Chapter 8
Chapter eight
The Most Dangerous Fashion Show
Kenji
The dining room was already loud when we walked in.
The Claws' laughter rolled deep and unguarded. I'd never heard them sound so happy in my life.
And the space. . .my Tiger had transformed it.
Two dozen black and silver candles threw flickering shadows across black velvet draping and polished wood.
A soft piano moved through the speakers.
Wax, dried flowers, and something older hung in the air.
The Claws pointed, grinned, and high-fived like boys at a festival.
Candles and velvet. Fire on the table and music in the walls. That was all she'd done, and it had meant the world to them.
Very interesting, Tora.
But the real thing that shocked the shit out of me was the clothes.
They really took this Best Dressed contest seriously.
Hiro was already planted at the head of the table like he owned the estate and everyone in it.
A large hat sat on top of his head.
Massive.
Black.
Wide-brimmed and furry.
“Finally, the Dragon arrives.” Hiro hit me with a large grin, displaying two oversized diamond-encrusted fangs in his upper row.
I blinked. “What the hell is that?”
“Fashion.” Hiro rose. “You should see the whole outfit.”
“No. I don’t think I need to.”
“You do.” Hiro left the table anyway and began to strut in front of me, banging this gold and ivory cane on the floor with each step.
I didn’t know what to look at first.
His muscular chest was bare beneath a long black fur coat that hung from his shoulders like a cape. The hem brushed the backs of his calves.
Four sparkling diamond necklaces draped across his collarbone and sternum.
Then diamond claws capped every finger.
Black leather pants and heeled boots completed the ridiculous outfit.
I tilted my head to the side. "Did my Tiger dress you?”
"Our Tiger did send a very nice tuxedo." Hiro spread his arms wide. The fur coat fanned open like wings. "But I had to decline. Nothing could beat this outfit."
Reo looked him up and down. "Well. That's one way to look at this situation."
Hiro threw his head back and laughed.
I let my gaze drift past him and finally took in the rest of my Claws.
They'd dressed themselves, and it showed. Each one had interpreted the all-black dress code through the lens of whoever the hell he was beneath the violence.
Kaede sat on the far side of the table like a man posed for one of those old royal portraits. His platinum-blond hair had been braided and then pinned atop his head in the shape of a heart. The hair shimmered too. Perhaps glitter or something had been sprayed all over it.
I blinked. “What is going on with your head?”
“It’s a tribute to the Heart.”
Reo snickered.
I rolled my eyes and took in the rest of him.
Kaede had chosen a high-collared white shirt buttoned to the throat with a tailored black leather jacket over it. The lapels held a faint liquid sheen in the candlelight.
Obsidian cufflinks rested at his wrists.
Crimson red leather gloves covered his hands and tiny black hearts decorated them.
A single heart-shaped ruby ring sat heavy on his finger.
And then I saw his eye.
Tonight, his glass eye had been replaced with a diamond, and at its center, a ruby heart sat as the pupil.
And against all sanity I had to admit that under the candlelight, Kaede's face looked less like a face and more like something a Renaissance sculptor had chiseled and then regretted because it came out too beautiful to be allowed in church.
I sighed and turned to Daisuke. At least. . .I thought it was Daisuke. This was a Claw that relished in disappearing within the shadows and never being seen too much.
But tonight, he could not be ignored. He’d dyed his black mohawk candy apple red and had it layered to his head in waves reminiscent of women from the Great Gatsby movie.
Okay. They’ve put too much preparation into this contest.
But more insane. . .he wore a long black silk dress. Strapless. Ostrich feathers decorated the top.
I widened my eyes and checked Reo’s reaction.
My smiling Roar simply shrugged. “You look gorgeous, Daisuke.”
I turned back to Daisuke.
The dress hit his ankles and showed his heavy thick-soled boots. The cut followed his body without clinging. A slit ran up the left and right sides of his muscular thighs, exposing the twin blades strapped to them.
A faint trace of black lipstick softened his mouth. Red blush covered his cheeks. Somehow, he’d put white on his lashes and made them so long the bottom ones kept hitting his cheeks.
If I had not known it was him, I might have mistaken him for some 1920s silent-film siren. Even more, I wasn’t sure how I felt about some of my most dangerous men spending hours tonight on makeup and diamonds.
I quirked my brows. “Why are you wearing a dress?”
His expression remained neutral. “This isn’t a dress.”
I was about to speak when Hiro interrupted. “It isn’t.”
Reo nodded. “I would say it is a deconstructed suit.”
Daisuke bobbed his head. “Exactly.”
“Fine. It’s just. . .” I let out a long breath. “I don’t think my Tiger is giving out an award for the contest. It’s just supposed to be a healthy competition.”
“No. I know our Tiger very well.” Hiro crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m sure there will be something special for the winner.”
This party is going to give me a fucking headache.
I put my gaze on Toma, hoping he would at least be the one with common sense.
Of course not.
This evening, everything about Toma was a dare. His bright purple mohawk stood upright in long spikes with crystal hearts topping each point. I didn’t even know how one could do that or why.
The dress code had been black.
He’d decided on shiny purple. Sequined purple jacket with no shirt to show off his inked purple butterflies dripping with blood and eating away at the rotting skull in the center of his chest.
Purple leather pants with sequined knees.
Purple steel-toed boots.
Purple heart earrings dangling from his ears.
Purple crystal claws dotting each finger.
Toma ran his claws down his jacket. “Hiro thinks I’ll lose because I didn’t stick with the theme, but purple is a shade of black.”
Kaede shook his head. “It isn’t.”
Toma frowned. “Black is in it.”
“It is not.” Kaede laughed.
Toma glared at him. “The Tiger will love it. Watch.”
I found the twins on the other side of the room.
Aki and Yuki stood shoulder to shoulder, identical down to the last breath of detail, like someone had split one vision clean in two and set it loose in the room.
They wore no jacket.
Instead, they had on shirts that weren’t made of fabric, but layers of horizontal pearl chains. They gave us all peeks of their muscular chests and arms.
They wore razor-tailored black pinstripe trousers too. The white lines were thin, sharp, and in perfect symmetry against the midnight black. And those trousers sat high on their waists and flared just enough at the hips to echo a 1920s silhouette—structured, but with a hint of drama.
Black polished shoes.
Matching diamond gold watches and diamond studs in each ear.
But it was their hair that stole the show.
Matching waves.
Glossy and sculpted tight to the head.
Pearl barrettes were layered through a few of the waves.
Their makeup had been matched down to the exact stroke.
Smudged kohl lined their eyes, extending just enough to elongate their gaze into this feminine sultry energy that didn’t belong on two cold-hearted killers.
Their lips held a shimmering red. A faint dusting of silver glitter sat high on their cheekbones.
And then, there were the guns.
Each twin wore a black leather shoulder holster that held 1920s machine guns. The barrels were long and narrow with the most iconic feature being the drum magazine—a round, flat disc attached to the side or bottom.
One twin spoke, “We’re going to win.”
The other nodded. “And if we don’t. . .”
Fast, they yanked out the machine guns, pointed at Reo and me, and then pulled the triggers.
I widened my eyes as streams of bubbles flowed out the machine guns’ tips, arced, and hit Reo and me dead in the face.
Together, they twisted to the side and shot bubbles at the other Claws. “We’re going to blow up this joint!”
Stunned, I stood there, cheek wet, and a single bubble clinging to my chest. I tried not to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. A loud chuckle left me, and Reo followed right along.
Several minutes ago, Reo had stood in an elevator next to me describing a thousand-year-old blood rite that could braid my Tiger's soul to mine until the grave. Now I was standing in a dining room watching my most deadly killers dazzle and shimmer like high-fashion models about to step on a runway.
What a fucking day.
I had fought Hiro and Nyomi on this party, but. . .perhaps I’d been wrong. Maybe, this was exactly what we needed—a moment that made survival worth the cost.
We should have more parties.
Reo pulled his phone from his jacket, read the screen, and tucked it back inside his pocket. "The guards said the Tiger is coming."
A ripple of excitement went through the room. Different Claws fixed themselves, straightening clothes, tucking at pants, and even a few checking their makeup with tiny mirrors I assumed they’d had in their pants.
I shook my head.
I’ll never be able to see the Claws the same way again. She’s transformed them into divas.
“I probably should have said this in the elevator but. . .” Reo stepped close to me and lowered his voice. “Before she comes. I have to prepare you."
"Prepare me for what?"
He held my gaze. "Your Tiger has. . .put herself in charge of Hiroko's. . .male slave. From my understanding, the slave has taken Hiroko’s death badly and immediately attached himself to your Tiger."
"Whose Tiger?"
Reo swallowed.
The room buzzed around us with the Claws’ excited chatter and laughter, curling along piano notes.
Meanwhile, rage rose within me.
Reo kept his composure. “I think her taking care of this slave could be healing."
My jaw tightened.
His voice remained steady. "I can't recommend what you should do in this situation. However. . .the man seems harmless.”
Before I could say anything, the doors opened, and my Tiger strolled in.
She was so fucking breathtaking my heart damn near seized in my chest. All day I’d wanted to see her, touch her, kiss those lips, wrap my arms around her, and inhale that lush scent.
Finally, she was here and my whole body stiffened. Every muscle locked—my hands, my spine, and the base of my throat.
Goddamn it.
The gown was a dazzling, shimmering black. Strapless. It held her breasts high and full and presented the smooth sweep of her shoulders.
On the left side of the gown was a large cutout in the shape of a heart that revealed her silky brown skin along with the curve of her waist and the edge of her hip.
A groan built in my chest and I strangled it before it reached my mouth. I wanted to cross the room and put my hands on the heart cutout and feel the warmth of her skin through the frame of it.
Long black diamonds hung from her neck, heavy and elegant. Her braids were swept up in an updo that showed the full length of her neck, the line of her jaw, and my bite marks that I’d intended to freshen this evening.
There was this long slit that went high up her thigh and showed a freshly inked temporary tattoo of a dragon climbing up it.
My cock jumped in my pants, and I licked my lips.
Careful, Tora. Do you want me to enjoy the party? Or fuck you right here?
Then I looked down and more rage came.
What the fuck?
A man was on his hands and knees like a dog in front of her.
He was skinny and had to be short. He wore this black bodysuit that covered him head to toe.
Only his eyes, nose, and mouth were visible.
The fabric was tight against his ribs, his elbows, the knobs of his spine.
A leather harness was strapped across his chest with the straps forming an X over his sternum.
From the strap’s center ring, a gold chain extended upward into Nyomi's left hand.
I gritted my teeth.
Nyomi held it loosely and stepped further into the room. The slave crawled at her heel, stayed barely a foot away from her, and then lifted his gaze lovingly up to her.
The dragon in me tried to punch its way out of my ribs. I wanted to burn the bodysuit off him and eat his fucking heart for dinner.
The Claws reacted, staring at Nyomi with their mouths open, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between their lungs and their teeth. Then, one by one, their eyes dropped to the slave.
Three full seconds of silence passed.
The twins were the only ones to speak, “What the—”
“Fuck?” the other finished.
What the fuck? Indeed.