Sure enough, Raizo Watanabe is sitting behind the main desk, counting stacks of cash and listening to opera music. A woman in nothing but a satin slip and kitten heels massages his neck and shoulders while another one quickly rises from beneath the desk and wipes her mouth.
I quickly look away. I don’t need new memories replacing the already old and terrible ones.
“Who the f**k let you in here?” Raizo snaps at Martin.
“She did.” He finally lets go of my hair, but only to shove me forward onto my hands and knees.
Raizo leans over the desk to peer at me. His brow hits his hairline with casual surprise.
And then he grins.
I hate that f*****g grin.
“Well done, Detective. Although I am confused. I distinctly remember selling her to… to… ah, right. Oleg Zakrevsky.”
“Zakrevsky’s dead,” Ma
