Page 28 of The Dragon 1 (Tokyo Empire #1)
I grinned, picturing Daisuke with his sharp black mohawk and tall lanky body, naked in a room of nude women, sorting and weighing drugs because Hiro wanted a date.
I shook my head. “How did Daisuke do?”
“The Candy Room guards complained that he kept getting an erection.”
“And that scared the women?”
“Actually. . .the guards complained that they giggled and flirted with him, instead of focusing on their tasks. Apparently, Daisuke got several numbers at the end of his shift.”
“Good for Daisuke.” I smiled.
Reo continued, “Hiro and Nura went to Akihabara together. He bought them manga and hit up several arcades.”
I could picture it now—neon lights flickering across Nura’s shaved head as she tilted her face toward a claw machine, her small hands gripping the controls. Hiro standing beside her, silent and still but his eyes sharper than the prize sensors.
“After two or three arcades, our people say they went to the food stalls.” Reo added, “They got dango. ”
Ah. Dango.
Those skewered rice dumplings brushed with that shiny, sweet soy glaze.
I imagined Hiro handing her one without a word, his expression unreadable as always—just watching her take the first bite.
Soft.
Chewy.
Warm.
A comfort snack with a whisper of smoke. The kind of food that didn’t ask questions, just sat quietly in your mouth and reminded you that you were alive.
Reo smirked slightly. “Then Hiro got her karaage.”
That made sense. Crispy fried chicken sold from street stalls in little paper cups was the way to go for a true date in Akihabara.
“Hiro ate his plain,” Reo’s voice was flat, but amused. “Nura dumped spicy mayo on hers. Our people were close enough to hear Hiro tell Nura that she was ruining it. She said he had no taste buds. They playfully argued the entire time.”
I huffed a laugh through my nose.
God. That woman had real guts if she was teasing Hiro.
Reo went on. “He bought her taiyaki too.”
Of course he did. His favorite sweet after lollipops.
That warm, fish-shaped waffle with molten chocolate oozing from its center.
Reo smiled. “Hiro bit into hers without asking.”
I shook my head.
“Then she must have gotten extra chocolate.”
“She did.”
“Hiro can’t help himself when it’s doused in chocolate.”
“Apparently, at another food stall, Nura flinched and jumped back fast because the grill flared too high.”
My jaw clenched.
I knew exactly what that kind of flinch meant. Trauma memory. A flash of fire in the wrong setting and your body responded before your brain could catch up.
“And what did Hiro do?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“He pulled her away and. . . whispered something to the stall owner. After that he didn’t say anything else. Just stepped between her and the flame. Hand on her back, they walked to the next stall. However. . . our people reported that the stall owner closed for the day.”
Of course he did.
Reo smiled. “Hiro was a perfect gentleman.”
With someone like Nura—who’d come from war zones and cages—trust was never loud. It was quiet. Slow. Built in small, stupid moments like dumplings, fried chicken, and taiyaki eaten off paper napkins.
My throat tightened.
The car turned a corner, and the hospital came into view—cold and sprawling, its high glass facade shining under the streetlamps like a mausoleum of power.
I looked at Reo and ran my thumb across the ribbon on the box. “I have a feeling that whatever my father has in store for me tonight. . .my opening this present later will brighten whatever he tries to darken.”
Reo gave the barest nod. “I agree.”
We didn’t speak again until the gates of the private hospital appeared—tall, sleek, metallic. Reinforced like a fortress.
And guarded.
My father’s men were already outside—three of them, dressed like civilian staff but wearing the arrogance of killers.
My jaw clenched.
My chauffeur exited the car and opened my door.
I set my present on the seat next to me and stepped out into the chilly night air.
Reo followed.
We approached the glass doors.
A nurse behind the desk gave us a nod. Usually, she smiled and had a joyful greeting for me. Tonight, her lips were tight. I could see the fear in her eyes.
Inside, the lobby was sterile and sleek. It felt wrong . The tension was a second skin.
Two more men sat in the waiting area pretending to read magazines. Another leaned casually against the vending machine, fingers too close to his belt.
More of my father’s men attempting to blend in.
I turned to Reo. “He’s got more guards than usual stationed tonight.”
Reo’s expression was stone. “Your father’s probably anticipating Hiro and you getting very angry.”
My lips curled in a snarl. “What the fuck do you have in store for us, Father?”
The elevator pinged open.
We stepped inside.
Reo pressed the button for the top floor; the suite level, where high-level patients were treated in silence and secrecy.
As the elevator rose, so did my pulse.
I sighed. “If we had people following Hiro, then how did my father’s men get him?”
Reo frowned. “Hiro noticed our men tailing him and told them they might scare Nura so they had to back off. Said if they didn’t stop following, he’d slit their throats.”
My pulse spiked. “And they listened?”
“They did. Left him alone.”
“Then, my father got to him.”
Reo nodded once. “Two hours after our people left Hiro alone, your father called and said Hiro was with him.”
I looked up at the elevator ceiling, fury rippling just beneath the surface of my skin. The rage wasn’t just for what my father had done.
It was for what he’d interrupted .
That quiet date.
That flicker of healing Hiro never chased for himself.
All snatched away because the man in the hospital bed couldn’t stand the idea of not being worshipped.
You fucking bastard.
The thought of Hiro—snatched like prey, restrained somewhere in that hospital while my father sharpened his plans—boiled something brutal inside me.
And Nura?
What had she seen? What had she felt?
Did she understand the danger she would be in, simply for being near him?
The elevator pinged.
The doors slid open.
I clenched my fists and stepped out, ready to burn the night down if I had to.
Ten men flanked the hallway. Armed. Disguised as orderlies and security but their postures were too stiff. They weren’t here to assist. They were here to warn.
Each of them bore the pin of the Fox—a black enamel fox mask inset with gold leaf, eyes narrowed into slits. My father’s symbol.
His mark.
Reo and I moved in silence down the hall. The air grew colder with each step.
When we made it to the last door on the right, a tall, grim-looking man I recognized as Goro stepped forward and opened it for us.
I stepped inside, ready for the usual performance—clinical lighting, the faint scent of disinfectant, my father half-shadowed in silk robes and oxygen tubes.
But what I walked into. . .
What I saw. . .
My entire body locked down with rage and horror.
God no! Why father?! Why?!