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)
Deadlier.
Kenji wanted me to do something for him, something that smelled like strategy, blood, and war.
What could this test be about?
My pulse spiked with excitement and dread.
Until this moment, I’d believed my place in his war would be at the edges—cooking meals, tending wounds, offering a soft voice to brutal men who brought the night home on their boots.
But now?
The Dragon had summoned me to the center of some secret plan, and. . .I had no idea why.
Kenji crossed the room and came to stand at my side. He brushed the small of my back with his big palm. It was a simple pass of heat, but it anchored me.
I breathed in his scent and let it calm my nerves.
I had so many damned questions, but his men were now in the room. I didn’t want to barrel him with my hysteria. I needed to play the part of the Dragon’s Heart—confident, strong, and capable of whatever the fuck this was.
On the left side of the room, Reo leaned against the wall. Even half-shadowed, he looked unfairly gorgeous—like a mafia nerd that had been dragged out of an expensive library.
He wore traditional black Japanese pajamas. They weren’t the cotton button-downs and drawstring pants Americans called pajamas, no plaid flannel or cartoon prints.
Zo had something similar and told me they were called jinbei, a two-piece set cut like a short kimono on top with matching pants.
The top overlapped left over right across Reo’s chest, held by narrow inner and outer ties instead of buttons. Reo’s jinbei hung open just enough to reveal the ladder of his collarbones. The sleeves were half-length and loose. The pants were straight-legged.
It was all elegance disguised as sleepwear.
Reo looked freshly woken too—hair mussed, a shadow of sleep at the corners of his eyes—but the faint smile playing on his mouth for some reason said he’d been waiting for this moment and was super excited that it was about to happen.
Reo flipped the notebook open and clicked a pen. Then, his gaze caught mine. He winked. “You will do just fine, Nyomi.”
I swallowed hard, wondering if he’d actually be scoring me like some professor grading a student on an exam.
Reo’s smirk definitely said he knew something I didn’t, and the notebook in his hand wasn’t for records—it was also for leverage.
But how, why, and leverage with whom?
At my side, Kenji’s hand tightened at my waist. “Tora, I want you to look at these three men. Take them in, and then let me know when you are done.”
What am I supposed to be looking for?
I wasn’t sure if Kenji was testing my skill or my soul, but either way, I wanted to win.
Alright. Let’s see. . .
I dragged my gaze to the three men Kenji had brought in. They were three shadows solidified into muscle, danger, and flesh.
I knew one of them.
Kaoru.
His long pink hair was a neon slash in the room. The first time I’d seen him was on Kenji’s and my first date. He’d been sweet and a tiny bit flirtatious.
Definitely a ladies’ man.
However, now all that charm was off, folded away with the same efficiency as a weapon cleaned and cased. The angles of his face were too beautiful and too sharp all at once—cheekbones cut by a vindictive god, a mouth that could ruin hope. His suit perfectly hugged his body.
However, even at rest, Kaoru appeared ready to kill.
Got him. Now who’s next?
I put my view on the other two men.
The man on the left—broad through the chest, narrower at the hips, posture welded straight. His hair was buzzed close at the sides, left slightly longer on top, combed flat like a habit he didn’t have to think about.
Shoes matte, not glossy.
Combat ready.
There was angry scar tissue on his knuckles and neck.
He lives close to violence, not just orders it. Plus, his posture says soldier, but his silence says elite killer.
I looked closer. He had scars on his neck and near his ears, but. . .they didn’t look like they had come from fighting.
Some sort of rash. . .maybe. . .
As I watched him, he scratched the side of his face like he had a major itch that he was trying to avoid touching.
What’s up with that?
Either way, he gave the vibe of a drill sergeant that got hard from folding their bed sheet so tight he could bounce a quarter off it.
He watched me without blinking, and I filed that away too.
If he blinks too much. Then. . .that’s his tell. Okay. Let’s go to the other guy.
The last man on the right looked like sin washed in ritual. He wore white from throat to ankle, a long collarless jacket tailored close over straight trousers.
White should have made him look softer. It didn’t. However, it at least made the stillness around him sharper. He was the knife you’d missed because the light blinded you.