Chapter 9 Quality Assurance
Chapter nine
Quality Assurance
Nyomi
Fast, Hiro moved toward the nearest station, where the honey-bourbon glaze still sat in its small bowl beside pieces of test karaage—Japanese fried chicken, cut into bite-size chunks, marinated in soy, ginger, and garlic, then dusted in starch and fried until the coating turned shatter-crisp while the meat stayed juicy and tender inside.
And Hiro was on his way to fill his mouth with all of it.
I headed over too. "Hiro, don't touch anything."
Too late.
He'd already grabbed a piece of karaage, swiped it through the glaze, and popped it into his mouth.
Damn it.
His eyes closed. A sound came out of him that was low and borderline obscene.
"Mmmm." He chewed slowly. "Nyomi. What the fuck are you about to do to us?"
"The goal is to surprise you, so don’t try anything else—"
“You’re crazy.” He was already reaching for another piece of karaage.
"Hiro!" I lunged toward him, but he danced away with surprising grace for a man his size, the second piece of chicken already disappearing between his lips.
“Are you freaking serious right now?” I placed my hands on my hips. “No more.”
"This is unbelievable." He spoke around the chewing with zero shame. "The heat at the end—it builds. And what’s that. . .bourbon?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you use bourbon?”
“Because my grandmother is from the South and she’s the one who taught me how to cook. And there. . .they put bourbon in food the way most people put salt in theirs.”
He licked the glaze off his thumb slowly. Then he looked at the bowl again—calm, confident, already planning the next theft. “When am I going to meet your grandmother?”
“So, you can bother her about another cocktail party? No.” I chuckled. “You’re not meeting my grandmother.”
“After this war, I will be visiting her. Word spreads. I know where she lives. I’ve got a plate and a plan.”
I blinked. “What does that mean?”
“There’s been talk about her cooking for her security team.”
“Talk?”
Hiro nodded like this was national intelligence. “Lots of talk about peach cobbler and cornbread.”
“Okay. Stop right there.” I pointed at him. "I know one thing. You all better not bother my grandmother or I'm going to be fighting every last one of you."
He quirked his brows.
I pointed at him harder. "And I will win. Because I fight dirty and none of you will see it coming."
“But we all know that Kenji’s Tiger has claws.”
“And don’t forget.”
Hiro eyed the bowl some more. “The bourbon in the glaze, you can taste it but it doesn't overpower—"
"Those were samples. For testing."
"Then, consider them tested. I’m quality assurance.”
“Oh really?”
He touched his chest. “This is a heavy burden I carry for my men."
"You look really burdened."
"It's my cross to bear." He scanned for his next target. "What else do you have?"
"Nothing for you."
But he'd already spotted the mac and cheese croquettes—golden and crispy, arranged on a small plate near the prep station.
"Oh hell no." I stepped between him and the plate. "Absolutely not."
"Just one."
"No."
“Do you know who I am?”
"You're fucking Hiro. A food goblin. Apparently."
"I prefer 'culinary enthusiast.'"
"And I prefer guests who don't steal my test batches' but here we are."
“I’m in charge of the Claws. If you are going to feed my men, then I am supposed to approve each dish. This is our way.”
“I think that’s bullshit and you just made it up.”
He smirked. “Can I get half of one of those things over there.”
“You don’t even know what they are.”
“I don’t need to. They look delicious and smell divine.” He tried to reach around me.
I blocked him. “I want you to be surprised just like them.”
“I’m surprised.” He feinted left, then right. I matched him move for move, and somewhere in the middle of it, I realized I was laughing.
Actually laughing.
He is so crazy.
This man had the instinctual reflexes of an apex predator and the morals of a toddler near cupcakes.
Oh my God.
The heaviness in my chest lifted and all that sadness and anxiety began to disappear.
I’m glad he came in here.
Hiro's grin widened. He looked positively giddy—this massive, tattooed, dangerous man reduced to a child trying to sneak cookies before dinner.
"Fine." He held up his hands in surrender, still grinning. "I'll wait."
"Good."
"But only because I respect the process." He placed his hand over his heart.
Solemn.
Sincere.
My shoulders relaxed. "Thank you, Hiro."
"Of course."
Then—faster than I could react—his hand shot out and snagged a croquette off the plate.
"HIRO!"
“Sorry.” He popped it into his mouth before I could stop him, and then he groaned. Not the polite appreciation sound from the karaage.
This was deeper.
More guttural.
The sound of a man experiencing religious ecstasy.
"Oh my." His eyes rolled back slightly. "Nyomi. What the fuck is in these?"
“You lied to me.”
“My hand is not under my command.”
“Bullshit. You’re being a menace.”
“I promise to spend the rest of my life making that up to you. Now what is in this?”
"They’re called Crazy Croquettes. Three cheeses, bacon lardons, and a bechamel base with—"
"I don't know what some of that is, but. . ." He was already reaching for another one. "I just need two more."
I slapped his hand away. "No!"
"You’re worried about me. You better not let Reo into this kitchen and see these croquettes." He eyed the plate like a predator stalking prey. "Because there won't be any left. The man has a serious addiction to cheese."
I laughed despite myself. "What?"
"It's a problem." Hiro shook his head gravely. "Back when Kenji first took the throne from our father, Reo convinced everyone that the Claws, Fangs, and him should all live together in one house. Said it would form unity. Build brotherhood. Strengthen the bonds between us."
"That sounds nice."
"What Reo failed to mention was that he would be nibbling on everyone's cheese in the middle of the night."
I covered my mouth. "No way.”
"Anytime any of us would buy cheese, put it in the refrigerator, and go to sleep, the next day we would wake up, go to our cheese. . .and you know what we would see?" Hiro mimed opening a refrigerator door, then staring in horror. "Bite marks.”
“No.”
“Yes. Little Reo-sized bite marks in your cheese."
"He didn't even slice it?"
"No. Just picked it up and nibbled. Like a rodent." Hiro leaned in conspiratorially. "I believe Reo was a mouse in his prior life. A very sneaky mouse who pretends to care about unity but really just wants access to more cheese."
Another laugh burst out of me—louder this time, surprised out of my chest.
"Stop." I held up my hand as he inched toward the plate again.
“I’ll give you a lollipop for another croquette.”
“You would give me a lollipop regardless.”
He grabbed for a croquette.
"No."
Then Hiro did something I never expected.
He put his hands together in a full, dramatic, prayer-hands position—pressing his palms together and holding them up to his chin.
His eyes went wide and pleading.
His bottom lip actually trembled.
I watched a man who could kill everyone in this compound without breaking a sweat look at me like I held the keys to heaven.
Over mac and cheese balls.
It was so adorable I almost choked.
"Please, Nyomi. I'll do anything. I'll be your knight in shining armor for the rest of your life. Let me have one more croquette." He pressed his hands tighter together. "Anything you need from me. This is my oath to you."
A helpless giggle escaped me. "Fine. But if I murder somebody, you gotta help me hide the body."
Hiro's hand shot out and grabbed a croquette so fast I barely saw it move.
"Of course." He grinned, popping it into his mouth. "Actually, I'll kill the person for you and hide the body. You'll never need to do anything."
He was smiling when he said it.
But my stomach turned.
Because beneath the playfulness, beneath the charm, I saw it—the absolute certainty in his eyes. He wasn't joking. Not really. If I asked him to kill someone for me, he would do it without hesitation.
Without question.
Without remorse.
The smile stayed on my face, but something cold slithered through my chest.
This is who they are, and. . .this is who I'm with. It’s my new life.
Hiro groaned again as he chewed, completely oblivious to my momentary horror.
"This is insane. The crispy outside and then the cheese just—" He made an exploding gesture near his head. "Both of these are amazing. The chicken is incredible. The croquettes are incredible. How are you this good?"
"The staff actually prepared everything.”
“But these are your ideas.”
“True. Now get away from the dishes."
"But—"
"This cocktail party is for you as well as the Claws. I don't want you sampling everything before the actual event."
"No, no." He held up his hands and backed away from the prep station. "I want to help you with this."
"Seriously?"
"Yes. That’s why I was tracking your scent today. I wanted to make sure you didn’t forget about the party."
“Hiro, how can anyone forget about the party when you are constantly bringing it up?”
“Someone has to keep everyone on the proper course.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re so extra. And stop saying you were tracking my scent.”
“Why?”
“It’s. . .weird.”
“The tracking your scent or the saying that I’m tracking your scent.”
“Both.”
“Well. . .there’s nothing we can do about that.
” He grabbed a stool, dragged it toward the counter, and sat down on it.
"Anyway, I'm glad I tracked your scent here.
And now after trying those two dishes, you are doing an amazing job.
But we need to make sure this continues to go perfectly. So tell me—what else are we doing?"
I studied him for a moment—this man who'd just comforted me through a trauma flashback, stolen my test food, sworn a knight's oath for cheese, and casually offered to commit murder on my behalf.
My new family is weird, but I love them.
He shrugged. “You’re not getting rid of me so you might as well let me help.”
“I see.” I grabbed my sketchpad from the counter and sat down on the stool beside him. "So, I want the cocktail party to have signature drinks."
"Yes. Signature drinks." He grinned and for a second I thought he was going to clap his hands together and squeal.
"The only downside is that it will be a lot of drinks.”
“There can never be too many drinks for the Claws, sis.”
“Well, I want to name a drink after each Claw, so good." I flipped to the pages where I'd started sketching concepts this morning. "And I want these drinks to represent who they are. Their personality. Their ups and downs. What makes them who they are."
Hiro's eyes widened.
"So maybe you can help me with that? You know them better than anyone. You know their stories, their—"
"This is going to be so much fun." He was staring at the sketchpad like it contained the secrets of the universe. "They don't know what's coming for them. How much this is going to mean."
"I hope they like it."
"Like it?" He turned to look at me, and his expression was completely open—no walls, no masks, no predator lurking beneath the surface. Just genuine, overwhelming emotion. "Nyomi, you're naming drinks after them. You're creating dishes that honor where they came from. You're—"
He shook his head slowly. "You're seeing them. Really seeing them. Do you have any idea how rare that is?"
My throat tightened.
"Most people look at the Claws and see weapons. Tools. Dangerous men to be feared or used." His voice caught. "No one asks where they came from. No one wonders what they've survived."
He looked at the sketchpad in my hands. "No one makes them food."
I didn't know what to say.
So I just opened the sketchpad to the first cocktail page and handed him a pencil. "Then help me get it right. Tell me about them."
“Some of it might be sad and I like that you’re in a better mood than when I walked in here.”
“Yeah, but if it gets to be too much. . .” I shrugged. “I’ve got you still here to lift me back up.”
A warm smile spread across his face. “Hmmm. I like that.”