Chapter 29 Our Tiger
Chapter twenty-nine
Our Tiger
Kenji
My Tiger's pussy was so good, I almost decided to stay on the island and forget the war.
Almost.
Because I knew what my father was capable of, and I knew what my father would do if I delayed any further. I had to stay focused and get rid of him so that me and Nyomi could have a future.
But fuck, between the scent of her pussy and the memory of her moans in my ear, I wanted to burn the whole world down just to keep this moment going. Her eyes were still glazed from the orgasm I'd just given her.
I kissed her again.
Couldn't help it.
My mouth found hers, and she melted into me like she always did.
Soft.
Trusting.
Mine.
When I finally pulled back, we left the shower.
Goddamn it. I have to beat my father and get back to her. There can be no other outcome.
I handed her a towel and wrapped one around my own waist. Water dripped down my chest, and I watched her eyes track the movement. Heat flared in her gaze, and I almost said fuck it and took her right there against the bathroom counter.
But I had a war to fight.
I sighed. "Have fun when you get your hair braided."
She frowned as if the very idea would be impossible.
My voice came out rougher than I intended. "Go ahead and continue with the plans for the day. Watch the movies with everyone left on the island. Raise the morale among our people.”
She sighed.
“Do not stress about me. I want you to be happy and safe."
“Okay.” She nodded, but I could see the worry still sitting in her eyes.
Toweled up, we walked into the bedroom together, and that's when I heard Hiro's voice.
"And don't forget about finishing up any plans for the party. We can surely have the party this evening in celebration for killing our father."
“What the fuck?!” Nyomi jumped beside me.
I stopped us by the doorway and stared. “Are you insane?”
“Some would say yes.” Hiro lounged on our bed like he owned it. His head rested on Nyomi's pillows, and his bare feet were crossed at the ankles. He had a joint between his lips, and smoke curled lazily up toward the ceiling. A knife sat on the bed next to him, gleaming in the low light.
I frowned. "Are you comfortable?"
Hiro pulled the joint from his mouth and blew out smoke. "Of course. Although I must complain that the noise from the shower was not loud enough to my liking. We’ll have to change that one day."
I sneered.
“Just a small critique, brother. Nothing to get pissed about.”
Nyomi blinked. “How long have you been there?”
“Not long enough.” He leaned forward and pressed his face into her pillow, inhaled deeply, and then he looked at me with that infuriating grin. "Did you know the bed smells like your Tiger?"
“I’m aware of that. I’m more annoyed you know that.”
He inhaled the pillow again. “I’ll have to come visit here more often.”
I crossed the room. “I’m changing the guards in front of my bedroom.”
“Why? New ones won’t stop me from coming in here either.”
“A Fang could.”
“No, Brother. It would need to be at least three Fangs.”
“I’ll be sure to let them know that.” I took the joint from his hand.
The paper was damp where his lips had been, and I brought it to my mouth and inhaled. The smoke was thick and earthy, with a sweetness underneath that told me this was the good stuff. The kind Hiro kept hidden in his personal stash. I held it in my lungs for a moment before exhaling slowly.
The scent filled the room. Rich and herbal with a faint spice that clung to the back of my throat.
I offered it to Nyomi who was watching us with a wicked smirk.
She shook her head and headed to the closet.
I took another hit and then blew out smoke. "Why are you here?"
Hiro's smile widened. "Because I'm saying goodbye to my Tiger too."
Nyomi’s laughter echoed from the closet. She thought he was joking.
But I knew better.
I looked at my brother sprawled across the bed like he'd been invited, and I knew with absolute certainty that he was one hundred percent serious.
Hiro had come in here to say goodbye to Nyomi. To my woman. And he didn't give a single fuck that it was inappropriate or that I might have a problem with it.
The worst part?
I didn't even mind.
I gestured to the knife on the bed. "What's that for?"
Hiro raised his eyebrows. "Did you forget already?"
"Forget what?"
"Your mother's ways.” He sat up. " Reo and me assumed you were going to do this."
"Do what?"
"Get the Tiger's blood."
“What?” Nyomi walked out of the closet, now in a robe. Her hair was still damp and hung in thick braids down her back. She looked between us with confusion written across her face. "What would we need my blood for?"
Hiro grabbed the joint from me. “To protect our guns.”
Oh.
The memory hit me fast.
I was a kid again. Maybe six or seven years old. Standing in my father's study while my mother stood beside him.
The Fox had a gun in his hand, and he was checking the barrel.
Once done, my mother held out her hand.
Palm up.
Finger extended.
Then, the Fox took a small blade and pricked her fingertip.
Blood welled up, bright red against her pale skin. My mother didn't flinch. She just pressed her finger to the top of his gun and smeared her blood across the metal.
"For protection," she'd said. "And power."
The Fox had smiled at her. Not warmly. But with the kind of satisfaction a man gets when something he owns performs exactly as expected.
And then he'd gone to war.
The irony wasn't lost on me even as a child. My father spent years downplaying my mother, insulting her lineage and treating her like she was beneath him.
But he would never go to war without her blood on his guns.
Never.
I looked at Hiro. He'd been standing next to me that day in the study. Younger than me. Quieter. I'd assumed he didn't remember.
But clearly, he did.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
I looked at it. "Enter."
The door opened and three servants filed in carrying large and black ceramic vases. Each one was filled with fresh white roses. The blooms were full and open. The petals were bright against the dark stems.
I tensed.
The first servant placed a vase on the side table near the window. The second moved toward the dresser. The third headed for the nightstand next to the bed.
White petals.
My vision tunneled.
The dream crashed into me without warning—black water at my waist, chrysanthemums breaking the surface, white petals pressing into my skin, dissolving into my tattoos, stems punching between my ribs, roots threading around my heart.
White swallowing black.
White replacing me.
White blooming from the splits in my skin.
My chest seized. My throat closed. The room smelled sweet and wrong. "Get these flowers out of here!"
The servants stared at me and froze.
"Now!" My hands were shaking. I fisted them at my sides.
The servants looked at each other. Confusion crossed their faces.
Seconds later, they moved fast. All three grabbed the vases and rushed toward the door. Water sloshed over the rims. A few white petals scattered across the floor as they hurried out.
I stared at the fallen petals, and my skin crawled.
Nyomi stepped forward and her hand touched my arm.
I flinched before I could stop myself.
"Kenji? What's—"
"I'm fine."
My heart slammed so hard I could feel the pulse in my teeth. My body remembered what my mind was trying to cage—the feeling of roots fusing with my organs, of chrysanthemums feeding from my blood, of my own heartbeat changing rhythm to match something that was killing me.
They were roses. Not chrysanthemums. Calm down.
Meanwhile, I knew that Nyomi didn't believe me.
I could see it happening behind her eyes—that thing she did where she took apart everything in front of her and reassembled it into the truth.
Her gaze moved from my fisted hands to my jaw to the scattered petals on the floor and back to my face, and I could practically hear the pieces clicking into place.
"Stop reading me, Tora."
She blinked.
I cleared my throat. "I'm fine."
She didn't push. But she didn't stop reading me either. I could feel it. She just went quiet with it—took the whole operation underground where I couldn't tell her to stop.
I sighed.
Hiro put out the joint in an ash tray that he must have brought in here with him. “Are you okay, brother?”
I nodded.
His eyes moved from the scattered petals on the floor to my face, and I watched the playfulness drain out of him like water from a cracked glass.
He didn't ask what was wrong. He just studied me with the kind of stillness that meant he was cataloging everything—my breathing, my hands, my eyes—and filing it away.
He knew something had happened. He just didn't know what.
Nyomi's hand found my arm again. Gently this time. "Baby. Talk to me."
"It's nothing." I swallowed. "I just don't want white flowers in here."
She didn't believe me. I could see it in her face, but she didn't push.
An uncomfortable silence settled over the room.
The fallen petals sat on the floor.
Then footsteps approached, and Reo appeared in the doorway with two new servants behind him. They carried my tactical clothes. Black pants reinforced at the knees. A long-sleeve shirt designed for movement. Boots. Weapons belt.
I dropped the towel without ceremony and started getting dressed.
Nyomi's eyes tracked over my body, and I felt her gaze like a physical touch. Heat coiled low in my stomach, and I had to fight the urge to throw her back on the bed and bury myself inside her one more time.
Be careful, Tiger. I'll fuck you right here in front of everybody if you keep looking at me like that.
But I didn't say it out loud. Just pulled on my boxer briefs and pants, then buckled the weapons belt until the weight of it settled against my hips.
Once close to done, I laced my boots.
Nyomi tilted her head and looked at the joint in the ash tray. "Should y'all be smoking before going to do this?"
Both Hiro and I answered at the same time. "Of course."
She smiled and shook her head.
Reo's eyes landed on the knife, and his expression shifted slightly. "Have you already done the ritual?"
I pulled on my shirt. "Not yet."
Nyomi looked between all of us. "What's the ritual?"
Hiro picked up the knife and got off the bed. "We want your blood to smear on our guns."
I couldn't help it and laughed. "Our guns?"
Hiro turned to me. “Yeah.”
I laughed some more. “Our guns like yours and mine?”
Hiro shrugged. "Yeah. She's going to put blood on mine too."
“That’s not fucking happening.”
Hiro pointed at me. “You didn’t even remember the damn ritual.”
“Doesn’t matter. My Tiger. My blood for my guns.”
“Stop being greedy with her—”
“I can be as greedy as I fucking want. I’m already sharing her goddamn food—”
“That’s a basic thing.”
“Be grateful for that.”
Nyomi stopped Hiro before he could respond. “First of all, since we are talking about my blood, I think I can respond.”
Here we go.
“I have enough blood for you both.”
I rolled my eyes and stifled my groan. “This is bullshit.”
A huge smile spread across Hiro’s face.
Reo pulled his gun from his holster and held it up. "Actually, I thought it would be all three of us."
I stared at him.
Knowing he’d pissed me off, Reo didn’t even glance my way.
Nyomi smirked. “I would be honored, Reo.”