Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 104141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
I quirked my brows. “Why are you wearing a dress?”
His expression remained neutral. “This isn’t a dress.”
I was about to speak when Hiro interrupted. “It isn’t.”
Reo nodded. “I would say it is a deconstructed suit.”
Daisuke bobbed his head. “Exactly.”
“Fine. It’s just. . .” I let out a long breath. “I don’t think my Tiger is giving out an award for the contest. It’s just supposed to be a healthy competition.”
“No. I know our Tiger very well.” Hiro crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m sure there will be something special for the winner.”
This party is going to give me a fucking headache.
I put my gaze on Toma, hoping he would at least be the one with common sense.
Of course not.
This evening, everything about Toma was a dare. His bright purple mohawk stood upright in long spikes with crystal hearts topping each point. I didn’t even know how one could do that or why.
The dress code had been black.
He’d decided on shiny purple. Sequined purple jacket with no shirt to show off his inked purple butterflies dripping with blood and eating away at the rotting skull in the center of his chest.
Purple leather pants with sequined knees.
Purple steel-toed boots.
Purple heart earrings dangling from his ears.
Purple crystal claws dotting each finger.
Toma ran his claws down his jacket. “Hiro thinks I’ll lose because I didn’t stick with the theme, but purple is a shade of black.”
Kaede shook his head. “It isn’t.”
Toma frowned. “Black is in it.”
“It is not.” Kaede laughed.
Toma glared at him. “The Tiger will love it. Watch.”
I found the twins on the other side of the room.
Aki and Yuki stood shoulder to shoulder, identical down to the last breath of detail, like someone had split one vision clean in two and set it loose in the room.
They wore no jacket.
Instead, they had on shirts that weren’t made of fabric, but layers of horizontal pearl chains. They gave us all peeks of their muscular chests and arms.
They wore razor-tailored black pinstripe trousers too. The white lines were thin, sharp, and in perfect symmetry against the midnight black. And those trousers sat high on their waists and flared just enough at the hips to echo a 1920s silhouette—structured, but with a hint of drama.
Black polished shoes.
Matching diamond gold watches and diamond studs in each ear.
But it was their hair that stole the show.
Matching waves.
Glossy and sculpted tight to the head.
Pearl barrettes were layered through a few of the waves.
Their makeup had been matched down to the exact stroke. Smudged kohl lined their eyes, extending just enough to elongate their gaze into this feminine sultry energy that didn’t belong on two cold-hearted killers. Their lips held a shimmering red. A faint dusting of silver glitter sat high on their cheekbones.
And then, there were the guns.
Each twin wore a black leather shoulder holster that held 1920s machine guns. The barrels were long and narrow with the most iconic feature being the drum magazine—a round, flat disc attached to the side or bottom.
One twin spoke, “We’re going to win.”
The other nodded. “And if we don’t. . .”
Fast, they yanked out the machine guns, pointed at Reo and me, and then pulled the triggers.
I widened my eyes as streams of bubbles flowed out the machine guns’ tips, arced, and hit Reo and me dead in the face.
Together, they twisted to the side and shot bubbles at the other Claws. “We’re going to blow up this joint!”
Stunned, I stood there, cheek wet, and a single bubble clinging to my chest. I tried not to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. A loud chuckle left me, and Reo followed right along.
Several minutes ago, Reo had stood in an elevator next to me describing a thousand-year-old blood rite that could braid my Tiger's soul to mine until the grave. Now I was standing in a dining room watching my most deadly killers dazzle and shimmer like high-fashion models about to step on a runway.
What a fucking day.
I had fought Hiro and Nyomi on this party, but. . .perhaps I’d been wrong. Maybe, this was exactly what we needed—a moment that made survival worth the cost.
We should have more parties.
Reo pulled his phone from his jacket, read the screen, and tucked it back inside his pocket. "The guards said the Tiger is coming."
A ripple of excitement went through the room. Different Claws fixed themselves, straightening clothes, tucking at pants, and even a few checking their makeup with tiny mirrors I assumed they’d had in their pants.
I shook my head.
I’ll never be able to see the Claws the same way again. She’s transformed them into divas.
“I probably should have said this in the elevator but. . .” Reo stepped close to me and lowered his voice. “Before she comes. I have to prepare you."
"Prepare me for what?"
He held my gaze. "Your Tiger has. . .put herself in charge of Hiroko's. . .male slave. From my understanding, the slave has taken Hiroko’s death badly and immediately attached himself to your Tiger."