18
You turn my chaotic waters into calm seas.
Takeshi
The blade delicately danced between his fingers, flipping over and over in a smooth rhythm. Takeshi’s back pressed firmly against the wooden door, his shoulders tight.
He didn’t fully understand the near-undeniable urge to guard her bedroom. He rationalized it by keeping a close eye on his adversary. The small girl who had an uncanny knack for burrowing herself under his skin, to the point where she was all he thought about.
When Takeshi woke up, his eyes unintentionally found her.
When he scanned the horizon for threats, he instinctively drew closer.
But when her lips grazed his…the madness was too visceral to be contained.
She was a liar. A criminal like the rest of the Aces. Trying to poison his mind and destroy him from the inside out. That’s what Takeshi kept repeating like a maniacal prayer.
But the taste of her was too addictive.
When her decadent tongue caressed his, it was like setting a match to a ticking bomb.
Kissing her felt right.
Like he should’ve been doing it all along.
For a wild moment, he thought about spending eternity on his knees, just so he could ravish her endlessly.
The sounds she made…
The moans slipping free when he bent her backward and laid claim to her—it was enough to make the strongest man come undone.
If she’d asked him for the sun in that moment, Takeshi would’ve found a way to pull it from the sky.
But when she threw her arms around him, the barest sliver of sanity returned.
He remembered who was in his arms.
And how dangerously close he was to the edge of no return.
It took all his strength and control to tear himself away. Even as Takeshi pulled back, a voice inside him begged to turn around. Screaming how much of a fool he was.
Up to that point, Takeshi had done a good job of beating the strange voice down to a small pebble. It was an insignificant nuisance. But it started getting louder the more time he spent around her.
She was torturous. Maddening.
Every second, he watched her. Every second, he became more unstable in her presence.
And what scared him was that he was actually starting to consider whether she was telling the truth.
What if they truly were on the same side and he’d forgotten her? And they were as close as she claimed?
Did she know that he wasn’t the type of person to do anything by half? If he ever chose a woman to be with, he’d give everything to her.
His strength. His power. His heart.
She’d want for nothing.
But the idea of choosing Khalani Kanes was preposterous.
She was aggravating. Stubborn. Reckless. Defiant. Had zero sense of self-preservation.
Sure, he had to subtly adjust himself when he saw the fight in her eyes, the intelligence leaking off her lips, and the curves of her body that enticed him to no end.
And sure, she possessed a quiet strength that confounded him. When she spoke, others paid attention. In the short time he’d known Khalani—which was only a few weeks—he realized she deeply cared for those around her, even to a fault.
She was unequivocally beautiful in every possible way.
But obstinate. Annoying. Headstrong. Argumentative.
Takeshi crossed his arms, muttering more negative adjectives under his breath to drown out the positive ones.
And yet, he remained in front of her door.
He twirled the knife, reminding himself why he was there.
Only he could touch her.
Only he could kill her.
No one else.
The sentiment was so strong that Takeshi tightened his grip on the blade, nearly wishing an intruder would try to shove past him, just so he could release his agonizing turmoil.
Right at that moment, boots echoed down the hall. Takeshi licked his lips as he lifted the blade a few inches, grateful to spill a little blood.
But he recognized the stocky frame of Brock, their supposed guide through the Death-Zone.
Takeshi didn’t like him.
His brown eyes were too probing, and he watched Khalani like he was her ally.
That was enough to make him want to commit murder.
“Mind if I join you?” Brock asked in a low voice.
“Yes.”
Brock chuckled and sat near him anyway.
Bastard.
“Good to know you haven’t changed.” The Death-Zoner sighed as he stretched his legs out, resting his arms behind his head.
“Don’t act like you know me,” Takeshi growled, detesting his presence, wanting to be alone in front of her door in peace.
He was tired of these people acting like they were his friends. Takeshi preferred isolation. Letting other people in only invited betrayal.
Brock cocked his head. “You really don’t remember any of us?”
“I wish you would all stop asking me that.”
“Why?”
Takeshi’s mouth formed a thin line. In any other circumstance, he would’ve left the house rather than subject himself to an interrogation, but that would leave her door unprotected.
Someone like Brock could enter while she slept.
That was unacceptable.
“Because it’s not true,” he repeated. The knife twirled faster in his palm, skipping a few fingers, nearly cutting himself in the process.
But Takeshi wanted to bleed.
He’d rather focus on anything else than this topic.
“And yet, you’re still sitting in front of her bedroom door,” Brock noted in a sly voice.
“There’s a nice draft right here.”
“We’re indoors.”
“Great observation skills.”
“You can lie to us all you want, mate,” Brock chuckled. “Try not to lie to yourself.”
“I didn’t ask for your advice.” Takeshi laced the words with a sharper bite.
“Good,” Brock replied. “I wasn’t offering any.”
That made him pause. “Then why are you still here?”
“Hard to sleep in a place that keeps you on edge twenty-four seven,” Brock’s jaw clenched as he glanced around, and Takeshi noticed the gun in his pocket.
He wasn’t worried.
If Brock so much as twitched toward the weapon, he’d slice his carotid artery before the next intake of breath.
“It also helps that seeing you in a bad mood always makes me feel just a little bit better,” Brock said, a ghost of a smile appearing on his face.
Takeshi couldn’t help the slight twitch of his lips. Much to his surprise, the brutal honesty made the tension in the hallway ease ever so slightly, and he momentarily halted his thoughts of murder.
“I’m surprised you’re not guarding the other door,” Takeshi noted.
“Why do you say that?”
“Her friend. The one with the blue hair. You watch her a lot.”
Brock’s sharp gaze narrowed, and Takeshi felt a small sense of victory.
“Sensitive subject?”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Brock clipped.
“What’s that line? I can’t quite remember.” Takeshi looked up in thought. “You can lie to others but not yourself?”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Best I’ve felt all night.”
Brock sighed and glanced at the other door again. During the day, he hid his longing well, but at night, Takeshi saw the yearning and agony in his eyes.
“It’s hard to stay away from her,” Brock admitted.
“Why?”
“Because I’m stupid.”
“That much is clear,”
Brock glared at him but ignored the dig.
“Being a Death-Zoner’s a lonely life.” He sighed.
“They train us not to have any connections. If you have nothing to miss, you can do your job at the highest capacity. But Serene doesn’t listen.
She always has some smart-ass thing to say.
It’s impossible to do my job without worrying about her falling into a ditch or inviting the earth to swallow us in a sandstorm. ”
“So you push her away,” Takeshi finished for him, recognizing the truth.
“If I can get her to hate me, she might walk away and save us both.” Brock’s voice lowered, and Takeshi could tell he was forcing himself not to look at her door.
“And how’s that working out so far?”
“Well, seeing how we’re both out here on the floor sharing our fucking feelings, I’d say we’re in pretty deep shit.”
Takeshi snorted, not willing to admit that he agreed with him.
He wasn’t supposed to care.
But despite their distaste for one another, a kinship lay between them for those silent moments. When the sun rose in the sky, it would undoubtedly disappear.
But for now, it was enough.
“So, you were also a prisoner in Braderhelm?” Takeshi asked, surprising himself by not ending the conversation.
“Yeah.”
Takeshi made it a point to memorize every prisoner in Braderhelm. Their strengths. Weaknesses. That was his job. And the fact that the entire group, except for Elise, claimed to have been in Braderhelm made him seethe internally.
He barely recognized the old woman, but he couldn’t remember anyone else.
Maybe this was all part of their plan to lay down clues, gain his trust, and make Takeshi believe their story.
His heart banged against his chest, not knowing what to believe. The edges of his vision started to blacken, and his body tilted to the side.
Gain control. Gain control.
Gain con—
“Hey!” Brock snapped his fingers, his sharp voice cutting through the madness.
Takeshi heaved in heavy breaths, his vision slowly returning to normal. He glanced down and noticed blood coating his palm from squeezing the blade too tightly.
“Fuck,” he muttered, trying to wipe the remnants of blood on his pants, but the cut was deeper than he anticipated.
Without a word, Brock lurched to his feet and disappeared down the hall. He appeared moments later with a towel and a white cloth. He tossed them to Takeshi, who wiped the blood and tightly covered the wound.
“You good?” Brock asked.
Takeshi nodded. He released a deep sigh, leaning his head against the door. Light snores drifted from the bedroom, and for some reason, the sound eased the tension in his muscles ever so slightly.
“If you wanted to spill a little blood, you could’ve just asked for a fight,” Brock offered.
“Anyone I fight right now wouldn’t make it out alive.”
Takeshi wasn’t bragging.
With the mood he’d been in lately, it was the truth.
Brock shrugged, standing to his feet. “Even so, I think friends are the ones you’re able to punch.”
“Is that what we are?” He slowly lifted his gaze, the word “friend” terrifying him more ways than it should.
“We’re not friends,” Brock answered honestly, walking down the hall to park himself in front of the door to his own obsession. “But sometimes, I think we could’ve been.”