Page 103 of Brutal Unionn

Her voice lowers, but not in volume—in gravity. “I’m doing this. Whether you’re with me or not. So are you coming, or are you staying behind to wrestle with your conscience while they get away with everything?”

Her words carve through me with surgical precision. There’s no anger behind them—just truth. And truth, as always, hurts the most. Somewhere between the fear and the fury, I’ve lost the thread. Am I trying to protect her, or am I just too afraid of what losing her might do to me?

“Ooh!” Aoi lets out a delighted sound, clapping softly. “A feisty one. Sharp, too. I like her. She’s got more grit than half the men I've trained.” She turns to me, one brow raised like a taunt. “She’s willing. But it’s your call, Sho. What’s it going to be?”

I look at Nadia—barefoot, bruised, unyielding. She looks like a storm wrapped in silk. I hate the plan. Hate everything about it.

But I hate the idea of letting those bastards win even more.

“I’m in,” I say finally, my voice hoarse, weighted. “But if anything happens to her…”

“You’ll burn the world,” Bhon finishes, nodding once. “I know. That’s why this might actually work.”

And just like that, the clock begins to tick.

25

NADIA

I sitin the middle of Aoi’s room. It is small, the kind of space that feels like a secret, tucked high above Tokyo’s humming arteries. Every inch of the walls is dressed in aged, hand-painted Japanese portraits—geishas caught mid-laughter, kimono slipping from shoulders, frozen in erotic grace. Time-stained rice paper scrolls drape unevenly along the walls like whispering ghosts of pleasure, and a sweet, musky incense curls from the brass dish in the corner, softening the air with lotus and old ash.

Tatami mats cover the floor in tight, clean lines, but it is the deep crimson silk sheets in the corner that demand attention—where elegance meets indulgence. Paper lanterns glow softly overhead, casting the room in a golden, flickering light that paints our skin in shades of fire and shadow.

I sit in the center on top of a plush pillow, my legs crossed and my hands resting on my knees to stop my clothes from crumpling. My clothes are a borrowed fantasy: a crimsonfurisoderobe, its long sleeves dragging the floor, half open toreveal black lace lingerie trimmed in gold. My hair is pinned high, not unlike the women watching me from the walls.

Aoi kneels before me, quiet, reverent. Her dark hair is pulled back in a low knot, but a single loose strand curls against her cheek as she dips the brush into the pot of red pigment. Her hands, always so steady, tremble just slightly as she brings the brush to my lips.

“Open,” she whispers, touching the tip of the brush to my inner lip.

I follow her command, the silk bristles dragging fire across my mouth. I watch the focused curve of her brows, how her lips purse in concentration like she’s painting a goddess and not a girl trained to kill. She leans back after a moment, her eyes scanning my face like an artist stepping back from a nearly-finished portrait.

“Rub your lips together,” she hums gently.

I do, feeling the smooth lacquer spread evenly across my mouth. The color stains my reflection in the lacquered mirror beside us—an image both feral and divine. My gaze slides back to Aoi.

“You’ve done this before,” I murmur.

Her lips twitch. “I used to prepare the girls before they met the men in the black cars.” Aoi pauses. “Sometimes, I was one of them.”

There’s no shame in her voice—only memory. She reaches for a pot of shimmer to dust along my cheekbones, her fingers soft and clinical. But when she speaks again, her voice is different.Warmer.

“But none of them ever looked like you. I don’t know a more strategic and deadly woman of the night.”

I smirk, tilting my head just slightly. “Not a compliment I hear often.”

“It should be,” she says, now carefully tucking a silk strand of hair behind my ear. “In this world, beauty is temporary. Fear is currency. You’re both.”

I chuckle under my breath. “So are you.”

Aoi scoffs, but her cheeks tint with something soft. “There was a woman in high court who once killed an entire house of men in one night, and it was all because they were stupid enough to think she was pretty. She used her hairpins to kill each and every one of them.”

“Is that why you are putting pins in my hair?”

Aoi sighs. “If anything goes left, just remember to pin your hair.”

“Pins in the hair,” I repeat to myself. “Any other hiding places?”

She pauses, considering. Then: “Depends on how deep you want to dig inside.”