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)
And the twisted thing—the thing I couldn't admit to anyone, barely even to myself—was that part of me found it arousing.
Not the violence itself.
Not the screaming or the suffering.
But the power of him. The absolute certainty with which he protected what was his. I was what he was protecting.
The thought sent a dark thrill curling through my belly. Kenji, wreathed in firelight, eyes blazing with cold fury, burning the world down for me. My nipples tightened against the silk of my pajamas.
What is wrong with me?
But I knew the answer.
I'd changed.
This world had changed me. And the woman I was becoming wanted things the old Nyomi would have run from. This was the world I had stepped into. A world where betrayal wasn’t handled with stern conversations or courtroom battles. A world where a man like Kenji protected what he loved with annihilation.
And I was what he loved.
Well. . .they were trying to kill me so. . .
Part of me wanted to go out there. To see. To understand what was happening in the shadows of this house.
That truth settled over my skin like molten wax.
God, I’m changing so much. . .how much more will I change?
Thankfully, the larger most logical part of me—the part that was still trembling from everything that had already happened tonight—needed to stay right in this bedroom.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where the bag now sat deflated.
My hands were shaking.
I pressed them flat against my thighs. Counted to five. Let the breath out slowly.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Who is that?
I crossed the room and picked it up, expecting Kenji. Maybe an update. Maybe him telling me he was on his way back.
But it wasn't Kenji.
It was Grandma.
Calm washed over me.
I swiped it open.
Grandma: Kyoya taught me how to do voice text. So, let’s see how this goes.
I widened my eyes.
Who the hell is Kyoya?
Grandma: Baby, look at my new friends! They painted up everything fast, so I had them come over for lunch, and I fed them REAL good.
Below the message was a photo.
I stared at it, and then I laughed out loud. The kind of laugh that burst from my chest without permission—bright, startled, and full of pure joy.
The picture showed my grandma's dining room—the same one I'd eaten a thousand meals in growing up. The oak table with the lace runner. The China cabinet in the background with her "good plates" that only came out for special occasions.
And seated around that table were six yakuza soldiers.
Six.
Tattooed, massive, muscular men in rolled-up shirtsleeves. Their suit jackets were draped over the backs of chairs.
In front of them were plates piled high with soul food. Collard greens. Mac and cheese. Fried chicken. Cornbread. Sweet potato pie waiting on the sideboard.
And they were SMILING.
Not polite, restrained smiles. Not the stone-faced expressions I'd grown used to seeing on Kenji's men.
These were real smiles.
Genuine.
One of them was actually in mid-laugh with his head thrown back and a chicken drumstick in his hand.
I snorted.
I know Grandma must have said something crazy to have you laughing like that. Had life been different for her back in the day, she might have been a comedienne.
Another man was giving the camera a thumbs up while holding a forkful of mac and cheese like it was a trophy.
Another photo came through.
Grandma stood at the head of the table, one hand on her hip, the other holding up a serving spoon like a scepter. She was beaming. Wearing her favorite apron—the one that said, "Grandma's Kitchen: Enter Hungry, Leave Happy."
She looked like the proudest woman in South Carolina.
The next photo showed her standing with all of them in her living room.
Who took this picture?
I zoomed in on the faces of the men.
They looked happy. Not just polite-guest happy. Soul-deep, home-cooked-meal happy.
Another text came through.
Grandma: They got SECONDS, baby. Every single one of them. That big one in the corner? That’s Kyoya. He had THREE plates! I had to make more cornbread because it looked like one was about to cry if he didn’t get another piece.
I pressed my hand to my mouth, still laughing.
Grandma: They're definitely raised right. They cleaned up the whole kitchen, washed the dishes, took out the trash, and even did a walk around the house to make sure nobody was around to bother me. Asked if they could do that every day.
Well. . .they are there to protect you, so I’m glad they did a check of the perimeter and got you to agree to daily ones. Smart.
Grandma: And I sent them home with plates! Wrapped up real nice in the good Tupperware. Told them to bring it back when they're done.
I could picture it perfectly. Grandma standing at the door, handing over carefully wrapped containers to trained killers, telling them to eat it while it's hot and bring back her containers or else.