Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 101427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
That was how my grandmother fought the world—one pot at a time.
Oh yeah. I can do that with no problem.
From me they wouldn’t get blueprints.
They would get biscuits.
What else could I do? Hmmm.
If I continued with Hiroko’s theory about powerful men, then it would make sense that these men needed touch. Not sex. Not seduction. Just presence. Softness in the middle of steel.
A calm hand on a shoulder.
A warm towel wiped over a bruised face.
Fingers threading through thick hair and saying, you’re still human. You’re still here.
My mother used to do that when my father came home from court.
She never said, “How was that case or is everything okay?”
She would just rub his back, sit beside him, and say nothing.
As a little girl, I had learned that sometimes the deepest healing came from silence.
That’s it.
I imagined pressing a warm cloth to Kenji’s temple, wiping the blood-slick edge of his jaw. My fingers would graze the spot below his ear where tension always hid most. I wouldn’t speak. I would just be there—still, grounded. And he would lean into me like the war went quiet for us.
Third? Rest.
I could convince Kenji to sleep. And once he did, maybe the rest would follow. Perhaps, these killers would close their eyes and get the sleep they needed to truly win this war.
Alright. Is there anything else I could do. . ? Perhaps I could could remind them that they are still men.
Not machines.
Not monsters.
Men.
With lungs, hearts, and mothers who hopefully once kissed their foreheads goodnight. Men who needed warmth. Who craved softness but didn’t know how to ask for it anymore.
Kenji especially.
He would never say the words I’m scared. But already, I knew I would see it in the tension of his shoulders. In the way his breath stilled when plans went sideways.
In the way he drank coffee instead of sleeping last night.
I could care for him without making him weak. I could love him without making myself small.
Because Black women had been doing that for generations. Holding shit down without being thanked. Tending to wounds no one could see. Keeping empires running through casseroles, warnings, and silent, bone-deep prayers.
That’s what I could bring to this war.
Not firepower.
But firelight.
Not armor.
But aloe.
Not fear.
But fierce-ass love.
Yep. That’s it.
More confident in my being in the war room now, I continued forward, yet I still didn’t see Kenji in this massive space. But, I did feel him. The way heat tells you there’s a flame even before you see it.
Where are you? I already know you are watching me. You probably saw me right when I stepped inside.
And so I kept walking, eyes straight ahead. Men parted without realizing they had. The 3D display curved around and I went in that direction.
Then I saw him.
Oh.
All the way in the back of the room.
Kenji leaned casually against a large black desk scattered with guns, bullet clips, rope and what looked like three different bloodied knives.
Behind him, a curved screen glowed with security footage and maps, bathing his face in cold light. And his gaze was nothing but erotic fire.
Mmmm. Yeah. I thought you were watching me. Do you like this outfit?
He wasn’t listening to the man speaking urgently at his right—a tall, clean-shaven guy, dressed in all white. His hair fell down to his waist in one long braid.
Kenji wasn’t hearing a damn word from him.
His attention was pinned on me.
Those dark eyes roamed my body. From the sheer white blouse, to the skirt that hugged my curves, down my legs, to the red heels—and then back up, slow as sin.
I was still far away but I could feel hot lust pouring off him in earth-shattering waves.
My skin prickled under the weight of it.
Kenji shifted, like he was about to move. Like the weight of staying still was too much. But then he stopped himself. Muscles coiled. Desire caged. The Dragon didn’t move—but I knew he wanted to. Every inch of him burned with it.
And then I saw the man to his left.
Oh. That’s Lollipop guy.
I remembered him from when I first met Kenji. Lollipop guy had watched me as I raced away after kneeing Kenji in the balls. Tonight, Lollipop guy leaned against the desk, watching me with a lazy, unreadable expression. His mouth was curled around the stick of a blood-red lollipop.
And when our eyes met?
He slid the candy from his mouth in one slow pull, smirked at me, then leaned toward Kenji with a low whisper I didn’t catch—but it made Kenji loudly growl, triggering some of the other men around him to look his way.
Welcome to the war room, Nyomi. The rules just changed. And every man in this chamber knows it. But. . .can you make it worth it?
Chapter twenty-four
An Erotic Tennis Match
Nyomi
As I continued forward, noise erupted from the back of the war room.