Page 30 of The Dragon 1 (Tokyo Empire #1)
Chapter twenty-two
Chaos
Kenji
Hiro screamed. The sound wasn’t human. It wasn’t even an animal. It was grief and rage turned feral—a sound that split my very soul.
Then everything exploded.
Hiro snapped through the remaining cuff with raw adrenaline and fury, flipping the gurney as he launched himself across the room like a beast unleashed.
Metal shrieked against the floor. The guard with the taser didn’t even have time to aim before Hiro crushed his windpipe with an elbow strike so brutal it sounded like a branch breaking.
Gunfire erupted.
Reo grabbed a monitor stand and used it to bludgeon the nearest man, the impact echoing with a sickening crunch. Blood splattered across the fluorescent light fixtures, painting everything in streaks of red and shadow.
I kicked the wheeled I.V. rack toward another guard. It slammed into his shins with a hollow clang, knocking him off balance. I followed up, diving forward, slamming my knee into his throat as he gasped for air. His body spasmed beneath me, fingers twitching like dying insects.
We fought.
Chaos.
Heat.
Blood.
Screams.
One of the guards scrambled for his sidearm but Reo tackled him from behind, locked his arms around the man’s neck in a chokehold, and twisted until the guard went limp. In one fluid motion, Reo rolled and tossed the weapon to me.
I caught it midair and let out two quick shots. Center mass in one guard. A bullet through the eye socket of another.
They dropped like string-cut puppets.
More guards poured in through the shattered doorway, barking orders in clipped Japanese. Gas masks. Tactical gear. Laser sights. Like a fucking SWAT unit.
Hiro was already in motion.
A whirlwind of vengeance.
One of them lunged with a baton. Hiro dodged low, grabbed the man's wrist, and twisted it until the bones snapped like dry twigs. Then he elbowed him in the throat, grabbed him by the vest, and hurled him face-first into the glass window.
The glass cracked—then spiderwebbed—and gave.
The guard shrieked as he tumbled backward, crashing through the frame out into open air, and then screaming as he fell to his death.
I ducked under a strike, rose with an uppercut, cracked another’s rib with my forearm.
He staggered.
I seized his weapon from his hip, flipped it in my grip and drove a bullet into his skull.
Reo grabbed the pole from a heart monitor, yanked it free with a screech of tearing metal, and impaled a man through the gut. The scream that tore out of him was guttural and wet. Blood sprayed, painting Reo’s face in a fine mist. He didn’t blink.
He just turned.
Snatched another gun.
Fired into a kneecap.
Shot a crawling man in the spine.
We became war.
We shot and maimed.
Broke teeth and jaws.
Turned precision into poetry.
The air turned electric with gunpowder and fury. The room—once a pristine hospital ward—was now a blood-slick battlefield. Equipment sparked. Alarms wailed. The small table and chairs were overturned and the oxygen tank hissed.
Smoke curled through the broken glass where the wind howled.
Still, more guards entered.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Maybe twenty.
They didn’t falter. They formed a wall around the Fox’s bed—black uniforms tight, helmets reflecting our blood. Their rifles were up. Their eyes were wild. Loyal. Terrified. Deadly trained.
And there—seated in the middle like a king on his throne—was my father.
Unmoved.
Unbothered.
Still calm.
Still holding that fucking pistol like a scepter.
His gaze slid to mine.
Mocking.
He didn’t aim that gun at me.
He aimed it at Hiro.
I snapped a guard’s neck and rushed for him.
"Get out of here!" My father rasped, the oxygen tank hissed. "And await my next orders for ruling my kingdom!"
“You’re a fucking coward!” I shoved the men to the side, still they blocked my path. “You should have died in that bombing. Not Mom! Not Jobon!”
Frowning, my father kept that gun on Hiro but his gaze remained on me. "Know. Your. Place."
I wanted to kill him. God, I wanted to rip the veins from his throat with my bare hands. But Reo grabbed my shoulder. Blood streaked his temple.
Reo’s eyes were wild and his breath ragged. "We can’t win tonight. We have to go, Kenji. Now."
I turned to the right.
Hiro was on his knees beside Nura’s body, cradling her with a tenderness that gutted me.
Reo motioned at Hiro. “Let’s go!”
Hiro shook his head. "We’re not leaving her."
Reo didn’t argue. He walked over, lifted her slowly.
“No.” Hiro rose. “Give her back to me.”
“Okay.” Reo passed Nura’s dead body like she was made of glass.
But Hiro. . .took Nura and held her like she was still breathing.
My heart ached.
He cradled her and the very vision was a love letter written too late. Blood smeared across his chest, tattooing her memory there.
I didn’t reach for Hiro, but I wanted to. I wanted to grip his face, hold his rage, and whisper that I’d burn this whole hospital to the ground if it would undo this moment and bring Nura back.
We limped out of that room.
Bloodied.
Hurt.
Broken.
But alive.
Barely.
What happened inside hadn’t just changed the rules—it annihilated the board. Because I’d come to this hospital as my father’s son.
Bound by blood.
Still tethered to his lies of loyalty and legacy.
But now?
Now, I didn’t feel like a son anymore. I didn’t even feel like a man. I felt like a new monster, starved for vengeance, ready to bare his claws.
A dragon more than prepared to roar with tempered fire.
I left the hospital ready to become the very fucking myth that would end him.
Let the Fox cling to his throne.
Let him polish his oxygen mask like a crown.
I’d return.
And next time, I’d be bringing flames.