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)
Or something had gone terribly, irreversibly wrong.
Both options meant the same thing.
War.
I slipped my hand out of Nyomi’s bikini bottoms. “Hold on, Tora.”
“What’s wrong?”
“That’s Reo.”
“Is there an emergency?”
“There may be one.”
The sound of the rotors deepened, heavy and insistent, echoing off the water like a warning bell.
My chest tightened.
If Reo was descending here, then our romantic time in paradise was officially over.
“I’ll be right back, Tora.” I rose and had to adjust my cock in my swim shorts. It was currently trying to puncture a hole in the fabric and get to Nyomi’s pussy.
What the fuck?!
Frowning, I headed off.
The helicopter was landing now, down the beach, kicking up white sand despite the pilot's skill.
I wanted to drag my Roar into the ocean and drown him.
However, I calmed myself.
Reo was my Roar for a reason. He understood me. Understood what this time with Nyomi meant. He wouldn't interrupt unless the situation demanded it.
Which meant something had gone seriously wrong.
What the fuck happened?
Chapter twenty-three
When Paradise Bleeds
Kenji
Reo’s helicopter rotors had already stopped by the time I reached it.
I glanced over my shoulder one last time.
Nyomi remained on the blanket, but now her bikini top was retied. Those deep brown eyes—eyes I'd lost myself in for hours today—tracked my barefoot path across the burning sand.
A silent conversation passed between us.
She knew.
Just like I knew.
The mirage of our escape was dissolving like sea foam.
Reo emerged from the aircraft as I approached, and the visual struck me with cinematic clarity.
Him in a tailored black suit—pressed and immaculate despite the humidity—while I stood in swim trunks with salt water still drying on my skin and Nyomi's bite mark throbbing on my shoulder.
His polished dress shoes sank into my imported white sand.
Black leather against pristine white.
An ink stain spreading across the page.
The contrast almost burned my eyes. It was a visual metaphor I couldn’t escape—duty arriving to reclaim me from pleasure.
By the time I stopped a few feet from him, all traces of arousal had vanished. My cock had gone completely soft, tucked back into my swim trunks.
The Dragon clamped back onto me—claws sinking into my shoulders first, then deeper, puncturing muscle. Scales scraped down my ribs one by one, each ridge catching bone.
Fire crawled up my throat, thick and choking, until the taste of salt water and Nyomi's skin burned away completely. Its crushing weight settled across my shoulder blades, familiar and suffocating.
Responsibility drowned the salt-and-sex haze from my mind, replacing pleasure with the cold clarity of threat assessment.
My spine straightened.
My jaw set.
Kenji, the lover dissolved, and only the Dragon remained.
I don’t know what he’ll say. I just know that I will kill the person.
Reo’s tie fluttered, caught in the dying wind of the blades. There, he waited in silence for a few seconds, and his face carried that careful neutrality he wore when delivering news he knew I wouldn't want to hear.
Damn it.
He looked past me toward the ocean, jaw flexing once, then again. A bead of sweat slid down his temple even though the wind had cooled.
The longer he stayed silent, the more I knew I didn’t want him to speak.
He was afraid—of the words themselves.
But beneath that expression, I also saw exhaustion. Dark crescents hung beneath his eyes, and his jaw appeared tight, possibly from nights spent chewing through strategy instead of getting sleep.
How long has it been since he’d gotten 8 hours of sleep? Two days? Three?
I frowned. "You look like shit."
"Thank you." His mouth twitched. "You look relaxed. I'm about to ruin that."
"I know."
The ocean breeze carried the scent of salt and flowers between us. Behind us, the uguisu called its three-note song.
Ho-ho-kekyo.
The sound that once brought me peace now felt like a countdown.
Reo still hadn’t said the bad news.
That alone told me everything. If it were urgent—if blood were spilling or someone was dead—he would have opened with it.
But this. . .this was the kind of news a man rehearsed in his head, the kind that stuck to the back of his throat and refused to come out.
My stomach tightened.
Whatever it was, it would change everything.
Reo straightened slightly. "First, I'll tell you this. . .”
That phrasing alone told me the story was bad. My Roar always started with good news when he was afraid of what came next. He liked to pad the blow, soften the blade.
My pulse quickened anyway.
Reo sighed. “Hiro is sleeping."
My chest tightened, but with warmth, not dread. "He's actually sleeping?"
"In his bed. In his room. He's been asleep for four hours now." Reo's expression softened. "Your Tiger fed him breakfast this morning. The Eggs Benedict was exceptional. That hollandaise sauce. . ."
Reo lifted a hand to his lips, fingers curling just so, and with a satisfying smacking sound, he performed a chef's kiss. "The sauce was absolutely divine."
The significance of the gesture wasn't lost on me. Reo rarely praised anything with such enthusiasm.