Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 154368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 772(@200wpm)___ 617(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 772(@200wpm)___ 617(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
What would Rin do then?
Would he stay loyal to me?
Or would he return to Kyoto, slip something subtle into his cousin's evening tea, and claim what his ancestors had once held?
Rin caught me watching and tilted his head in a silent question.
I nodded and looked away.
Some answers, I wasn't ready to know.
Reo came in. His gait was steady, but his right shoulder lagged just enough to notice if one knew his body as well as I did.
Satoshi entered last, carrying the items with him and closing the door quietly behind him.
I went to my desk and leaned against it.
Reo took off his jacket and pulled off the bloodied shirt.
I noticed the damage to his body immediately.
His chest was built the way a fighter’s should be—thick slabs of muscle earned through years of discipline rather than vanity.
But the place where I’d driven my fist into him was darkening fast, a bruise blooming across his sternum and spreading outward like spilled ink beneath skin.
Purple at the core.
Angry red at the edges.
Satoshi winced a little and stepped forward with the towel. Reo took it and wiped any remaining blood from his face.
I didn’t realize I hit him that badly.
My body stiffened. I looked at what I'd done, yet felt nothing I could afford to name.
Satoshi stepped back to his position against the wall, hands clasped behind him—parade rest, even now.
I folded my arms. "Any word on my father?"
"The Butcher has rescheduled their conversation.”
“When will it be?”
“Tomorrow at 12pm Paris time.”
“The Butcher is still hunting for my spies.”
“He is.” Reo discarded the towel and slipped into the clean shirt. The movement pulled tight across the bruise. Reo’s jaw flexed, but his breathing stayed even. “As always we’ll continue to monitor the Butcher and his men.”
Jean Pierre.
The Butcher and leader of the Corsican syndicate.
Most important, he was my father's most likely source of salvation after we'd bombed his weapons caches across Tokyo. We had hackers in Paris waiting for that call—waiting to trace it, to finally pinpoint where the old man was hiding.
Now we have to fucking wait some more.
I gritted my teeth.
I’m ready to kill him today.
Reo glanced toward the wall. “Rin, whiskey.”
Rin quirked his brows, yet moved immediately, white suit cutting cleanly through the room as he crossed to the sideboard.
All knew that Reo barely drank. For him to have a glass in the morning was truly odd and spoke to the amount of pain he was in.
Reo turned back to me. “Besides the Butcher hunting our spies, there’s another worry that I have with his rescheduling.”
“What is it?”
"Could be a trap."
"Do you think the Butcher knows that we're listening?"
“His cousin, Louis is smart. Not as good of a hacker as Misha, but he could hold his weight in that world.”
“Louis would advise the Butcher with caution.”
Reo nodded. “Your father and him may use codes in their communication.”
I hated that response. Hated the uncertainty and all the variables I couldn't control. The sense that pieces were moving on a board I couldn't fully see.
Annoyance settled in my chest. “Still, we don’t care. We only want my father’s location.”
“We just need to make sure that they’re not planning for that and the location your father is in at the time of the phone call is not a trap set for us.”
Frowning, I glanced toward the bar.
There, Rin selected the most expensive bottle of whiskey without hesitation. Crystal, hand-cut, heavy enough to bruise if used as a weapon.
The label was understated—no gaudy crest, no screaming gold—because true wealth never needed to announce itself.
I’d acquired it years ago through a private broker in Kyoto who dealt only in things that couldn’t be replaced once they were gone.
Rin poured with care, and the amber liquid caught the light in a molten topaz waterfall. Then, settled into the glass.
I spoke before Rin turned back. “Pour me one too.”
Rin paused only long enough to acknowledge the order, then poured a second glass.
I caught Satoshi's jaw tighten at the sight of the whiskey. The man only drank milk—even in rooms still slick with blood—and I'd watched him shatter a man's cheekbone for joking about it once. He didn't like alcohol or when we all drank, but this morning he said nothing.
I directed my attention to Reo, who was doing a decent job of guarding his agony.
This was the dance.
Reo needed something for the pain but wouldn’t reveal that. He was the Roar. He had to be strong and focused. Therefore, he would take a small sip of whiskey—just enough to take the edge off the impact of my fist and also to keep his body from stiffening when we visited the Lion.
Too much would slow his reflexes.
Too little would show his flinching through the pain.
And I wouldn’t have him look odd in front of my men.
Or worse—weak for drinking so early and by himself.