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)
Powdered sugar covered his chin.
"Careful with the frame. Hold it from the bottom, not the sides." Ali pointed a gloved finger at one of the men while taking an enormous bite of his donut. Powdered sugar drifted down like snow onto his shirt.
He turned to the next pair of men carrying a long crate. "That one goes near the wall. Gently. Reo will have my head if any of this is damaged."
Still frowning, I watched him work and eat. This man consumed food at a rate that should have made him enormous, and instead he remained built like a chopstick.
I didn't like Ali, and understood that the dislike was not rational.
Ali was competent, loyal to Reo, and highly effective at his job. He'd also never disrespected me or overstepped his position.
But he was close to Reo.
Too close.
Ali occupied a space in Reo's daily life that the beastly part of me couldn't accept quietly. Ali cooked for Reo, read beside him, and knew the way Reo liked his tea in the morning.
They’d met in Dubai years ago. Ali had been working for the wrong people. Reo had almost killed him. Whatever stilled my Roar’s trigger finger that night had turned into a partnership that outlasted most marriages.
Granted. . .Ali looked very similar to Reo's estranged little brother. Perhaps, my Roar used Ali as a stand-in to fill the emptiness in his heart.
A crumb fell from Ali's donut and landed on the hardwood floor. White powder on dark wood. Ali froze mid-chew, looked down at it, and then up at me.
I raised an eyebrow.
He stuffed the rest of the donut into his mouth, making both cheeks swell. Next, he dropped to one knee, picked up the crumb with his gloved fingers, and deposited it into his pocket. "My apologies, Dragon."
The men continued setting down boxes and crates.
I moved among the boxes and opened one. It held aged and brittle scrolls. I untied one and unrolled it to find a family tree rendered in ink so old it had turned from black to amber. My mother's maiden name sat near the center, connected by thin lines to branches that stretched back centuries.
Ali got to my side. “This stuff should be in a museum. The pigment preservation alone looks to be hundreds of years old and the red is still saturated to show. . .”
I turned to him and scowled.
Ali cleared his throat and backed up. “Well. . .I’ll be leaving.”
I set the scroll down. "And what about the serial killer? Do we have more news?"
Ali turned around slowly. "Yes, sir. We do."
"Go ahead."
Ali blinked behind his glasses. "Oh. You want me to tell you?"
My scowl shifted to a glare.
"I-I usually give my reports to Reo."
"So you're saying Reo is more important than me?"
The color drained from his face. "Oh God. No. No. I'm just saying the protocol has typically been—"
"Don't waste my time today."
"Of course." He straightened his spine and pushed his glasses up with one finger. "We've finally discovered the name of the serial killer we've been calling the Footman.”
“What is it?”
“Archer Lee. He’s half Japanese, half American."
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Interesting.”
"His mother was a thief. She stole from the yakuza during your father's reign. The Fox ordered his men to bring her head and heart. To make an example. They broke into her home and chopped her up while her six-year-old son sat in the corner watching."
In my mind, I imagined a six-year-old boy in a corner watching his mother be reduced to pieces on the floor.
"When the killers finished, I guess they. . .felt remorse for the kid.”
“Why do you say that?”
“They left the boy, Archer, his mother's feet."
I tensed.
"They took the rest of her body to the Fox."
I considered all of this. My father had given a demented kill order, received the delivery, and moved on without thinking about the child he'd left behind.
And within the darkness that boy had grown into a serial killer.
"No one knows how long Archer held on to those feet," Ali continued. "But it was long enough to build an obsession. He grew up in an orphanage, and every year, a child was found dead with their feet removed. When Archer became an adult, he escalated to women."
"And delivers their feet to me.” I sighed.
Ali nodded. “The sins of the father and all that.”
“Where is Archer now?”
"We went to his home. He was gone. Cleared out within the last week. Our team is running down known associates, aliases, and financial records."
“Find and bring him to me immediately.”
“Of course." He bowed and then for some idiotic reason bowed two more times.
I sneered.
He quickly turned and hurried away.
I spent the next hour rummaging through my mother’s belongings—watercolor sketches, old portraits of ancestors, brilliant swords, an empty jewelry box.
And at the center. . .a thick book.