7. Suspicions
Chapter seven
Suspicions
Nyomi
“Well. . .” Kenji gazed off at the sky. “I know Reo learned that the saxophone player told the location but. . .I’m still not convinced it was just him, especially when I didn’t know the location myself.”
"So. . .now you're suspicious of my guards?"
"I'm suspicious of everyone."
"Still?"
"Yes."
I hesitated, the pieces beginning to connect in my head. "Yesterday, there was one guard that was in and out of Zo’s apartment all day, but I thought you had instructed him to give you information."
Kenji's gaze sharpened.
"Every time a delivery came—groceries, water, even those French pastries from this place Zo likes—he insisted on carrying them in himself and bringing them in the apartment. Wouldn’t let me lift a finger. Again, at the time, I thought it was just your brand of overprotectiveness."
"And now?"
"Now I’m not so sure. Plus, I was calling different jazz bands that day, trying to find the best one for our date. I had names and notes scribbled across my notebook."
He nodded once, taking it in.
"During the second delivery, I caught that same guard looking at my notebook. He didn’t even flinch when I turned around. Just smiled and said, 'You’ve got good taste in music.'"
Kenji’s eyes darkened. The shift was subtle, but I felt it. "Do you remember what he looks like?"
I took a breath, sifting through the memory. It wasn’t hard. That guard had a kind of presence—quiet, unassuming, but sharp around the edges. "Long, gold hoop earring on the right. Long black hair, mostly tied back, except for this one braid that hung low on the left side."
“Watari.” Kenji looked at me. "You remembered everything. The earring, the braid, the timing."
“I’m a writer that likes to observe things. People are the biggest book inspiration of all.”
“Hmmm.” He looked in front of us, but I could tell that a lot was spinning in his mind.
I quirked my brows. “Are you going to talk to Watari?”
“I am. Your other guards too. Just in case.”
“And. . .if you discover that it is him?”
“Then. . .he’ll be having a very bad day, Tora.”
Fuck.
I swallowed down fear and went silent, but my thoughts were noisy as hell. If I were right, then Watari would surely be dead by tomorrow.
My stomach twisted with guilt, but I did my best to shove it away.
The truth was, I didn’t know what justice looked like in Kenji’s world.
I didn’t know how forgiveness worked here, or if it did at all.
Watari might’ve handed over information that put Kenji, Reo, Hiro, and all these families at risk. Children. Lovers. Everyone.
That wasn’t a small thing.
So if he was the traitor perhaps. . .he deserved what was coming.
But even with all that truth stacked up like bricks, I still felt the tiniest weight pressing down on my chest. Not regret. Just this human sadness. And maybe a little fear of what the Dragon’s justice looked like.
We continued on and then I saw it, just beyond a slope of stone steps and Sakura trees in full bloom despite the season.
His mansion.
Oh my God. Of course his place here would be the most impressive.
The entire structure was elevated on a stone platform, surrounded by a shallow ring of still water.
Part temple.
Part fortress.
Part dream.
The roof curved upward at the edges in sweeping arcs with shimmering black tiles. Gold ridges traced the roof beams. Massive wooden columns held up the wide eaves.
But it was the glass that stole my breath.
Panels of it rose high—tall and seamless.
The front facade was anchored by a towering wall of glass, framed in black steel, that revealed the interior glow in golden silhouettes.
Behind the glass, I glimpsed paper lanterns, calligraphy scrolls, and the soft movement of silk curtains.
A small arched bridge crossed the moat, and its handrails were carved with dragons and cranes in mid-flight.
At the entrance, two bronze lion-dog komainu statues stood sentinel—one with its mouth open, the other closed.
“This is beautiful.” I looked at it as we got closer. “Was this mansion already here? Or did you build on it?”
“It was here, but I had it expanded. The villas where you see my men moving in their families. . .those are new too.”
“Amazing.”
The closer we got, the quieter Kenji became. Not withdrawn, just. . .composed. Still in that impossibly gentle way of his, as if he were holding too many things inside and refusing to let any of them spill.
We stopped at the base of a narrow bridge.
The water beneath us shimmered silver, the surface reflecting the towering glass and gold edges of the mansion.
Kenji stepped in front of me, tenderly squeezed my hand as he helped me onto the bridge. His other hand touched my waist as I stepped forward, steadying me. But it didn’t feel like he did it because I needed it, but because he needed that connection.
Halfway across the bridge, one of his Eyes appeared from the shadows and spoke, “Hiro and the Claws are on their way now. Reo is on a helicopter and enroute as well—with the rest of the Fangs.”
Kenji dismissed him with a nod.
Good. Reo is safe.
The Eye vanished back into the shadows.
We crossed the bridge and left it.
Once we got close to the mansion, several servants dressed in white opened the doors.
Kenji grinned. “Welcome home, Tora.”
The scent of hinoki wood and incense hit me first.
Inside the threshold, a polished wooden step waited for us, elevated slightly from the stone we stood on. Beside it was a low lacquered bench and a traditional Japanese shoe cabinet, elegant in black and gold.
A small silk cushion rested beside it, just beneath a carved wooden crane.
Without a word, Kenji let go of my hand.
I got ready to take off my heels.
“No. Allow me.” He stepped forward, lowered himself to the ground, and knelt in front of me.
His Eyes exchanged shocked looks. What did they think as they saw their boss—the Dragon—kneeling for a woman and attending to her feet like a servant?
Staring at my heels, he licked his lips, lowered himself even more, and kissed the tip of each heel before removing the first and then the second.
Some of his men stirred.
Heat rushed to my cheeks.
When both shoes were off, I stood barefoot on the step, feeling the warmth of the wood beneath my toes.
Not done yet, Kenji stroked slow circles over my ankle bones with his thumbs. Next, he let out a low groan under his breath as he ran his hand along the curve of my arch.
Fuck.
So sweet, he cradled one foot in both hands, then bowed his head, and pressed his lips softly to my big toe.
My knees weakened. “Kenji. . .”
More of his men shifted their weight as if witnessing a ritual they weren’t meant to see. A few widened their eyes and looked in the other direction.
You’re freaking your people out.
One of the white-clad attendants appeared and handed him a pair of soft indoor slippers. They were black silk with gold embroidery across the toe.
Groaning, Kenji guided one of my ankles forward, carefully placed the slipper onto my foot, and whispered something in Japanese.
An Eye grinned.
What did he say? I bet it was nasty.
When Kenji was done, he rose from the floor, quickly took off his shoes, and put on slippers.
I smiled at him. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I enjoyed every second of that.”
I made a note that Kenji definitely had some sort of foot and heel fetish.
We will definitely be exploring that.
We headed forward and it felt like entering a shrine more than a home. Every detail was exquisite. Shoji screens stood open on either side, revealing long corridors that stretched forever.
Kenji’s hand rested on the small of my back as we crossed another threshold.
I was still trying to make sense of it all when one of his men approached us from a hallway.
We stopped.
Kenji looked at him and they spoke in low, clipped Japanese.
Then I heard a bit of English.
“Bomb placements confirmed.”
My body went cold.
Kenji gave a tight nod, jaw flexed, and murmured something back I couldn’t translate. But I didn’t need to.
Bombs. This war is really going to happen.
Kenji was going to detonate entire pieces of Tokyo.
My stomach clenched so hard I had to force my jaw to stay shut.
The walls of the mansion seemed to tilt for a second, the beauty around me warping as my brain tried to make sense of the brutality beneath it.
This man who had kissed me like I was the only thing tethering him to this world. Who held my hand on a helicopter like a sacred vow. He was preparing to erase parts of a city.
How many innocents would die?
I wanted to ask, but I didn’t get the chance.
More men appeared speaking in Japanese and Kenji’s face grew tense.
What is going on? Is everything okay?
To my right, an older man in white stepped forward. First, he bowed deeply to Kenji and then he turned to me. “Miss Palmer, my name is Sako. I’m the house steward. It’s an honor to serve you.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“May I show you around while the Dragon has his meeting.” He glanced at Kenji for permission.
Kenji gave him a single nod and let go of my hand. “I will see you soon, Tora.”
I swallowed not wanting to be separated but knowing that he had to focus on the war ahead.
And then, just like that, the Dragon slipped back into place.
Gone was the man who had knelt before me like I was a queen. Gone was the lover who had guided me over the bridge with a hand at my back, who kissed the tips of my heels and stroked my ankle like he needed it to breathe.
In his place stood the ferocious beast.
That dragon-shadow rose high against the wall—dark, elegant, and terrifying. His spine straightened into an impossible line. His jaw locked. His hands, which had just been tender and slow, folded behind his back in military stillness.
His men around us snapped to attention, as if they’d felt the shift in air pressure too.
Fuck.
Sako turned toward me and gestured with an elegant hand. “Please follow me, so I can show you to your quarters.”
I hesitated.
Just for a second. My hand still tingled from where Kenji had touched it.
But war was coming.
And I wasn’t the one holding the match.
So I walked off with Sako and made sure to keep his pace.
Fuck. . .
Ten feet ahead, I glanced over my shoulder.
Kenji was even more surrounded—men murmuring to him in clipped Japanese, their shoulders tense, their eyes full of worry. The Dragon stood motionless, that terrible shadow stretching long and high behind him like a living omen.
But. . .his attention wasn’t on them. . .instead he watched me walk away. . .and even beneath all that ruthless power, all that quiet devastation he was about to unleash on the world, I saw a flicker in his eyes of the man who kissed my feet.
Of the man who called me Tora like it was sacred.
What will these next days look like?