14. A Soul Food Battle to the Death
Chapter fourteen
A Soul Food Battle to the Death
Kenji
Japanese parables often used bamboo to illustrate themes of resilience, flexibility, and adaptability.
A common proverb stated, "The bamboo that bends with the wind is stronger than the oak that resists."
It sounded poetic.
It sounded wise.
But I was not born bamboo.
I was born steel. Wrought in fire. Sharpened in blood. Raised to bend for no one.
Let it be known. . .the second the wind shifted I would strike.
They interrupted my date.
They interrupted her moans.
They tried to assassinate me, while I was inside my Tiger, not just inside her body, but within the place where she stored her fears, her love, her fire, her surrender.
And now?
I wanted to make someone bleed for that.
Hiro walked to my right.
Pissed.
He hadn’t even bothered with a shirt when he left Tokyo. Just black pants, sneakers, and his favorite butcher knife. They said that he had gotten on the roof of his condo barefoot with his eyes wild and called in his chopper.
Even when I hugged him he hadn’t dropped that blade.
Now we were here, storming the gravel path toward my island’s edge with vengeance roaring between us.
Behind us, the Claws and ten of my personal security guards followed. Shadows of violence. Muscles coiled. No chatter. No smiles. Just fury on legs.
Kaede led with eerie calm, his platinum-blond hair tied in a low knot at the nape of his neck.
He wore a high-collared black suit so immaculately pressed it could’ve passed for ceremonial wear.
His shirt was bone white, his gloves leather.
One eye was glass, the other glacial, but both looked at the world like it was already bleeding.
Kaede didn’t like mess. He preferred his killings clean—precise enough to forget they’d happened.
Daisuke hovered behind Hiro’s shoulder, nearly indistinguishable in the dim lighting except for the sharp black mohawk slicing over his otherwise silent silhouette.
He wore all charcoal-gray, the jacket long, the lines soft enough to blur him into shadows.
When Daisuke moved, he didn’t walk—he drifted.
Like smoke. And when he struck, it was without sound.
Meanwhile, Toma walked loud. His bright purple mohawk was upright and defiant.
His his black jacket was left intentionally open to show off the tattoos clawing up his throat.
It was all violent ink telling stories no one wanted to hear.
His pants were tight. His boots steel-toed.
He walked like a dare: grin too wide, steps too smooth.
Toma didn’t hide in shadows.
He wanted to be seen.
He craved the fear.
And the twins, Aki and Yuki, closed the line—perfect mirrors in slim black suits and slicked-back hair.
The identical burn scars beneath their chins caught the light every so often, like glowing brands of survival.
They didn’t speak. They never did unless they had to.
And when they did, it was in a fragmented echo, like one mind split in two bodies.
They moved in unison.
Always had.
Even now, their footsteps matched without effort.
Ten of my men followed behind them, tense and trained, but even they moved like satellites orbiting a darker moon.
The Claws didn’t just bring danger into the space.
They were the danger.
Silent, threatening danger.
Only Hiro let his lollipop click against his teeth. That sound was worse than silence. It was a promise of death to the discovered traitor.
Soon we’ll be there and I’ll get some fucking answers.
From this hill, I could see it.
The bamboo room.
Far at the rear edge of the compound, past the servant quarters and guard barracks, beyond the koi ponds and night gardens, it glowed faintly in the dark.
Glass walls stretched high and clear, catching the moonlight. The light from within was low and gold. Inside, I could make out the faint sway of the bamboo—lush green stalks moving in time with the wind, their shadows slithering like dancers on the panes.
A large koi pond curved around the building’s eastern side, tranquil and untouched. The sliding door faced the path we were walking on now.
And then I heard it.
A scream. Far off. Male. Ragged. Torn straight from the lungs. It wasn’t the sound of a man being punished. It was the sound of a man realizing—too late—that his punishment was just beginning.
Another scream followed. Shorter. Higher. Then silence. Even the wind went still for a moment as if it wanted no part of what could come next.
But these were normal sounds when heading to my bamboo room, so I ignored them.
Keeping my pace, Hiro turned his head slightly toward me with his lollipop tucked in the corner of his mouth and knife swinging at his side. “Reo’s injuries had me worried for a little bit.”
I didn’t say anything at first, because I’d been thinking about Reo too.
The knife wounds. The bullets. The fact that when I visited him in his hospital room, blood was spilling from his mouth yet he was still giving orders the whole time while two doctors stitched him up.
My Roar.
Still calculating enemy angles and prioritizing extraction routes like the bastard hadn’t just taken a round to the shoulder and a blade to the ribs.
It almost made me smile because I knew Reo. The moment the stitches held and the IV ran dry, he’d rip the bandages off himself and show up for morning briefings like nothing happened.
Bleeding or not, my Roar would never stay quiet for long.
However, during my visit, I had forced him to shut up, lay back, and calm down. As far as I knew, he was pouting in the room right now.
Putting a hospital on the island had been his idea.
Now he was the first patient, along with some of my Fangs.
Damn it, Reo. You should have left with me. Why did I let you stay? I fucked up and will never forgive myself for that.
I could still see the blood soaking through his shirt, smell the copper in the room.
For a second, I almost called off this war. After losing my mother and Jobon, I didn’t have another grave left in me. Not for the people I loved.
But war had already begun, so I had to see Reo’s injuries as hard lessons. While I hadn’t harmed my Roar, every bullet that had hit Reo’s body could be traced back to a bad decision I made.
Tonight, I would be fixing those decisions.
Already, I had rerouted my Tiger’s personal security and ordered them to report directly to the bamboo room. Each step they took was mirrored by my armed men, making sure no one tried to escape. Everyone who was supposed to protect her would now be under a microscope made of fire.
There was no cellular signal on the island, but that would never be enough to stop an inventive traitor. Satellite boosters could be hidden in belt buckles. Some signals could be piggybacked on dormant emergency bands.
Desperation didn’t just breed creativity, it sharpened it.
That was why my people had confiscated everything the moment anyone touched down on the island. Phones. Smartwatches. Fitness trackers. Bluetooth earbuds. Anything with a circuit. There was even a check for thermal patches with embedded GPS.
And for the more subtle betrayers, my hackers already pre-scrambled the airwaves with wideband jammers and placed frequency traps across the island perimeter—silent nets that would light up the moment someone tried to send even a whisper off the grid.
No one would talk without me knowing.
And if they did?
I would drag them to the bamboo room myself.
A scream tore through the night, jagged and wet.
Hiro took the lollipop out of his mouth with his free hand. It was bright red with a white swirl. Then, Hiro put his gaze to me. The moon lit half his face in silver, the other side in shadow. “Why wouldn’t you let me go to the club? We could have helped Reo and the Fangs.”
“They made it out.”
“Barely. They fought over a hundred men.”
“That’s why they are who they are.”
“Still. Reo is aggravating, but I like Reo without stiches and losing blood.”
I smirked. That was the closest Hiro would ever get to saying how much he cared for my Roar.
He pointed the lollipop at me. “But do you know what upsets me the most about this night?”
“The surprise attack?”
“No. I expected that from our father.”
“Our rushing this bomb plan?”
“No. I’m happy to finally get to set the bombs off. I never wanted the days’ delay like you did. Plus, I’m excited to begin this war. Another day our father lives is a day of suffering for me.”
Up ahead, a sharp, high-pitched wail echoed.
I tensed and glanced at him. “Then, what are you the most upset by about this night?”
“I was told your Tiger made bento boxes of soul food for Reo, the Fangs, and Eyes. They said it was a full sample of all her delights from the evening.”
“Who told you this?”
“You know as well as any that the Fangs gossip like women. And they bragged a lot this evening. They said she drew fangs for them and eyes for the Cum Guards—”
“They are my Eyes. I’ve asked you to not call them Cum Guards.”
“She drew a mouth roaring for your Roar. Doesn’t that sound creative?”
Ignoring him, I put my focus back on the path.
“Additionally, she even had little notes of appreciation for their service on the boxes. Drew flowers and everything.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Does she not know about your brother?”
“I’ve told her about you.”
“Has she never heard about your Claws?”
“She has.”
“And yet no bento box for me or our men?”
Behind us, the Claws’ boots crunched harder into the gravel. They were measured steps turning into something just shy of loud stomps which told me that every last one of them was very fucking pissed about not getting my Tiger’s food.
Up ahead, a voice cried out for help once—then again, shorter, as if whatever breath he had left, the bamboo had punched out of him.
I sneered and raised my voice. “I have other things on my mind right now. If any of you are fucking hungry, I will have my chef make you all a five-course meal when we return to the house.”