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)
If Rin betrayed Kenji, it would be for someone much higher than the Dragon.
He’s not the spy.
Last was Satoshi.
Satoshi didn't blink when I looked at him. Not even once. I counted seven seconds of direct eye contact.
No flutter.
No shift.
Most people always had a tell. A twitch at the corner. A swallow to compensate for dry eyes.
Satoshi had neither.
Either he's innocent and his body knows it. Or he's the best liar in the room and I won't catch him here.
His posture alone could’ve cut marble. Back “welded straight,” shoulders squared like he’d been born on a battlefield. His black hair was neat, buzzed on the sides, longer on top.
Scarred knuckles.
Scarred neck.
Scarred cheeks.
When I looked at him, he scratched at his back, appearing absolutely miserable.
We have to get him a specialist to deal with that water allergy. It must be horrifying.
I continued to look at him, and still he didn’t blink.
Not even once.
My senses calmed.
Because Satoshi’s tell was the opposite of Kaoru’s—too much blinking meant he was lying.
Right now?
Nothing.
Total stillness.
Total focus.
He scratched his cheek once, a quick, suppressed gesture—like he refused to indulge whatever itch tormented him. The faintest irritation flickered across his features, but it wasn’t at me.
A glass of milk sat in front of him.
The Fangs are loyal so far, but I’m going to keep on watching them.
I looked to the other side of the table.
My nerves frazzled.
The Claws.
I’d seen them in Kenji’s war room, but hadn’t gotten an official introduction just yet.
Right now, every single one of them was looking at me.
Assessing.
Measuring.
Deciding if I belonged here.
The weight of their gazes was almost physical.
Up close, they were sharper than I remembered from the war room—like danger had tailored itself into human silhouettes and taken seats in custom leather chairs.
Each man sat with perfect discipline, backs straight, attention fixed on me.
No smirks.
No curiosity.
Just quiet calculation.
I didn’t see a problem yet.
But that didn’t mean there wasn’t one.
I curled my fingers lightly at my side. I needed Kenji to start the introductions so I could see their reactions.
Alright. This is good for now.
I turned back to Kenji and gave a small nod.
The Dragon headed over, and his presence filled the room, not with noise or motion, but with absolute power. It was so hard to explain. He didn’t need to demand obedience, he simply inspired it. All of these killers turned to him and there was nothing but respect in their eyes.
Reo followed, and that same respect from the men landed on him too.
Once Kenji and Reo got to me, they both leaned my way.
Kenji’s voice had a nervous edge. “Anything?”
“Not with the Fangs, but I need to be around the Claws for a little longer.”
Reo nodded. “I’ll introduce you.”
“Perfect.”
Fuck. I hope none of the Claws are spies.
Chapter twenty-seven
The Claws
Nyomi
“Thank you, Tora.” Kenji took my hand and guided me to the end of the table where three seats were waiting.
He pulled out the chair in the middle for me.
“Thank you.” I lowered into it.
Kenji sat on my right. The moment his body settled into the chair, his hand found my thigh under the table, claiming me.
Heat bloomed where his palm pressed through the fabric.
His thumb traced a slow circle against my thigh, once, twice, grounding me with his touch while his face remained impassive to the room.
To everyone else, the Dragon sat in perfect stillness.
But beneath the table, his fingers flexed possessively against my skin, and I felt the message vibrating through his touch: You're not alone. I'm right here. You're mine, and I protect what's mine.
My pulse steadied under his hand.
Reo took the seat on my left.
The Dragon and the Roar flanked me. I felt so protected and supported.
A soft knock sounded at the smaller door near the bar cart. It opened just enough for Sako to enter with a cart of teapots and cups.
Since I was in hunting mode, I took the time to check Sako too.
Sako’s gaze went to Kenji first—automatic deference—then to the Roar, me, next the Fangs and Claws. His shoulders stayed straight, but tension clung to him.
He’s worried about something.
He circled the table with a quiet, practiced grace—each step a soft whisper against the polished floor. The porcelain rattled faintly on the lacquered tray, the delicate chime somehow sharpening the tension around us. A clean ribbon of steam curled upward from each cup, carrying the scent of honeyed lavender and chamomile.
Sako set the first cup before Kenji with both hands and bowed his head just slightly. The steam washed over Kenji’s knuckles.
Next, he moved to me. The cup he placed at my side was warm enough that the heat pulsed against my wrist before I even touched it. The fragrant vapor rose around me.
Reo’s cup landed with the lightest tap, barely a sound, though the steam fogged the edge of his glasses instantly. He blinked once, clearing his view.