irrevocable. I knew there would be no way to repair the damage. My psyche stumbled back down into the familiar black hole and started playing its old refrain. I was worthless, a loser, unable to keep my man or sustain a relationship. The thought of drugs crossed my mind, but I knew they weren’t going to put a stop to the inevitable. The demon was pulling me toward the bathroom, and I shook from the effort of holding back the need. I envisioned the fancy shaving kit sitting beside the lovely white porcelain mug. It was an old-fashioned straight razor that flipped open like a pocketknife, very Sweeney Todd and so fucking handy.

  Tin took one look at my face and the pieces of my iPhone scattered all over the carpet and knew I was in trouble.

  “What happened?”

  “Cole’s getting it on with Sailor Moon.”

  “Quoi?”

  “The Japanese bitch! I knew it the minute I laid eyes on her.”

  “Oh, chéri, do you need some X?”

  “No. I want you to get dressed and leave me alone.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  I leaped off the bed and threw some clothes at him. “Get dressed now, or I’m walking out of this room. I’m sure I can get into all sorts of mischief in this bloody town.”

  “I’m going,” Tin said, pouting, “but I’m calling Max. You mustn’t be alone.”

  “Do not get Max,” I said adamantly. “Do you understand?”

  Tin flailed his arms around like a windmill. “Honestly, Sloan. You need to get over Cole. He’s doing you a favor by showing his true colors. The man has issues that have nothing to do with his lack of eyesight. Merde!”

  Sinking back down on the bed, I placed my elbows on my thighs and buried my face in my hands. I couldn’t bear to have Tin witness my humiliation. “Get the fuck out, Tin. Please.”

  “Je pars!”

  He left in a huff, slamming the door behind him. I stayed in the same position for several minutes, trying to decide what to do. It didn’t help that I was light-headed from hunger, and my skull was pounding due to the spike of adrenaline rushing through me during the emotional phone call. All triggers I’d been told to avoid.

  How could he be so heartless? I could forgive Cole anything but this. It boiled down to my pride and being grossly mistreated, like I was a fucking inconvenience he couldn’t wait to throw away. If he’d had the PGD option five years ago, would he have chosen me? Probably not. The main reason he’d broken his engagement to Juliana was because she mollycoddled him like an invalid and I always treated him like a fully functioning male. I was ready, willing, and able to sign over my life for him.

  But my undying devotion was clearly one-sided. It had to have been a farce if he could easily move from my bed to Noriko’s? The last five years had been a lie and I’d fallen for it because I was such a needy fuck. Suddenly, I was drowning in a roiling sea of doubt.

  Releasing a shuddering breath, I stripped. There was no sense in fighting this any longer. I knew what the bottom line was going to be, and it wasn’t going to be tears. I was so done with Cole Fujiwara. The bathroom beckoned, and I took the first step down my slide into hell. It was several degrees cooler in the tiled room, and it felt good against my hot skin. I reached for the white mug with the hotel logo and stared at the shaving paraphernalia for a long time. The razor had a red handle and was sealed in a plastic bag with an orange tag, indicating it had been sterilized. Now, wasn’t that fucking convenient? No worries about disease… just exsanguination.

  I took my time tearing off the plastic, secretly hoping the prep work would halt my progress. It didn’t. I tossed the wrapper into the trash can, and then I stepped into the shower enclosure and sat down with my legs sticking straight out. I’d left my boxers on for some reason. Turning the blade over, I studied it to make sure it had only a single edge. It had been a long time since I’d resorted to this form of pain management, and I hesitated. My hands were shaking. Did I really want to do this? Was this the answer? It had never solved anything in the past.

  Unconsciously, I picked a safer route, turning the sharp side away from my body. I drew a deep line into my thigh with the dull edge. Soon, a light welt appeared with a few pinpricks of blood weeping through. It hurt like hell, but it accomplished the shift from internal to external pain. I was no longer entombed in a black box of nothingness. At least, these self-inflicted wounds were real and made me feel alive. I pressed the dull edge to my skin again, and once more after that. Before I knew it, I had at least ten lines on my right thigh. I was so engrossed in my task, I didn’t hear the bathroom door opening or the soft expletive escaping from Trent’s mouth.

  He took the blade out of my hand and tossed it away. “Come with me,” he said, lifting me up easily. He helped me step over the lip of the glass enclosure and moved me into the bedroo
m. I was unaware of anything but his soft voice telling me everything would be okay. Once we got into the bedroom, Trent inspected my thighs, and when he was satisfied I wouldn’t need any medical attention, he tucked me into bed. But not before he poured half a bottle of Listerine on my wounds. I gasped in shock, agonizing from the biting sting of the alcohol in the mouthwash.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, kissing me softly on the mouth. “It’s necessary.”

  “Go away.”

  “No.”

  I turned away from him but not before I noticed he was only in boxers and a T-shirt. “How’d you get in here?”

  “Tin was frantic with worry; he gave me his key.”

  “Fucking drama queen.”

  “He’s a good friend.”

  “Whatever.”

  Trent slipped into bed with me and gathered me close. I fought him and tried to escape. I didn’t want to listen to any advice or catch one whiff of pity, but he held on, imprisoning me within his muscular arms and legs. They wrapped around me like a silk rope, and I was bound to him. “Don’t fight me, Sloan.”

  “I don’t need your fucking help.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  He continued to restrain me while I struggled to get free, but finally, I gave up and relaxed enough for him to loosen his grip slightly.

  “Is this incident something I should expect on a regular basis?” he asked, murmuring softly against my ear.

  “I’m not your problem.”

  “What if I want you to be?”

  “Why the fuck would you want me? I’m a pathetic loser!”

  “I see.”

  “You don’t see shit. Would you please get out of my room?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll call management.”

  “They’ll get Max.”

  “Fuck.” I struggled against him, but he latched on tighter, imprisoning me in his warm embrace.

  “You’re stuck with me for now,” Trent said calmly. “Why don’t we order some food? There’s nothing like a hot meal to make you feel better.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I don’t care. You’re eating.”

  “Why does everyone have this need to shove food down my throat?”

  Trent kissed the top of my head and picked up the phone on the nightstand. He ordered tomato soup, a large salad of mixed greens we could share, and grilled cheese sandwiches―comfort food.

  It didn’t take very long for our meal to arrive, and after the waiter set up the rollaway table, placing everything on the white linen, Trent coaxed me into joining him. He insisted I throw on a sweatshirt because I was still shivering. I’m sure it had to do with my low sugar level rather than the cutting. In terms of my history, tonight’s incident was relatively mild. I hadn’t actually pierced my flesh, but I knew it was only a question of time before I plunged headfirst into that sick world again. Yet one more reason to hate myself.

  I sat and watched Trent pick up his spoon. “Eat,” he said, pinning me down with a forceful stare.

  “What if I say no?”

  “Can you honestly say you’re not hungry?”

  I ate without another word. Little by little my appetite opened up, and soon I was shoveling in the soup and reaching for half a sandwich, which was still warm and oozing melted cheese. It was delicious, and I practically inhaled both halves. When we finished, Trent stood and went to the bathroom. I heard running water and the toilet flush, and he was back out in a few minutes. Now that I had something in my system, I was able to study my unexpected savior calmly. His T-shirt was white and boring, his boxers were navy-blue cotton and nothing out of the ordinary, yet he carried himself with so much confidence. He exuded something special, and I was, once again, captivated by his presence.

  “Would you like a cigarette?”

  “You don’t mind? Cole hated it when I smoked.”

  He leveled me with a telling look. “Please don’t compare me to Cole. I wouldn’t ask if it bothered me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I’ll go and get the cigarettes.”

  He exited without another word, and I went to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. I inspected the damage to my legs. It wasn’t as bad as I originally thought, although it hurt, and I’d be feeling the burn for a few days. It looked like I’d been in a fight with a wildcat, but the wounds were superficial and would heal without scarring. My main concern at this point was keeping Max in the dark. He would go insane if he found out I was self-harming again.

  The door clicked open, and I knew Trent was back. He passed me a lit cigarette and then lighted one for himself. He got back in bed and patted the spot to his right. “Come sit with me.”

  “Tin should be returning any minute.”

  “He’s in my room. I asked him to switch with me for the night.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, climbing into the bed and pulling up the sheet to cover myself.

  Trent ignored me and continued to smoke. Finally, when he was done, he put the cigarette out in the crystal ashtray and viewed me dispassionately. “How long have you been a cutter?”

  “I’d prefer not to discuss it.”

  “This is why Max assumed you were a pain slut?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re really not.”

  “No.”

  “Are we going to move beyond monosyllables?”

  “Maybe.”

  Trent regarded me patiently, but I knew he wouldn’t be deterred by my non-replies. He took the cigarette out of my hand and extinguished it. “When was the last time you had an incident?”

  “Five years ago.”

  “What set you off tonight?”

  “Cole.”

  “You shouldn’t let one person have so much power over you.”

  “That’s a strange comment, coming from you.”

  “A power exchange during a planned sexual encounter is a far cry from being manipulated. What did he say to upset you so much?”

  “Cole doesn’t manipulate me.”

  “What set you off, Sloan?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got all night.”

  “He slept with a woman.”

  He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “He’s bisexual?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Most things in life are. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? I’m sure you’ll feel a lot better getting it off your chest.”

  “There’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “I didn’t say I’d fix it.”

  “Then why should I burden you?”

  “Because I’m interested and I care.”

  “Look, I’ll fuck you if it’s what you’re after.”

  Anger flared in his blue eyes, turning them dark and dangerous. Trent’s placid demeanor was momentarily derailed, but he got himself under control. “Do you think I’m only here for the sex?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “There are lots of men out there without half your baggage.”

  “Why waste your time with me, then?”

  “Because I choose to be with you. I don’t let circumstances rule my life. You, on the other hand, appear to be rudderless, a flimsy boat on the verge of sinking. So the question isn’t whether I’m wasting my time, Sloan. The big question is: Are you worth the bother?”

  “What?”

  “Are you man enough to come to grips with who you are and move on?”

  Chapter 24

  “Am I man enough?” How dare he presume I was weak? “Who the hell are you calling a coward?” I said, pushing Trent away. He clung to me like stubborn ivy, which pissed me off even more. I twisted and turned, trying to escape his powerful hold, but my wiggling only increased his determination. The fucker was much stronger than he appeared. “Let go of me, you bastard.”

  “Settle down.”

  “Get th
e hell out of my room.”

  “No,” he said, straddling me in one swift move. He gripped my wrists and stretched my arms high above my head, pinning me to the mattress. “You need to listen.”

  “Not on your life,” I said, turning away so I couldn’t see his face.

  “Look at me, Sloan.”

  “No.”

  “I have all night,” Trent threatened.

  In a burst of energy, I was able to get my hands free, and I beat on his chest and shoulders ineffectually. He growled his displeasure, reached for the silk necktie I’d dropped on the floor earlier, and somehow managed to grapple with the situation, binding my wrists together without even breaking a sweat. It happened so fast I was too surprised to do anything but yell. “Untie me, you asshole!”

  “Not until you behave,” he said, checking his handiwork to make sure the binding wasn’t too tight. My wrists were crossed over each other, but my fingers were able to wiggle freely.

  “I’ll kill you when I get loose.”

  Trent chuckled, amused by my feeble attempt to intimidate him. He knew I wasn’t going anywhere. “Listen up.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Cole doesn’t deserve you.”

  “Don’t even mention his name.”

  “You’re worth more than you know,” Trent maintained.

  “When did they put you in charge of my life?”

  “Someone has to knock some sense into you.”

  “Well, it sure as hell won’t be you.”

  “Won’t it?” he dared.

  I was defeated by his persistence and the timbre of his voice. He radiated authority, and when we locked gazes, I couldn’t turn away from his hypnotic stare. There was something so magnetic about Trent, my fury evaporated and swiftly transformed into an undefinable urge to be taken forcefully. I could tell he was just as affected by my resistance because his boxers were tenting obscenely. I made one last attempt to throw him off, but I only succeeded in smashing our cocks together, stoking the fire in my belly.