Page 151 of The Dragon 2

I watched her absolutely fascinated.

She sighed. “I was expected to keep my dress clean with no wrinkles which meant not too much movement. When the adultscame around, I had to keep my mouth closed and have that well-placed smile so our White guests could say, ‘Look at this successful Black family. They’re some of thegoodones.’”

My heart tightened.

“Once the cameras were gone and the White politicians left the dinner table, I was always told to go to my room. To be quiet. To basically disappear.” She gave a soft, bitter chuckle. “I used to spend more time with my nanny than my mother or father. And after they let her go—because I had turned thirteen—I hung out with the cook. Vanessa took care of me. Braided my hair. Taught me how to sear a steak. Told me I was beautiful before I knew how to really believe it.”

I watched her, understanding that feeling more than she could know.

“My mother was always busy being my father’s wife. And my father. . .” She exhaled. “He was a federal judge, rising fast. Wanted to be the next Black Supreme Court justice. Thought he had something to prove to the world. There were always events. Always donors. The right forks. The right phrases. The right people in the right rooms.”

While we had grown up in different cities and very different industries, we still had been in the same cold, curated rooms filled with the same aching silence behind closed doors.

She was raised in a palace of politics, and I was raised in an empire of blood. But it appeared neither of us ever really had true childhoods.

I ate another piece of fried okra and swallowed. “My father used to hold meetings in our garden. Big ones. Men with knives in their coats and blood under their fingernails. Sometimes he would torture the men. Do things. . .to the women. My mom never wanted me there, but he always insisted I witness it all to learn. So. . .”

Nyomi pursed her lips.

“I would sit by the Sakura trees and watch things so horrifying most adults would have nightmares from seeing. I was never allowed to scream or flinch during those moments.”

Nyomi’s expression shifted to wonder. “Even in a criminal underworld, people still have to keep up appearances?”

“Especially in the underworld. I was taught that emotions made you weak. My father stressed burying them, while my mother. . .she was the true example of never showing her emotion no matter what my father did to her.”

“Did she ever try to stop him from letting you be down there to witness all of that stuff?”

“My mother would never come out. She stayed upstairs and pretended our empire wasn’t built with death and blood.”

“That would have been so difficult for me to not scream while he tortured someone. I would have failed.”

“No. I believe you would have done what needed to be done.”

“No way. I would have failed. I was too bad. That’s why my parents kept sending me down south.”

I grinned. “Naughty Tiger.”

“But am I really naughty?” She reached for the sun-gold cornbread, broke off a piece with her fingers, and dipped it into honey.

When she moved her hand, I couldn’t move my eyes away from the honey dripping and glistening down her fingers. A second later, I thought she would pop the piece of honey-coated bread into her mouth, but instead she brought it to me. "Open."

I kept my gaze locked on hers. “Is that how you ask the Dragon?”

“You’re not the only one who gives commands.” She slid the piece past my lips.

I took the delicious morsal, but once I swallowed, I caught her hand before she could lower it to the napkin.

Fast, I had that honey coated finger in my mouth.

Mmmhmm.

Slowly, I sucked off the honey and circled my tongue along her finger. A deep groaned vibrated from my chest.

And she moaned. It was a small, involuntary sound that shattered my last thread of restraint.

I pulled back with a wet pop, licking my bottom lip like she was still there. “Are we still taking it slow, Tora?”

Chapter twenty-nine