Unwound

CHAPTER ONE

Six weeks earlier . . .

RONIN Black had thought his breaking and entering days were behind him.

But after the cold reception he’d received from Molly, Amery’s receptionist at Hardwick Designs, and Molly’s lack of information about where her boss had disappeared to, he’d opted for Plan B.

Since Amery had given him a key, technically his presence in her loft wasn’t illegal. It wasn’t as if he planned to read her journal or scroll through her private accounts on her computer. He just needed some idea of where she’d gone before he went out of his fucking mind.

It wasn’t the why Ronin didn’t understand, since Amery’s parting shot twenty-four hours earlier replayed on a continuous loop in his head: Don’t bother running after me with the excuses you consider apologies or offering more lies masquerading as explanations because we’re done this time. Done.

Fuck that. They weren’t even close to done. They’d barely begun.

Just thinking about how badly he’d fucked up . . . Ronin squeezed the key so hard it bit into his palm. So much for staying composed. After he’d calmed down last night, following their . . . blowup, his fuckup, or whatever the hell it was, he’d tried calling her. Her cell phone had kicked him over to voice mail every one of the fifteen times he’d called. He hadn’t left a message. He needed to talk to her, not a machine.

He forced his hand to relax and jammed the key into the lock, twisting until the mechanism clicked. After he’d opened the door, he slipped inside the back room.

Since the offices at the front of the building were empty, he called out, “Amery?” just in case she was hiding out.

No response.

Ronin scaled the circular staircase as quietly as possible. But he had no reason for stealth; as soon as his foot hit the top tread, he knew she wasn’t here.

The blinds were drawn in her main living area. If Amery were around she’d have the windows open, the curtains billowing in the breeze. He circled her couch and coffee table, noticing she’d tidied up more than normal. He found the same thing in the kitchen. Dishes drying on the drain rack, garbage taken out, wooden fruit bowl emptied. He checked the contents of the fridge. No dairy products or takeout containers, which suggested she planned to be gone long enough to worry about food spoilage.

Her toothbrush wasn’t in the flower-shaped cup holder in the bathroom. Her cosmetics weren’t strewn across the counter. No pajamas or workout clothes were piled in the hamper. He squeezed the bath towel hanging on the hook. Completely dry. But just touching it released the scent of her shampoo, and his stomach knotted with longing.

Fuck.

He didn’t do this. He didn’t know how to do this missing her and wanting her thing.

But you do know how to fuck something up beyond repair.

He had to fix this. Had to.

Ronin retreated from the bathroom. He paused in the doorway to her bedroom. Her rumpled bed looked exactly as he’d left it. Exactly. Bedding dangling off the end of the mattress where he’d thrown it back. Pillows shoved to his side of the bed.

But on her side of the bed . . . there were the two coils of black rope he’d forgotten to pack up before leaving yesterday morning.

Christ. Had it been only yesterday morning he’d woken in her bed? Only one damn day since everything had imploded?

At least she hadn’t thrown them out in a fit of pique.

Now that he knew they were here, he had a legitimate excuse for returning.

• • •

BACK at the Black Arts dojo, Ronin wandered around like a ghost. No one engaged him while he observed classes from a distance. He saw everything yet nothing as his mind focused elsewhere—which is probably why he didn’t recognize the woman at first.

Shihan Knox barked, “None of you have shown any familiarity with this technique, and I know this is not the first time you’ve worked with it.”

Every student appeared to hang their head in shame.

Except for one.

Naturally Knox noticed her defiant posture. His eyes narrowed and he pointed to her. “You. Up here. Now.”

The woman sauntered to the front of the class and bowed.

“You familiar with this technique?”

She kept her head lowered. “Yes, Godan.”

“Good.” Knox took five steps back. “Start from the defensive stance.” He went at her, low and outside.

In that split second Ronin recognized Knox’s mistake—as did his student.

She used the forward motion of his body against him, knocking him sideways. The move caught him completely off guard, and he took a knee—which was as good as admitting defeat.

Shihan Knox shot to his feet. He tried to appear unfazed, but Ronin recognized his annoyance. Knox said, “Reverse stances. You’re on the offensive.”

“No,” the student said calmly.

“Excuse me?”

“I decline the challenge. I wouldn’t come at you from the angle you’ve been demonstrating. That’s why no one in the class has mastered it. With all due respect, Godan, this teaching method is ineffective.”

Rather than show irritation, Knox grinned. Ronin knew he lived for this comeuppance shit.

“Since you have ideas on how our training time might be better spent, defend yourself any way you see fit.” Then Knox rushed her.

She lowered into a defensive stance, allowing herself to get steamrolled, the equivalent of offering the alpha dog her throat.

That didn’t make Knox happy. “Partner up at the heavy bags. We’ll work on kicks for the remainder of class.”

Ronin stayed in the dark corner, assessing each student’s skills. Clearly they needed to put the screws to this class—he saw several students slacking on basic techniques. Their lack of discipline reflected on him as owner of the dojo.

Knox dismissed class student by student—as was his prerogative. He retained the female student until everyone had left.

“Please stand.”

She gracefully propelled herself upright.

“Why did you refuse to demonstrate the reversal of the technique?”

“Out of deference to you, Godan.”

She called him Godan, his belt rank, and not Shihan, a term used for the highest-ranking teacher besides the sensei.

“Explain that,” Knox demanded.

“I am merely a visitor to your domain.”

Knox loomed over her, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “So you let me win because you didn’t want to show me up in front of my students?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, hell no. We’ll go again. This time? No holding back. And that is an order.”

“As you wish.” She fortified her stance.

For a big guy, Knox was fast on his feet, very adaptable in the moment. But he didn’t stand a chance against the woman’s speed and intuition.

She dodged, ducked, and knocked Knox down, immobilizing him against the mat with her elbow on the back of his neck. She held his wrist in a joint lock, which, if he moved the wrong way, would result in a fracture.

Ronin stepped forward. “Release him.”

The woman immediately let Knox go. When she offered him a helping hand, Knox tugged her to the mat, trying to regain ground, but she merely pulled a reversal and Knox found himself in the same subservient position as before.

Knox swore under his breath.

“Ill-advised attempt at saving face, Shihan.” Then Ronin addressed the woman. “I take it you didn’t introduce yourself to my staff?”

She shrugged. “You gave me a guest pass. I used it. It didn’t include welcome to the dojo instructions.”

Such a smart mouth. “Let him go.”

She glanced down at Knox. “Do I have permission to put him in his place again if he doesn’t behave?”

“Shihan?” Ronin prompted.

Knox gritted out, “I won’t engage her.”

“Wise move.” She stood and bowed to Ronin. “Sensei.”

Ronin gestured to the petite woman, who failed to pull off an innocent look. “Knox, this is my sister, Shiori Hirano.”

“Your sister? Fuck me.”

“No, thank you.” She sniffed. “I never fuck guys I can top.”

“Shiori. Knock it off,” Ronin warned.

Knox’s gaze zeroed in on Shiori’s plain black belt. “What’s your rank?”

“Rokudan.”

“You outrank me?”

“Yes, which is why I didn’t want to engage you.”

“You don’t have that option with me.” Ronin kept his eyes locked on hers. “Get dressed and meet me in the second-floor conference room. You’ll know which one I mean. It’s missing a window from when I threw a chair through it after your conversation with my girlfriend yesterday.” He spun on his heel and exited the room.

Ronin made it halfway down the hall before Knox caught up to him. “I guess I expected your sister would look more—”

“Like a fire-breathing dragon lady?”

“No, more like you. Although I see the resemblance in your combative attitudes.”

He bit back a snarl.

“Are you in the right frame of mind to deal with her?”

“Probably not. But it’s been a long time coming.” Years. Since everything that had gone down with Naomi.

Knox set his hand on Ronin’s shoulder. “Then I’ll stick around and run interference.”

“Not necessary.”

“I insist. You’re a powder keg and she’s a match. The dojo has sustained enough damage in the last day.”

“Good point.”

They stopped in the conference room. The window hadn’t been replaced, but he’d cleaned up the mess.

“Any luck tracking Amery down today?”

Ronin shook his head. “Molly wouldn’t talk to me. The state of Amery’s apartment indicated she’d be gone for a few days.”

“How’d you get into her place?”

“I’ve got a key.”

“A key,” Knox repeated. “As in . . . you two exchanged keys? Does she have access to your penthouse?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus. We need to change the security codes to the building right away.”

“No. I want her to be able to get to me. It’ll show I trust her.”

“Why should she trust you? When you weren’t honest with her about anything?”

At the comment, Ronin turned to face Shiori, leaning in the doorway, still wearing her gi. “You’re ballsy enough to speak of honesty to me?”

She tsk-tsked. “How quickly you’ve forgotten the importance of discretion.” She gave Knox a haughty be gone with you gesture.

“Knox stays.”

“We don’t bring outsiders into family business.”

“Guess you broke that rule when you introduced me to Naomi and fucked up my life. I trust Knox implicitly, and he might just be the only thing keeping me from killing you.”

Knox leaned forward, blocking her from Ronin’s sight. “Not helping. Take it down a notch.”

Shiori sidestepped Knox and sat at the end of the table. “Don’t feign surprise that you forced my hand and my appearance in Denver by insisting that the company hire your latest squeeze.”

“I didn’t force anything. I provided the name of a qualified designer for a project you discussed with me months ago. You want me to take an interest in the company, and when I do, you still question my motives.”

She steepled her fingers. “So your interest in this specific Okada project is your way of telling me you’re considering taking the reins?”

“That’s always been your dream, not mine,” Ronin stated. “How long are you here?”

“Undecided.”

“I didn’t think Grandfather let you out of his sight.”

“You wouldn’t know, since you haven’t been around both of us together for a long time, have you?”

Zing. He deserved that. “Did you arrive with an entourage?”

“Just Jenko. He insisted on checking the security at the Ritz since I’ve leased the penthouse for the foreseeable future. He also interviewed potential security specialists, should I require one. I doubt that’ll be necessary, and I’m looking forward to a little breathing room.”

Jenko, Shiori’s bodyguard, wasn’t employed by the family company, Okada; therefore, he didn’t answer to their grandfather. Hiring the former Sumo wrestler was one of the few things she’d done against their patriarch’s wishes. “Jenko won’t remain in Denver with you?”

A look of sorrow flashed in her eyes. “He has a wife and daughter. It’s not fair to ask him to be away from them indefinitely.” She inhaled a calming breath. “Look, I’ll admit I didn’t arrive in Denver with good intentions toward Amery. But I did have good intentions toward you, Ronin. I wanted to see if you were being taken advantage of by this woman.”

“Because I’m such a fucking idiot and an easy mark when it comes to women?”

“No. I’m really sorry for the way I handled it, okay?” Shiori picked at her fingernails, a nervous habit she’d had for years.

Ronin had no response for that.

“Putting aside our personal differences, I’ll need a place to practice while I’m in Denver. May I have your permission to train here, in whatever capacity best suits the dojo?”

“Who are you training with in Tokyo?”

“Masaman. A protégé of your sensei. The best I could get.”

As far as Ronin knew, he was the last student his sensei had consented to teach—and that’d been twenty-two years ago. “In your defense, he’s never taken a woman as a pupil.”

“That seems to be a tradition you’re following.”

“Wrong. I have female students.”

“Ah. But do you have any female instructors?”

“No.”

Shiori cocked her head. “Because you don’t feel women are as qualified to teach as men?”

Ronin did not want to get into a gender-equality argument with his sister.

But you can admit she has a point.

“I’ve not had any women apply for an instructor’s position.”

“But you do have female students at black belt level you could’ve moved up?” she pressed.

“A few. But like I said, none of them have expressed interest.”

“Perhaps they’re afraid to be the first to break the Black Arts glass ceiling. Along those lines, what is the protocol for my visitor’s status?”

“Having a higher-ranking belt than my Shihan hasn’t come up before, so we don’t have protocol in place. I’ll discuss options with my instructors and let you know.” Maybe he’d have his sister put her money where her mouth was and assign her to teach classes.

“Thank you.” She stood. “I’m not returning to Japan until things are settled between us. I screwed up. I’ve apologized. I don’t expect immediate forgiveness, but I do expect you to acknowledge that the person you’re angriest with is . . . yourself.”

She walked out, regal as a warrior queen.

Unbelievable. His pesky little sister still had the ability to get under his skin.

Knox cleared his throat.

“What?”

“I hear you muttering. And not to be a dick, but I agree with your sister. While she stirred the pot, the shit stew that was already in it was all yours.”

A sense of self-loathing rose again. Ronin closed his eyes.

“Let it go, my man. You can sort things out with Amery when she returns from wherever she’s gone. Don’t you always preach to control the things you can and ignore the rest? You can’t control this.”

“I’m a postulating asshole sometimes, aren’t I?”

Knox grinned. “Only on the days of the week ending in Y.”

• • •

IT’D been one week since Ronin had seen Amery.

One week.

Seven fucking days without a word from her.

He hadn’t gone back to her loft. But he hadn’t stopped calling her once an hour. His way of letting her know he thought of her every waking hour of his day.

Then maybe you should leave a message so she’ll call you back.

“Ronin?”

He turned away from brooding out his office window and faced Deacon. “Hey. What’s up? I didn’t think you were coming in today.”

“I hadn’t planned on it. But I got some bad news yesterday.”

“What’s going on?”

Deacon ran his hand across his bald head and sighed. “You know my grandfather died a few months back and his estate is in limbo. My dad’s been trying to mediate all this inheritance shit between his brother and sister. My aunt hired an attorney, which we all expected, and he’s scheduled a meeting for next Thursday afternoon.”

Ronin’s gaze sharpened. “That’s the night you’re scheduled for a bout with Alvares Curacao.”

“I know. And if the meeting were in Denver, it wouldn’t be an issue. But it’s in San Antonio. My dad . . .” Deacon started to pace. “He’s had a rough go of it. On top of losing his father, he’s dealing with his greedy siblings, who care only about the money they feel is owed to them as their birthright.”

Deacon came from money. Old Texas oil money. So the legal summons wasn’t something he could ignore, especially when his participation in MMA fights was more of a hobby. Their family situations were similar only in that they both had more money than they could possibly ever spend.

“Look, I’m really sorry—”

“No worries, Deacon. Be there for your dad. How much time off will you need?”

“I’ll leave on Tuesday morning and take a late flight back on Sunday. In addition to putting you in a bind with missing the fight, that leaves four days’ worth of classes uncovered.”

“We can combine classes. I’ll move Jon up to instructor level. Probably time I did that anyway.”

“Fine, but four students in my Friday class are testing for black belts next week, remember? I don’t have to be there to test them, but I promised to extend class time so they could work on techniques, and that requires an instructor.”

Ronin reached for the printout with the month’s class schedules. “Can we push testing back until next month?”

Deacon shook his head. “It’s already been postponed once. These students have been working hard for the last year. I don’t wanna disappoint them.”

Since Ronin preferred to run his martial arts studio with a small staff of instructors, something like this could upend his system.

He glanced up. “There is one option. Since it doesn’t appear my sister plans to leave Denver anytime soon, she could fill in.”

“Will Shiori feel that’s beneath her?”

“If she practices here, she’s under my leadership. She’ll do what I tell her.” Ronin noticed Deacon’s rigid posture. “Don’t tell me both you and Knox have an issue with her?”

“Nope, not me. She pushes Shihan’s buttons something fierce. You’ve been . . . distracted the past week, but it’s taken me, Ito, and Zach to keep them from takin’ their issues to the mat.”

Distracted was an impartial way of putting it. Ronin had been worthless this past week. Angry, melancholy, on edge—and those were the good days. His instructors hadn’t mentioned the chair-throwing incident nor questioned Amery’s absence.

“Anyway, I’ll get outta your hair. I just wanted to let you know what was up.”

“I appreciate it. If anything changes and you need more time in Texas, take it.”

“Thanks, Ronin.” Deacon stopped in the doorway and turned around. “Look. If you ever need to talk—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that I can call you.”

Deacon looked horrified. “Fuck that. I was gonna tell you to call Knox because he can be such a girl about that kinda emotional shit. But if you wanna flat-out forget your troubles? Call me. I’ve got a case of Jägermeister and VIP access to Jiggles Strip Club.”

Ronin managed a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

For the next hour, he dealt with dojo business, including trying to find a replacement fighter for the bout Thursday night. Normally he didn’t mix with other dojos, but in the last couple months, he’d refereed events run by Alvares “Blue” Curacao, an MMA fighter who owned ABC, a Brazilian jujitsu dojo. Blue had proven himself different from the other Brazilian jujitsu practitioners in the area, and Ronin respected the man to the point they’d discussed bringing in ABC as part of Black Arts. He and Blue had met privately to talk about possible options before they each brought it up with their instructors. So not supplying a fighter for the main bout, especially against Blue, would give the impression that Black Arts didn’t have a qualified fighter besides Deacon.

Why don’t you just admit it? You don’t have a qualified professional fighter.

Fuck that. He’d figure something out.

Feeling at loose ends in nearly every aspect of his life, he called Amery’s cell phone for the tenth time and hung up when it kicked over to voice mail. He was getting tired of her dodging his calls.

That’s because she’s done with you.

With the voices in his head wreaking havoc, he decided to pursue a more productive mind-set, like spending time in his Zen garden, when two knocks sounded on his office door. “Come in.”

Martel, his UPS courier, bounded in. “Afternoon, Mr. B. How’s it hangin’?”

“Low. You?”

“High. I start my vacay tomorrow. A week in Cancun.” He thrust the cardboard box at Ronin. “Same-day delivery. Signature required on this one.”

He signed the electronic pad and missed the rest of what Martel said because the package was from Amery. He squinted at the block lettering. Jesus. Even her writing looked angry. Especially the PERSONAL notation in the corner—angrily outlined three times with red marker.

As soon as the door shut, he used a carton cutter to slice through the tape. His heart raced as he folded back the cardboard edges and yanked out the bubble wrap.

His heart stopped when he saw the contents: two coils of black rope. The rope he’d left at her place the last time they were together. The rope he’d seen on her floor last week.

He upended the box on his desk. No note. Just the rope. And a pair of scissors.

She’d made her message loud and clear. She wanted no part of him. No reminders of their time together. She was cutting all ties.

Ronin dropped into his chair and stared at the black bundles as fury hit him as hard and fast as a freight train. His current anger-management program—beating the fuck out of a speed bag—wouldn’t dampen his rage this time. He needed something else. Something . . . real.

A plan took shape in his mind. It would require every bit of his focus, leaving him no time to think about anything—or anyone—else, which is exactly what he wanted.

After he retaped the box and shoved the package under his desk, he hit the intercom for the training room. “Shihan? A word in my office, please.”

Knox walked in a few minutes later. “What’s up?”

“Did you talk to Deacon today?”

Knox uncapped his water bottle and drank deeply before answering. “No. I saw him, but he didn’t stop to talk. Is something wrong?”

“He’s got family stuff going on next week in Texas, so he pulled out of the fight Thursday night.”

“Shit.” Knox flopped into the office chair across from the desk. “How much money is tied up in the event?”

“Twenty grand.”

“Shit,” he said again. “This is why we’ve stayed out of the fight-promotion business.”

“I’m aware of that. I’m also aware that Blue runs events like this all the time, and we’ll come across as unprofessional if we can’t pull it together.” Ronin didn’t give a damn about the money. The dojo saving face was all that mattered to him.

“You worried advance ticket sales will drop off when we change the fight matchup?”

“Some. But that’s why there’s the disclaimer about fight matchups being subject to change without notice.”

Knox gave him a contemplative look. “The easiest thing would be to drop the last bout altogether since it’s the only pro matchup.”

“We’re not dropping the main bout. I’ve already got someone who can fight in Deacon’s place.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

“Hilarious. And here I thought you’d lost your sense of humor in the last week.”

“I’m not joking.”

Knox’s smile died, and he changed into that steely-eyed former soldier. “Fuck that, Ronin. You don’t have to do this.”

“Not a matter of have to. It’s a matter of want to.”

“With all the shit that’s happened in the last week, you are not in the right frame of mind. Let me represent the dojo.”

Ronin leaned forward and didn’t bank the rage fueling him. “Are you suggesting, Godan, that I don’t have the skills to adequately represent the dojo I own?”

“Jesus, no. I’m questioning why you’re doing this.”

“Because I can.” Ronin shoved the updated schedule at him. “Find replacement instructors for the times I circled. I’ll give Shiori a heads up and let her know she’s taking over Deacon’s classes.”

Knox opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. He asked, “What else can I do?”

“Call Clint. He owes me a favor.”

“Maybe this is obvious, but Clint is retired from the UFC because his body couldn’t take it anymore. And he’s five years younger than you.”

Ronin shrugged. “One fight won’t kill me. But I’m not an idiot. I’ve no doubt I’ll feel every one of my thirty-eight years and then some after the final bell rings.”

“How long has it been since you’ve stepped foot in the ring?”

Hadn’t been that long ago, but he wasn’t sharing that information. “Between you and Clint . . . figure out a training regimen that will get me up to speed fast because Blue is one tough motherfucker.”

Knox stood. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t question your decisions.”

“Noted.”

After Knox left, Ronin headed to the training room.

Fuck finding Zen.

• • •

Six nights later

FIGHT night was a blur.

Ronin remembered getting in the ring believing he was the most impervious motherfucker on the planet. Acting like he’d bring the pain. Welcoming the physical punishment Blue Curacao would dish out.

But somewhere in the middle of the second round, Ronin’s focus shifted. He fought back with minimal effort. He embraced the feeling of numbness after his opponent’s blows connected with his body. Every drop of blood he lost cleansed him. Everything around him dropped into slow motion, so when he saw the powerful right cross headed for his jaw, he didn’t bother to block it.

He hit the mat and the lights went out.

People poked and prodded him. He answered their questions by rote. He’d been in this situation enough times that he gave them the responses they were looking for. He made it out of the ring on his own steam and promptly passed out in the locker room with only Shiori and Knox as his witnesses.

“Ronin.”

Go away.

“You managed to walk in here on your own after the medical team checked you out, so I know you can hear me.”

Ronin opened his eye—the one that wasn’t swollen shut. “What?”

“You’re smiling? Are you actually happy that you got your ass kicked?”

He choked out a simple “Yes.”

“Why? Brother, he knocked you out.”

“Not until the third round.” He slowly pushed up from the cot. Fuck. Every inch of his body hurt. The sadistic side of his brain smugly said, Good. The part of his brain with the pain receptors responded by kicking into overdrive.

“Why are you wearing that scary-ass smile?” Knox demanded.

“Getting beat means it’s a perfect setup for a rematch. I’ll probably have to fight a few other bouts to pump up interest.”

“Bullshit,” Shiori spat. “You said one fight, Ronin. One.”

“I changed my mind.”

Knox shook his head. “Sensei, you’re not a pro fighter. These twenty-something guys will be gunning to kick the shit out of an eighth-degree jujitsu master.”

“They’re welcome to try.” Ronin chugged half a bottle of water and spit it in the bucket. “I’m going home.”

“You had a knockout, which equals concussion,” Shiori snapped. “You need to go to the ER.”

“This wasn’t my first fight. I’ve lived the doctor’s advice: rest, painkillers, and alternate ice and heat for swelling.” Ronin pushed to his feet and swayed.

Shiori caught him. “See? You are not all right.”

“I just got up too fast.” He tried to sidestep her, but she wouldn’t let go. “What?”

“Are you doing this because of her?”

Ronin got right in her face. “You don’t get to play that card. Ever.” He dropped his arm. “My personal life is off-limits to you. Period.”

“Not when you are beaten and bleeding.”

“When I’m beaten and bleeding is the only time I really feel alive.”

Shiori looked like she was ready to cry.

“Don’t,” he warned sharply. “I’m fucking fine.”

“No, you’re not.” She took a deep breath and glanced at Knox before meeting his gaze again. “Ronin. Sensei. We can’t stand by and watch you do this to yourself.”

“Then don’t watch. Because this is just the beginning.”

He headed down the hallway, ignoring their shouts calling him back.