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)
I stared at him. “Seriously?”
“I’ll show him to you tonight.”
“When he. . .is put under the bed?”
“Yes.”
“A flame torch?”
“Not just a flame torch.” He shook his head. “Totoro is custom. Top of the line. High-heat. It can project a flame up to twenty-five feet.”
“Twenty. . .five. . .feet. . .”
He nodded. “He runs on a hybrid mix of butane and thickened gel fuel.”
“Okay but. . .the flames go as far as twenty-five feet?”
“Of course, Tora.”
“Of course?”
“The Dragon must have flames.”
I blinked.
“And one burst from Totoro and everything it touches is scorched clean. Not just burned. Erased.”
“And. . .” My throat went dry. “You keep that with you all the time?”
“Except on our dates.”
Lucky me.
He studied me and must have noticed the horror on my face. “Don’t worry. You’re safe, Tora.”
“But. . .are you going to be safe? That is a whole ass army down there.”
One of the Eyes snickered.
“My men are stronger and better. Those bodies on the ground are mainly theirs, not ours.”
“Well. . .” I looked back and saw the other helicopters. “What about Reo and everyone else? Are they coming too? Will they be okay?”
“They will be fine, and they’ll be on their way.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“I’m scared for them.”
“Reo is upset. You should be scared for our enemies.”
I shivered.
Slowly, he reached out his hand and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. That simple touch steadied me a little. "Breathe, Tora. Not because you’re calm. Breathe because I need you to.”
I inhaled a shaky breath and let my chest rise and fall, shallow at first, then deeper.
He leaned in closer and brushed my chin with his fingers. “That’s it. Just like that.”
I drew another breath.
Slower now.
I let it fall from my lips.
Again.
Again.
And somehow, the sharp edges of this nightmare dulled.
His thumb dragged lightly down the column of my throat, tracing the tremble there. “You are safe, with me. I swear it on every grave I’ve ever dug.”
“I can’t see you digging graves.”
“You would be surprised.” He moved his hand down to my chest and then flattened his palm between my breasts. “I can feel your heart racing like a trapped bird.”
“Because I felt like we were just in the middle of hell.”
He tilted his head. “You still are in hell. But I’m your devil now. And I don’t let what’s mine burn.”
Those words hung in the air.
Then, suddenly he leaned in until our foreheads touched and his breath merged with mine. “How do you feel now, Tora?”
“Better.”
“Good.”
I closed my eyes, and for one perfect moment, there was no fire.
No bullets.
No bodies.
No sirens.
Only the hum of the blades above us.
Only the heat of his skin.
Only the sound of our shared breath—threading us back together.
And for the first time in years, my body wasn’t braced for impact. I wasn’t preparing for the microaggressions of this crazy world. Wasn’t rehearsing my boundaries. Wasn’t tightening my jaw or softening my tone so I didn’t come off as, too much.
I wasn’t waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me.
Or the mask to slip.
Or the lie to finally reveal itself.
I wasn’t just safe.
I felt safe.
And that feeling was so foreign, it hurt a little.
Because safety had never been a constant for me.
When I was younger, I thought safety meant good schools and Sunday brunches.A house with a security system, a yard with trimmed hedges, a mother who wore Chanel No. 5 and pearls that weren’t fake.
I thought safety meant we’d made it.
Until the Feds came.
Until they tore through our house in the middle of the night like it was a crime scene, flipping mattresses and dumping drawers. Until I watched them slam my father’s body against the ground while my mother begged them not to shoot him.
Even though my father had deserved it all, I still walked away with anxiety and thinking that the worst could always come for me too.
But this right now?
This was different.
I was in a helicopter surrounded by men in black with blades and guns.
Below us, Tokyo was at war.
People were dying.
But Kenji was near, and if death tried to climb into this helicopter, he would drag it back down and set it on fire.
His phone rang, disrupting my thoughts.
I opened my eyes.
Who’s calling?
Chapter five
For Every Word You Bleed
Nyomi
The phone rang again.
Sighing, Kenji moved his head a little and kissed the center of my forehead.
That wrecked me.
Mmmm.
“Hold on.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. When he checked the screen, he let out a loud groan and answered. “I’m fine, Hiro.”
His brother must have been saying a whole lot because Kenji just sat there in silence and closed his eyes.
I didn’t know how he could stay so calm, but I couldn’t stop staring. Because in the glow of the moonlight through the helicopter windows, Kenji’s face was unreal.
All sharp lines and dangerous elegance.
High cheekbones casting shadows like a sculpture. That cut jaw clenched tight as he listened to his brother. Lashes thick and black, sweeping against his cheek. The curve of his mouth—soft, full, and deliciously cruel.