Unwound

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

TWO fucking days since Ronin had heard from Amery.

Two. Fucking. Days.

Since he’d left it up to her to contact him, it’d been torture not storming over to her place. Not calling her. Not tracking her down in a parking garage and doing a hojojutsu capture on her for real.

He’d spent all day Saturday with Blue, Knox, and Gil, hashing out revised class schedules. They’d gone over the receipts from the night’s event. Charted what worked and what hadn’t. Devised a strategy for the next event in six short weeks.

That’s when his train of thought jumped the track, wondering if that much time would pass again before Amery approached him.

Maybe you won’t hear from her again. Maybe she got what she wanted—a lucrative contract with Okada—and she doesn’t need you anymore.

His logical side tried to stamp down the ridiculousness, but a small niggling fear remained.

Sunday he worked out—swimming, weights, hand work, foot work, cardio on the treadmill—until Shiori arrived late in the afternoon. As the highest belt rank in the dojo, her continued training fell on his shoulders. She was a tireless pupil, and they spent two hours working on what she called drills, skills, and thrills.

Then, at Shiori’s request, they’d gone over the DVD of her match, dissecting the high points and the mistakes. Although she’d insisted the only reason she fought was to keep the fight card full¸ Ronin understood that she had the same need he did to physically prove herself. She admitted that she and Sophia had discussed starting a women’s MMA basics class, just to see if it garnered interest. When he questioned if her time in the dojo was interfering with her position at Okada, she changed the subject. He assumed any questions about Amery’s project with the company would elicit the same response, so he didn’t bother to ask.

Ronin had been tempted to invite Shiori to his penthouse for dinner, but he decided it would be awkward if Amery showed up.

Wishful thinking on his part, as it’d turned out.

A shower and an hour of meditation centered him.

Still, he’d slept poorly, so Monday started off on a bad note. Katie’s constant chattering got on his nerves, and he passed her off to Blue.

He thought he’d found solitude in his office when Knox barged in. “You have got to keep me in the loop on some of this shit, Ronin. There’s this big dude out there who swears he has an appointment with you.”

“Be nice if one of these kids actually made an appointment,” he muttered. “Send him in.”

Knox returned with a young man nearly Knox’s height, which put him close to six foot three. He was solidly built, but not excessively bulked up like some gym rats who equated brawn with strength. He’d dressed appropriately—khaki pants, short-sleeved polo, shined shoes. His hair and eye color were all Max.

Ronin stood and offered his hand. “Ivan?”

“Yes, sir.”

Manners too. “I’m Ronin Black. That’s Knox Lofgren. He also runs the MMA club. Knox, this is Ivan Stanislovsky. He’s a prospect.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Ivan said.

“Same. We do use formal titles at Black Arts, so as Sensei’s second-in-command, call me Shihan.”

“Yes, Shihan.”

Ronin pointed to the chair for Ivan and the edge of the desk for Knox. “I spoke to your father Friday night. I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

He frowned. “Really? He assured me I had an appointment with you first thing this week. I’m sorry if I misunderstood.”

Not the kid’s fault that his father was a pushy bastard. “Luckily I have time right now. He mentioned your interest in training in an MMA program. What is your athletic background?”

Ivan blushed. “My mother put me in dance when I was four years old. She had visions of me becoming the next Baryshnikov. I trained in classical ballet in Denver, New York, and Russia until I was sixteen.”

“Ballet training is incredibly rigorous and requires a lot of dedication. Why did you quit?”

“I got tired of defending myself. I’m not homosexual—I have nothing against those who are—but there is that perception from outsiders. I ended up in many fights. Got my butt kicked, so I asked my father if I could learn to fight. When I was in the US, he signed me up for tae kwon do. When in Russia with my mother, I studied sambo. Sambo,” he repeated, “not samba, the dance.”

“Thanks for the clarification. Any amateur fights?”

“Besides getting called out in the nightclubs? No, sir.”

“The reason you want to become an MMA fighter? To have the skills to win those nightclub fights?” Knox asked.

Ivan shook his head. “I want to train to become the best fighter in my weight class and have the chance to earn a world title.”

He’d said that without cockiness—bonus for him. Guys who showed up, claiming to be good enough to win a world title, were promptly shown the door.

Knox commented, “You sound confident.”

“I know how to train and can push my body beyond normal physical limits. Some assume because my father raised me with the advantages he didn’t have that I would act privileged. I do not. I learned my work ethic from my father.”

His English wasn’t as accented as Max’s, but it held the same Russian inflections. “You’re proud of your father?”

“Yes. He is a great man. We have philosophical differences, but I know he expects me to run his businesses when I’m ready, at least a decade down the road. Those are his words, not mine.”

“Well, Ivan, if you’ll sit tight for a moment, I’ll get Deacon to show you around the dojo, the training rooms, and go through requirements, expectations, and costs.” Ronin hit the intercom to the training room and asked Deacon to come to the office.

“Thank you, Sensei, for this opportunity.”

“You’ll earn it; trust me.”

Deacon strolled in. Introductions were made, and they exited the office.

Of course Knox stayed. He plopped in the chair Ivan had vacated and propped his feet on the desk. “Didn’t know we were actively building up our MMA roster.”

“I meant to talk to you about it first. It came up Friday night, and the meeting was supposed to happen later this week.”

“He seems solid.”

“I hope so. We need a heavyweight fighter, and I plan to use him as an interpreter.” Ronin gave Knox a sly smile. “I wouldn’t mind getting a couple of those other Russian fighters on our roster.”

Knox grinned back. “You sneaky dog. I bet you played it cool with Max too, acting like you’re doing him a favor. But damn, Ronin. That’s Max’s kid. Does he know the kind of shit his dad is into?”

“I assume that would be the genesis of the ‘differing philosophies’ comment.”

“Why don’t you ever talk about your old man?”

Ronin’s gaze sharpened. Where had that come from? “Why would I? He’s been dead thirty years.”

Knox shrugged. “He started you in jujitsu. It impacted you enough you’ve made it your career.”

“So?”

“So, like Ivan, you have a family business that you could join anytime you wanted. Have Black Arts be a . . . hobby.”

A hobby? What the fuck? “If you have something to say, Shihan, spit it out.”

“Whoa, don’t bite my head off. It’s just I’ve noticed you’re different since Amery came into your life. And before you fry me with that deadly stare, different in a good way. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Except for the reverting back to fighting shit, but I think you’re done with that now. Anyway, you want to spend time with Amery, so you’ve relinquished some of your control. You’ve delegated, which needed to happen, but it wasn’t like any of us were gonna bring it up with you.” He mock shuddered.

“Fuck off.”

Knox laughed. “So, I, for one, am happy about the changes. The students like it; the instructors like it. We’re expanding in a positive way. ABC is a great fit. The promotion company is a brilliant idea.”

“Do I sense a but?”

“Two things. Is something going on with Okada that I should know about since She-Cat has been here for so long?”

“Something going on . . . how?”

“You tell me. I have to wonder with you flipping Black Arts on its head, if the reason you’re sharing control here is because you’re about to take control somewhere else. Namely in Tokyo.”

Ronin leaned back in his chair. “If that’d been part of my game plan, I would’ve clued you in. My grandfather hasn’t brought up my ascension to the Okada throne for more than a year. The last three or four times I’ve spoken to him? We’ve discussed Japanese sports and American politics. As far as why Shiori is still here? No idea. If I ask her outright, she hedges. If I call up my grandfather and ask him, he’ll think I have an interest in the company. So I’ve let it be.” Ronin’s mother probably knew what was going on, but they hadn’t connected and it wasn’t the type of conversation to have over e-mail.

“I wish she’d let me be. Man, she rides my ass about everything,” Knox grumbled.

He refused to get in the middle of Shiori and Knox’s multitude of personal issues. “You said there were two things. What’s the other?”

Knox set his feet on the floor. “It’s been mentioned to me that you’ve been to Twisted only twice in the last five months.”

Ronin knew being a member of a sex club who didn’t indulge in many sexual activities made him an anomaly. He’d joined because women in the BDSM world were open to rope play.

“Are you done with the place?”

“I don’t know. It seemed . . . wrong to be there last time.”

“Does Amery know you went there during the weeks you weren’t together?”

“How do I tell her that I bound someone else? Not because I was teaching, but because I thought I needed to find the balance I was missing?” Ronin felt idiotic talking about this shit, but Knox had asked, and it wasn’t like Ronin had other guys to talk to. “I remember thinking about the wrongness of it. I almost had to call it off. As it was, I had to cut the session short. That’s never happened to me in almost two decades of tying.”

“Because Amery is so much more to you than just a rope model, Ronin.”

“I’ve been sexually involved with my rope partners and not sexually involved with them. It’s always been about aesthetics, skill, sensuality, and connection in the moment,” Ronin said defensively.

Knox just stared at him.

“What?”

“You’re not an idiot. Even I know you’ve never been in love with any of your rope partners. The difficulty of the pattern, the amount of body-to-skin contact, the sexual pull—you can no longer compartmentalize any of it because it’s all there when you bind her. And it’s there only with her. The fact you were so off balance during those six weeks the two of you spent apart had nothing to do with you missing shibari or kinbaku in your life. It was about you missing her.”

Ronin was truly stunned by Knox’s insight.

“Maybe you’ve been binding so many women over the years because you’ve been looking for someone like Amery. Now you’ve found her and it’s changed you. That’s why it felt wrong to tie someone else.” Knox popped to his feet. “I’m guessing your demo days at the club are over.”

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that even when he suspected it was true. Not that he and Amery had discussed it. That was just another thing hanging over his head. Was he ready to give up public bondage demonstrations?

Ten minutes later, Shiori waltzed in. “We’re still on for tonight?”

“On for what?”

“The sporting goods trade show at the tech center. You agreed to meet with some of the equipment guys for possible sponsorship for Black and Blue Promotions since Blue is teaching tonight, remember?”

“I must’ve blocked it out. Aren’t you teaching tonight?”

“Knox is taking over my class.”

Ronin gave her a skeptical look. “How hard did you have to beg him?”

“Not at all. I outrank Godan. It’s my responsibility to provide him with additional teaching opportunities.”

Jesus. He’d get an earful about that.

“You want to ride with me?”

“I’ll meet you.”

“Okay. I’ll be there around six. South entrance.”

Shiori hesitated in the doorway.

“What?”

“Have you heard from her yet?”

He shook his head.

“You will.”

“Do you know something I don’t?”

“Just that she can’t stay away from you any more than you can stay away from her.”

He hoped to hell Shiori was right.

• • •

AFTER two hours wandering around the vendor spaces, Ronin was ready to leave. And the first place he intended to stop? Amery’s. Her silence made him crazy.

He’d just pulled out his phone to text Shiori when he heard, “Hello, Ronin,” from behind him.

Every molecule in his body seized up.

No. Fucking. Way. She couldn’t be here. Had to be a hallucination, or he’d fallen asleep and was dreaming of hell.

Go away.

“I can make a scene to get you to pay attention to me.”

Ronin slowly turned around.

Naomi stood less than five feet away.

She didn’t look any different than she had almost four years ago. Same conservative business suit, same pixie haircut, same understated makeup—she’d even worn the same color of red lipstick. Normally he wouldn’t remember things like that, but Naomi had glossed up her lips only when she’d gone down on him. She claimed it was to leave her mark as a reminder of how much she loved him. Afterward she’d placed fresh lipstick marks down his thighs. But he knew the truth; she wanted him to fear—just for a second—that she’d made him bleed.

Sick fucking woman.

Her siren-red mouth curved into a smile. “I know what you’re thinking about.”

He moved his gaze up to her eyes and kept his face impassive. “That it’s obvious you’ve resorted to using Botox?”

“Insulting me? Not nice, pussycat.”

Since she’d always preferred to speak Japanese with him, her use of English meant she wanted people to overhear their conversation. “When I insult you, you’ll know it,” he said in Japanese.

“Where’s your new girlfriend? Shiori assured me you’d both be here tonight so I could pay my respects.”

She was such a liar. “Wrong. How did you find out where I’d be?”

“Ronin-san, I know where you live.”

So she’d followed him. Really fucking creepy but completely her style.

“I’m in Denver on unfinished business.”

“Why would you think I’d care?” He started to back away.

She edged closer. “Aren’t you curious about who I’m here with?”

“Some lowlife wannabe Dom you’re trying to make jealous? You hoping he’ll beat you and fuck you in front of everyone in the arena?”

Malice glittered in her eyes. “Sounds like jealousy, pussycat.”

“Yes. You know me so well,” he sneered.

“I know you better than you think.” She pursed her lips into a pout. “I’ve missed you. All the great times we used to have together. In your penthouse, at my apartment, at the club. Don’t you miss those days?”

As much as he missed an oozing boil.

“I do,” she said dreamily. “Especially the club. Not that I could relive old times there after you had me banished for life.”

“You made your choices, and you knew there’d be consequences.”

“You don’t feel guilty at all for such an extreme reaction? It was a sex club! You really can’t blame me for taking a sample of what was freely offered.”

Enough. Ronin turned to walk away.

But Naomi grabbed his arm. “Don’t leave in a huff, lover. You’ll want to hear this.”

“Let. Go. Of. Me.”

She dropped her hand. “So upon my return to Denver, without a club of my own, I visited your new club . . . Twisted? The manager is lovely. Of course I name-dropped you like crazy, and the man was very eager to dish on your rope skills. You do have a fan in him. Anyway, he indicated it’s been quite some time since you did any public rope demonstrations at the club. I had to ask myself why that was. And then I asked him. Do you know what he told me?”

Ronin didn’t react.

“The manager told me your new girlfriend refuses to be part of a public bondage scene. The information shocked me. A master who lets his lover impose the rules? Has pussycat become pussified?”

First thing tomorrow he’d contact the club owner and get the manager canned for breaking the confidential terms of service.

“Don’t bother getting the man fired. I already did. He shouldn’t have been so willing to discuss a certain club member’s . . . problems with a potential new member.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“To remind you that I look out for you, Ronin. Even when you aren’t aware of it. We were so good together.” She reached out, and Ronin jerked back, away from her deadly claws.

“You baited the manager and got him fired, making sure you got the satisfaction of reminding me how psychotic you are.”

“Aw, pussycat, don’t be upset. After I learned of your girlfriend’s phobia, I tracked you down to see if there was anything I can do to help you. I know the ropes, so to speak”—she winked lewdly—“so if you want to remind club-goers that you are the rope master, I’d gladly offer my services as your partner again.”

“Pass.”

“You sure? I’m only trying to help you save face. Your girlfriend’s unwillingness to be publicly bound speaks of her shame of the act. It undermines your expertise, Master Black.”

“Bullshit.”

“Is she ashamed in private too?”

Don’t respond.

“Didn’t you always remind me that teachers don’t let students impose limits on the lessons?”

Ronin’s jaw tightened. As did his fist.

“Sounds to me like you’ve gone soft.” Her gaze zeroed in on his groin, and she lifted her eyes back to his. “You were never soft in any area before. Does she prefer you make sweet, sweet love to her? Instead of binding her and fucking her like a beast?”

“I’m done listening to this.”

“But you didn’t answer.” She pouted and stepped in front of him to stop his retreat. “Do you let your student dictate the rules to the master, pussycat? Or maybe I should stop by Hardwick Designs in Lodo and ask for the truth. Mention I’d be happy to be her stand-in at the club.”

Ronin got right in her face. “No fucking way, no fucking how, never fucking happening. Stay away from me; stay away from Amery; stay away from my club.”

“Not so Zen now, are you, Master Black?”

“Leave Denver, or I will fuck with your life in ways you can’t even imagine.”

“You already fucked with my life. Getting returned to Japan like a defective toy humiliated me on more levels than you can comprehend. So paybacks are a bitch, Ronin-san. And I plan to be around until I get mine.”

He expected her to create a bigger scene, but he wasn’t prepared for her to lean in and wipe her lipsticked mouth down the left side of his white shirt.

She grinned at him, red smeared across her chin, as she turned and vanished into the crowd.