Chapter 25 The Red Riding Hood Collector
Chapter twenty-five
The Red Riding Hood Collector
Nyomi
The helicopter blades cut through the air like the thoughts slicing through my mind.
Those photos that Kenji and Reo had shown me played on repeat. The violation made my skin crawl. But beneath the terror, something hotter burned.
Rage.
Pure, white-hot rage.
They wanted to kill me.
Or kidnap me.
Fuck them. How dare they?
Kenji’s thumb drew slow circles against my palm, grounding me, reminding me I wasn’t alone.
My heart hammered against my ribs, but my brain was already shifting gears—moving from panic to something colder.
More focused.
I wasn’t a gangster.
No gun skills.
No combat training.
No experience with violence beyond what I’d witnessed in Kenji’s world.
But I’d hunted before—just not with weapons.
I’d hunted with words.
Questions.
Patience.
The ability to read people and make them reveal themselves.
Kenji looked at me. “Are you sure you’re okay with doing this?”
Reo watched me too.
I nodded. "I've done this before, at least this time I’m not alone."
Kenji's expression shifted to curious. "What was the other time?"
Reo leaned forward slightly.
I took a breath. "Five years ago, I helped put a serial killer away.”
Reo blinked.
“The police had nothing—no bodies, no evidence. Just suspicions and a comatose reporter who'd gotten too close."
Kenji's grip on my hand tightened. "Comatose reporter?"
"The tabloids called the serial killer the Red Riding Hood Collector.”
Reo quirked his brows. “Why?”
“Every missing victim had long red hair. Each one vanished at midnight.” I tensed. “The reporter on the assignment was Darren Kohl. He was investigating a butcher shop owner in Wisconsin."
I could still see that headline. "He'd called his boss and said he was close to identifying the killer but didn't give a name.
That night, Darren's rental car went off the road near Pine Hollow Woods.
It wrapped around a birch tree. He shattered both legs, and fractured his skull.
They pulled him out of the wreckage, and he was mumbling one name over and over—'Caleb Ward.
Caleb Ward.' Then he went into a coma. So. . .I went down to finish his work."
Kenji's voice grew dangerous. "Why did they send you?"
Kenji sounded like if he didn’t like the answer he would bomb the newspaper.
I gave him a sad smile. "No journalist with any common sense would take it.”
Reo snorted.
“Therefore, the New York Ledger needed a freelancer. They offered me triple pay, hazard insurance, and a front-page byline." I shrugged. "Rent was due, and I've always been too curious for my own good."
Reo's expression hadn't changed, but I saw the calculation in his eyes. "You went alone?"
"Yes."
Kenji's jaw clenched, but he didn't interrupt.
"When I met Caleb Ward, he didn't look like a killer.
Mid-forties. Clean-cut. Gentle eyes. The first lie he told with his face.
" I could still smell that jail visitation room—soap, metal, and the odor of wrongness.
It all made my skin crawl. "He sat across from me with his hands folded neatly and asked, before I could even hit record, 'Do you know why they call me the Butcher? '"
Kenji frowned. "What did you say?"
"I said, 'Because you own a butcher shop.'"
The corner of Reo's mouth twitched.
"He smiled. 'No. Because people like things tidy. Labels make evil easier to live with.'" I remembered that smile. Too small. Too controlled. "I asked if he was evil. He shook his head. 'No. I am necessary.'"
The helicopter banked slightly.
Kenji's thumb had stopped moving against my palm. His hand was now completely still.
"He talked about his mother a lot. Margaret Ward.
A widow who'd raised him alone on their family farm.
He told me how she loved gardening. How she said the soil remembered kindness.
How she'd taught him to bury things deep—'so they could rest.'" I paused.
"The way he said garden made my skin crawl.”
Reo tilted his head to the side. “Why?”
“Because. . .he said it like the garden was holy. Like it was breathing."
Reo nodded. "You knew he was guilty."
"I knew. But knowing and proving are different things. The police had no bodies." I looked at Kenji. "So, I pressed where it hurt. I told him people said his mother was disappointed in him when she was alive. That she thought he was weak."
Kenji's eyes narrowed. "You provoked him."
"Yes. His eyes twitched, just a fraction. He said, 'My mother was a saint.' So I asked if she'd be proud of what he did." I could still see his face through that glass barrier. "He stared at me and said, 'I didn't do anything, but if I did. . .she would be proud because she's with them now.’”
Reo tapped his finger against his wrist. “The garden.”
“That's what he said. 'She's with my special, precious flowers. She's taking care of them. Keeping them safe. She always loved tending her garden. Now she will do it in the afterlife.'"
The words came out mechanical.
I'd memorized every syllable. "I asked what he meant. He leaned closer and smiled—slow, eerie, almost tender—and said, 'She taught me how to return things to the earth. Said everything that dies just wants to go home.’ Then, he went on and on about how the roses were higher than last year."
Reo considered that, “Did he have a garden?”
“He didn’t. He just lived in the apartment above his butcher shop. However, I knew that he had to have a garden somewhere. . .one connected to his mother.”
Reo appeared absolutely fascinated. “Did you try to get the location?”
I shook my head. “I had some ideas already. Plus, I was ready to get out of there.”
“Why?”
"Because. . .he looked at me and said, 'You're just as pretty as any flower I’ve ever seen.’”
Kenji's hand had turned to stone in mine.
“And. . .although I knew I didn’t have red hair like his victims, I was terrified to have his attention.”
The temperature in the helicopter dropped ten degrees.
Rage covered Kenji’s face. "You left."
“Immediately. I turned off my recorder and went straight to the sheriff outside the door. My hands had been shaking so badly.” I swallowed.
"Two hours later, they found the bodies behind his mother's farmhouse.
Buried beneath the hydrangeas and circled around the biggest rosebush in her old garden.
Six women. Each wrapped in burlap, and laid carefully, like they were tucked in for sleep. "
Silence filled the space.
I had no idea what they thought of me from this story. I’d put myself in danger for money and the adrenaline high of an article. . .but I’d helped too.
I let out a long breath. "The Ledger gave me a bonus and tried to hire me fulltime after that, but I wanted to be clean of it all."
Reo studied me with new interest. "You got him to confess without him realizing he was confessing."
Kenji's grip on my hand loosened slightly, but his eyes blazed with something between fury and pride. "You walked into a visiting room with a serial killer. Alone."
"Yeah."
"He threatened to kill you." The Dragon's fire was barely leashed. "To your face. And you just walked out and went to work."
I held his gaze. "What else was I supposed to do?"
"Not put yourself in that position in the first place." His thumb brushed across my knuckles. The touch was gentle despite the rage in his voice. "But you did. You got him to confess by asking the right questions."
"I believe so."
Darkness flashed across his face. "That's exactly what you'll do with my spies."
My stomach tightened at the look in his eyes. "That's my plan."
He leaned closer. "But this time, you're not alone in that room. This time, I'm right outside the door. And if anyone—anyone—threatens my Tiger the way that bastard did. . ."
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
The promise in his eyes said everything.
The helicopter tilted as we approached the mansion, and the movement made my stomach lurch.
Or maybe that wasn't the helicopter at all.
For a split second, I smelled it—wet dirt and copper, thick enough to choke on. The memory clawed its way up from where I'd buried it.
I hadn't told them the rest.
How for months after the Ward case, I couldn't sleep through the night.
How every dream began in a garden where the air smelled like death and somewhere in the dark, a woman hummed a lullaby meant for me.
How I'd walk toward the sound and watch the hydrangeas move like they were breathing.
How a pale hand would shoot up through the soil, trembling, grasping. . .
And I'd wake up choking on a scream that never made it out.
Five years later, I still couldn't look at hydrangeas without feeling that hand reaching for me.
It’s okay. You’re with the Dragon now.
I shook off the memory and focused on the mansion below.
This time would be different.
This time, I wasn't hunting alone in the dark.
The helicopter began its descent.
Finding these hidden spies terrified me—I'd be lying if I said otherwise. But not participating? Standing on the sidelines while they hunted me? That was worse than any nightmare.
I'd walked into a room with a serial killer and walked out alive.
I could do this.
I had to do this.
Because I wasn't prey.
Not anymore.
Not ever again.
I was the hunter now. I was the Tiger.
We landed.
Kenji helped me out, and the moment my feet touched the ground, I felt the shift in protection.
All of the guards moved into formation either in front or behind me.
Next, Reo appeared on my left, and Kenji remained on my right.
I was protected by some of the most dangerous men on this island.
We walked toward the mansion’s entrance, and just before we reached the doors, I stopped and dropped my voice to a whisper. "I want to see the Scales' rooms."
Both men went still.
"Their quarters," I clarified. "Yuki, Mami, and Hina. While they're not there. Before I ever speak to them."
Kenji's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Because people reveal themselves in their private spaces. What they keep. What they hide. How they arrange things." I met his gaze. "I need to see who they are when they think no one's watching. That's how I'll know which questions to ask."
Reo's expression shifted. "Like you did with Ward. You researched him before the interview."
"I knew his mother died. I knew about the farm that was abandoned. The police had searched throughout, even with dogs. . .for whatever reason, the garden never yanked at anyone’s suspicions.
Anyway, I used that information to press where it would hurt most." I looked between them.
"I need the same advantage here. Let me see their rooms first, then I'll know exactly what questions will make them slip. "
Reo smiled. "I'll arrange it. After the meeting with the Fangs and Claws. I'll make sure all three are occupied elsewhere."
Kenji didn’t look pleased, but he nodded. "After the meeting."
With that settled, we entered the mansion with me walking in front of them.
The meeting would reveal a strategy that would hopefully make these spies expose themselves.
As we crossed the mansion’s marble foyer, I heard the faintest whisper behind me.
For some reason, Kenji and Reo walked a few steps in the back, and Kenji’s words lowered as if he was trying to make sure I didn’t hear him. “Find out if this serial killer is still alive, and what prison he’s in.”
Reo murmured, “I’d already made a note on the helicopter.”
My whole body tensed, but I didn’t turn around. Didn’t flinch. Just kept walking forward like I hadn’t heard. Still, my pulse thrummed hard enough to make my vision blur.
If Kenji found out that Caleb Ward was still breathing. . .he would kill him.
And it wouldn’t be out of justice for the six victims.
It would be out of principle for threatening me.
The thought made my throat tighten. Because part of me—God help me—wouldn’t stop him or even try. Ward had haunted my dreams for years, the echo of his voice creeping through every silence.
The idea of Kenji’s men walking into that prison and ending that monster’s life. . .it should have repulsed me.
Instead, it made my heart warm and my stomach twist with darkness.
That should have scared me too.
But I could feel myself changing the more I spent time with him. . .I could feel myself understanding the necessity for death and violence.