Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 161615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 539(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 539(@300wpm)
"Kids?"
"There was a time the twins couldn't speak." His expression softened slightly, something almost nostalgic crossing his features. "So we all had our own way of talking to them. Hand signals made sense. Quick. Silent. Effective."
My chest tightened. "They couldn't speak?"
"Just didn’t speak. . .for a while." He didn't elaborate, but I could read between the lines—whatever trauma had left those scars on their chins had also stolen their voices.
Hiro continued, "Eventually, when kids around the neighborhood would bully our group because we were so small, we'd use hand signals to kick their asses."
My eyebrows shot up. "Really?"
He made a circular motion with his hand, fingers moving in a smooth, practiced arc. "That means circle them and pick something up—glass bottle, sticks, whatever. Hit them in the head while I hit them in the balls."
I blinked.
He shifted his hand into another gesture—two fingers pointing forward, flipped his hand, and then curled the fingers back. "After we hit them good, we run."
Then he pointed straight up at the ceiling. "We'll run north."
"You're serious?"
"Very." His mouth curved slightly. "We had a signal for every direction, every weapon, every move. By the time most of us were ten, we could fight like a unit without saying a word."
I tried to imagine it—a group of small boys, two of them mute, developing their own silent language just to survive the streets. Fighting bullies. Running from danger. Protecting each other with nothing but hand signals and scrappy determination.
"And you all have been fighting and communicating with your hands since you were kids?"
He nodded. "Then later, when we joined Kenji's organization, we taught the Fangs. Now we all move as a unit to protect my brother."
The weight of that settled over me. These men hadn't just built an organization.
They'd built a family.
A dysfunctional, violent, deeply loyal family that spoke in hand signals, blood oaths, and silent loyalty born in childhood alleys.
My throat tightened. "Hiro. . .I'm sorry about what I said to the twins earlier. I meant no disrespect."
He shook his head. "I knew you were good with reading people, but not that good. It serves them right for testing you."
"That's not fair, Hiro. I should apologize. I just don't know how—"
"They don't need an apology." His voice was firm but gentle. "They just need your love. Continue to be yourself."
My heart warmed, even as guilt still twisted in my chest. "I feel bad."
He winked. "Good. Then make sure you make the twins an extra special signature cocktail. That will clear everything up."
A surprised laugh bubbled out of me. "That's your solution?"
"It's a very good solution."
Before I could respond, the lock clicked.
The door opened, and both twins stepped back into the hallway—shoulders still tense, eyes sharp, movements deliberate. They still had their guns out.
They stopped in front of Hiro.
In perfect synchronization, they raised their right hands to chest height, fingers spread wide, then closed their fists and tapped twice against their hearts.
Maybe that means. . .clear or all safe.
Hiro's expression didn't change, but his hands moved immediately—three quick gestures in succession.
First, he pointed at both twins, then swept his hand down the hallway in both directions.
Second, he made a fist and tapped his own chest once.
Third, he touched two fingers to his temple, then pointed at the door.
The twins nodded once—sharp, efficient—and immediately split apart.
Yuki moved left, positioning himself near the corner where the hallway turned, his body angled to cover both approaches.
Aki moved right, mirroring his brother's stance, eyes scanning the corridor with predatory focus.
Wow. This comes from decades of operating as a single unit.
Hiro reached behind his back and pulled out his gun—sleek, black, deadly. He checked it with the kind of casual efficiency that said he'd done this a thousand times before.
Then he looked at me, and one corner of his mouth lifted. "Let's begin, Velma."
My pulse kicked up, adrenaline flooding my system.
This was it.
The hunt was on.
Chapter thirty-five
Obsessed with the Dragon
Nyomi
Hiro and I stepped inside.
The door clicked shut behind us with a soft, final sound that made my shoulders tense.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and slid my thumb to activate the camera app. It just made sense to document everything.
Before I could move further in, Hiro gestured around the space. "Let me explain the layout so you understand what we're dealing with."
I nodded, grateful for the orientation.
"Three bedrooms." He pointed down a hallway to our right. "Each with its own ensuite bathroom. Yuki's is first, then Mami's, then Hina's at the end. They always choose the same order."
“Why?”
“In this world, everything is about hierarchy.”
“And Yuki tends to be in charge?”
“Correct.”
"Okay."
"This is the shared living room." He swept his hand toward the open space in front of us. "And through there—" he nodded toward an archway to our left, "—is a side dining room where they take their meals together."
"They don't eat with Kenji?"