Chapter 41 Soul Food for Soldiers
Chapter forty-one
Soul Food for Soldiers
Nyomi
Minutes later, I entered the bedroom, closed the door behind me, and leaned against it.
Breathe. Just breathe.
My pulse was still erratic, my skin still humming from everything that had just happened. The twins remained on the other side of that door under Hiro's calm authority. Meanwhile, Hiro was going to take the phone to his brother.
My thoughts spun in my head, torturing me with what-ifs and maybes.
I closed my eyes and desperately tried to snuff out the relentless images flashing behind my lids.
It was as if some malicious film director had taken up residence in my mind, intent on replaying the night’s events in an unending loop.
Did we really find all the spies?
I opened my eyes.
The stillness of the room mocked my internal turmoil.
The moonlight streamed through the windows, painting the space in shades of silver and shadow.
The bed—where Kenji had expertly fucked me last night and then given me passionate aftercare—now looked foreboding and distant.
But my body remembered.
Even now, with fear still thrumming through my veins, my thighs clenched at the memory.
The way he'd spread me open and devoured me like I was his last meal.
The way his voice had dropped to that dangerous register when he'd told me exactly what he was going to do—and then done it, over and over, until I'd forgotten my own name.
I pressed my palm against my lower belly, trying to quiet the ache that stirred there.
Not now. Focus.
But my mind was already drifting to those sketches I'd found in Mami's room. Kenji and Hiro tangled together, all hard pierced big cocks and dangerous want. The way Mami had drawn Kenji's jaw clenched in pleasure, Hiro’s back arched, Kenji’s hand gripping their cocks until cum spilled out.
Stop it.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
God, I needed Kenji back here not just because I worried about him.
I also needed his weight pressing me into that mattress.
Needed him to fuck the fear right out of me until I couldn't think about spies, serpents, or anything but the shove and drag of his hard, pierced cock inside me.
Don’t worry. Kenji is the Dragon for a reason. He’s got Reo and Hiro. He’s got the Fangs and the Claws. They’ll do the rest and figure this out.
I swallowed and brought myself back to the space again.
The bedroom was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the bedside lamp.
Normal.
As if my entire world hadn't just shifted on its axis. And then another realization pierced through the haze.
Sako.
My stomach tightened. He was the house manager, the one orchestrating the cleaning staff with quiet efficiency.
He had been in this room and supervised people who touched these sheets, fluffed the pillows, arranged the flowers on the nightstand.
He walked these halls with keys and access to everything. He knew our routines.
Our footsteps.
Our vulnerabilities.
I wrapped my arms around myself and stared at the bed again, but now a cold shudder rippled down my spine. The idea that someone entrusted with our living space had been a spy made the walls feel too thin, the shadows too deep.
Kenji’s world is no fucking joke.
I thought of him again, and a sharp ache squeezed my chest.
Kenji trusted Sako. Really trusted him. Maybe not with all secrets, but with the rhythm of his homes.
Surely, Kenji carried this dangerous underworld on his shoulders and didn’t often let anyone lighten that load. But Sako had been one of the few allowed to step close—to manage the softness around the steel.
My throat tightened.
Kenji was going to take this hard. So much harder than he would probably ever admit.
All I could think about was Kenji’s face when he read my text. The quiet, inward collapse that must have happened in his chest.
He needed someone with him tonight.
Not just Reo.
Not the Fangs or Claws.
But me.
Get back here, Kenji.
I pushed off the door and let my gaze drift toward the bathroom. I needed steam. Heat. Something to pull me out of my own head. I needed a reset, even if it was temporary, even if it lasted only until Kenji walked back through that door.
My scalp ached suddenly, like my braids remembered the night too.
I sighed.
I was still supposed to get my hair done tomorrow—fresh parts, clean lines, new extensions. The fact that normal life things still existed—hair appointments, routine maintenance, schedules—felt absurd.
But maybe I needed that.
Something ordinary.
Something grounded.
Something mine.
I headed for the bathroom and undressed.
The moment I stepped inside and reached for the shower handle, the familiarity of it—chrome, pressure, heat—calmed me a fraction. I turned the water on and waited until steam curled upward in thick white ribbons.
The water was scalding when I stepped under it, but I didn't adjust the temperature. I wanted to feel something other than the ghost of serpents slithering along my body.
Steam filled the space as I scrubbed my skin until my muscles finally began to unclench.
By the time I stepped out and wrapped myself in a towel, I felt almost normal again.
Almost.
Getting dressed in silk pajamas furthered the normalcy.
Then, a knock came at the bedroom door.
I froze.
Who is that?
I headed to the door and opened it. Surprise hit me. It wasn't Hiro or Kenji standing there.
It was four of Kenji’s guards—all tall, stone-faced men I vaguely recognized from the security team.
One of them stepped forward and his expression revealed nothing. "Apologies for the intrusion, I'm here to retrieve Totoro for Kenji-sama."
The flame torch.
My stomach dropped.
I stepped aside, and the guards moved past me, lowered by the bed, and then pulled a massive equipment bag from under it.
Wow.
Without hesitation, one unzipped the bag and two other men pulled out the device.
Totoro. Such an innocent name for something so brutal.
The flame torch's polished metal caught the light with a blaze even though unlit. I bet when it was active, its controlled fire created a sphere of warm illumination that pushed back any darkness.
The guards gave me a curt nod, lifted the heavy thing, and then disappeared back through the door, closing it softly behind him.
My pulse hit a frantic staccato.
Kenji was going to burn someone tonight.
Several someones.
Alive.
And my mind—traitorous, vivid—began to paint the scene.
I heard the first scream before I even realized I had imagined it. A raw, animal sound echoing against concrete walls.
A body thrashing, tied to a metal chair.
The hiss of Totoro’s ignition, a whoosh of hungry air collapsing in on itself before the flame bloomed bright and furious.
The smell—God, the smell—seared into my imagination: hair singeing, skin blistering, layers of tissue melting into grotesque shadow-puppets dancing on the wall behind the victim.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but the images didn’t stop.
They only sharpened.
Kenji, standing over all traitors, face carved from shadow and bone. Calm. Controlled. Beautiful in that terrifying way of his—beautiful like a storm at its peak, when the wind has decided to tear roofs from houses and doesn’t care about any harm.
The traitors’ screaming turning hoarse, then soft, then silent.
Smoke curled upward in elegant gray ribbons, the same way steam curled in my shower minutes ago.
My stomach twisted at the grotesque mirror of it—cleansing versus destruction.
I forced myself to breathe through my nose.
But the choking phantom scent lingered: charred flesh, burnt hair, fear sweating out of pores in thick beads.
I opened my eyes.
The room was serene again. Silver moonlight, silk sheets, the soft hum of the air vent.
He’s really going to burn people alive. . .
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.