Page 24 of The Dragon 2 (Tokyo Empire #2)

Chapter twenty-one

To Tame a Beast

Nyomi

By nightfall, the nerves had officially set in. I’d spent the whole day prepping the surprise—and now I was standing inside a Tokyo BDSM club that looked like it had been built for emperors and sins no one confessed out loud.

The Iron Blossom was tucked deep in Shinjuku, past the neon chaos and pachinko madness, behind a thick wall of wisteria vines and an unmarked black door.

It was one of the most exclusive BDSM clubs in all of Japan, not just because of the clientele—politicians, pop stars, and surgeons —but because of who owned it.

Ms. Hiroko Watanabe.

A former geisha turned dominatrix turned real estate mogul, apparently, she had ruled Tokyo’s underground kink scene for over thirty years.

Her clients called her The Widow. Not because she’d lost a husband, but because she had a reputation for tying powerful men into delicate little knots—mentally and physically—and then watching them unravel with a gentle smile.

Zo met Ms. Hiroko Watanabe at a Kyoto fashion gala ten years ago, back when he was still freelancing as a stylist for daring couture houses and avant-garde magazine shoots.

Rumor had it that she’d fired her entire glam team fifteen minutes before walking the red carpet, refusing to be dressed by “soulless fabric technicians.”

Zo had been called in last-minute as a backup and with nothing but a silk ribbon, a vintage obi belt, and a kimono jacket from his own suitcase, he turned her into the main event. She’d purred his name for the rest of the night and called him her “little king of aesthetic warfare.”

Since then, he’d styled her for everything from Tokyo Film Festival appearances to underground kink galas hosted in abandoned shrines.

She always paid in cash, Chanel, or secrets.

Sometimes all three.

When Zo introduced us yesterday and I told her my idea, she didn’t flinch.

She simply folded her arms, arched a brow, and said, “you are becoming the goddess you were meant to be. So many women forget that part of themselves. Women weren’t put on this Earth to bend to any man’s needs. We are here to dominate.”

She then slid her hand from under her vintage silver-streaked chignon and held it out to me. A rare emerald ring sparkled on her finger. "And in this place, my dear, you'll learn how to do just that."

I shook her hand.

Excitement surged through me.

I was stepping into a world that was the antithesis of my own existence yet I felt more at home than I ever had before.

She watched me. “Who do you want to dominate?”

“I must keep that a secret.”

“Then, he’s powerful and famous.”

“He is.”

She tilted her head, studying me. “Let me tell you a secret most women never hear; The stronger the man, the deeper his ache to surrender.”

I blinked. “You think so?”

She smiled. “I know so. Alpha men spend every moment of every day making decisions, commanding people, and orchestrating worlds. They wear their dominance like armor. But armor is heavy. Power is lonely. In the quiet moments—in the dark—they long for relief. They want to be told what to do. To be undone. Most die never getting that relief.”

“Why?”

“Because true surrender requires immense trust and many men of this sort see it as weakness.”

My throat tightened at her words.

Kenji flashed in my mind—his sharp suits, his iron control, the brutal violence in his gaze.

She continued. “However, surrender is the bravest act a man like that can offer. And if he offers it to you, even for a moment, you must honor it like the sacred thing it is.”

My palms grew damp.

She leaned back slightly. “One of my favorite clients ran the largest private security firm in Tokyo. He was a cold man. Savage. The kind of person who could kill someone with a paperclip and still be on time for his daughter’s ballet recital.”

I shivered.

Ms. Hiroko arched an elegant brow. “He came to me at first just to talk. Said he was curious. Wanted to ‘observe.’ He never spoke of touch. Never mentioned pain. But I saw the way he looked at my whip. How his fingers twitched. The longing was there, twisting under all that silence.”

She reached forward and poured herself a cup of tea that Zo had laid out on his coffee table. “I gave him his first assignment. Nothing dramatic. I simply told him to kneel. That is all.”

I widened my eyes. “And he did?”

“No. Not that night. He stood still for ten minutes, shivered, and then left. But he came back. Three times and still he wouldn’t kneel, and I would just stare at him, unwilling to say anything else until he obeyed,” her eyes twinkled.

“And then, on the fourth visit, I didn’t say a word.

I simply entered the room, closed the door, and waited. Do you know what happened?”

“What?”

“He got down on both knees. Removed his watch—a platinum timepiece—and placed it by my feet like an offering. And then he whispered, ‘break me.’”

A wave of goosebumps slid down my skin.

Ms. Hiroko set the teacup down. “That’s when I knew he was ready. That moment wasn’t about the whip, pain, or power games. It was about relief. Trust. He needed someone to carry the weight for him. In that space—in that surrender—he could become something softer. Truer. Without any judgement.”

I sat very still, trying to breathe through the sudden heaviness in my chest.

Kenji’s face floated behind my eyes again. That dangerous elegance. The heat he wore like a crown. The way he looked at me like I could ruin him—and he might let me.

“Why do you think you’re drawn to this path?” she asked.

“I couldn’t even tell you how I got here for sure. I just. . .started wanting this after. . .meeting him. I started dreaming about dominating him. Tying him up with rope and having him on his knees. It just felt so thrilling.”

“A certain type of man will trigger that in a certain type of woman. This person. He must be a beast. Do you think so?”

I considered Kenji and nodded. “Yeah. . .I would call him a beast. In fact, many would.”

“Be careful with those.”

I swallowed. “Why?”

“Because a beast does not give you his belly unless he is already falling in love with you.”

My breath caught.

She leaned forward. “When a beast who has devoured kingdoms lays down his hunger at your feet? You must tread lightly because that is the most sacred moment of his life. And if you mishandle it, the beast will never trust you or the world again and. . .”

I parted my lips.

“He’ll destroy you both.”

I shivered.

“Also. . .a beast is not afraid of pain or death.” She raised one finger. “A beast fears being seen. And surrender is the most naked act of all.”

Fuck. What am I getting into?

Ms. Hiroko tilted her head. “You think you’re planning a date. A clever seduction. A surprise.”

“Yes.”

She smiled. “No, what you’re planning is a ceremony. You are building a sanctuary for a god who has never known peace.”

Her words hollowed me out, filled me anew.

Every nerve in my body buzzed.

With a gentleness that unraveled something deep in my chest, she said, “we have time, and I see your spirit. I will teach you all that you must know. I will help you but understand this. . .”

I was completely captivated by her.

“If he falls to his knees, Nyomi. . .don’t meet his gaze with pride. Meet them with tendernes s. With awe. Because that is not a man yielding to you—” she tapped a lacquered nail over her heart, “—that is a man trusting you not to destroy the boy he buried to become a king.”

I blinked hard. “Okay. I understand.”

She leaned back and for a long moment, there was only silence between us. Then she picked up her cup again, voice smooth and casual as silk. “Now, Zo told me that you are a bestselling author.”

“I am.”

“I have been working on my story. I have so many journals of notes. I wrote things down for years but I don’t understand how to put it all together.”

I grinned. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

“Am I?”

“Every person in this world has a book inside of them. Really special people have a full library of stories for this world and I think you are one of those people.”

Ms. Hiroko studied me for a long moment then let out the softest sigh. “Many women in my world have told their stories. I’m not sure what mine would offer now. Perhaps, I should leave this dream alone.”

“Sure. Tons of stories about the BDSM scene have probably been told but guess what. You haven’t told yours .

And that matters. People think books have to be original but they don’t.

They just have to be true to the author.

What readers want—what humans crave—isn’t novelty.

It’s perspective. It’s voice. It’s the soul behind the story. ”

Her brows lifted. “Interesting.”

I leaned forward. “Humans will never stop watching the same love and action stories unfold on screen over and over. We will never stop listening to songs about heartbreak, celebration, or love over and over. We will never stop reading about power, grief, pleasure, and longing over and over. What changes? The directors. The actors. The singers. The authors. And why won’t we get tired of the same stories from different perspectives?

Because we are ravenous for connection. For meaning. For more.”

She was very still now, her tea cooling in her hands.

I kept going. “I believe a large part of our purpose on this Earth is tied to storytelling. To witness and be witnessed. So if you have a story to tell—whether it’s been told a thousand times or never at all— you should write it.

Because it hasn’t been told by you . And that makes all the difference. Humans need it. We crave it.”

A slow silence passed between us.

Then, Ms. Hiroko set her cup down. "You will help me write my story?"

“I will. It sounds like it would be an absolute blast.”

“Then, I want your name on it. You would know how to get it in stores.”

“My agent would put together the necessary paperwork for us and honestly. . .she will have publishers salivating over the pitch. This would be an easy sale for the both of us.”

Her expression brightened. “When we are done, I want my story to live in bookstores. I want women to see it and know they are allowed to want more. I want them to know that softness and power can live in the same breath. That we were never meant to just endure—we were meant to rule.”

“All that will happen and more,” a laugh bubbled out of me. “Are you prepared to be on camera? To be interviewed? To sit at book signings with me and make grown women cry?”

She didn’t hesitate, “I’ve made prime ministers cry in ropes. I think I’m ready.”

“Perfect.”

Her eyes glistened but I didn’t think it was tears. It might have been joy.

She nodded. “Tomorrow night, you may have my entire club. All levels. Staff included. I will personally assist you with making your beast kneel.”

“Thank you,” I gave her a slight bow. “And then next week, we will begin your memoir.”

I’d come to Tokyo chasing one story.

The underworld.

The shadows.

The unspoken truth of power and pleasure.

Specifically, the kind carved by men. Bought by men. Brutalized by men.

My pitch had been clear: “Expose Tokyo’s underground sex industry through the lens of the Yakuza—the men who built it, bought it, and burned anyone who dared look too long.”

That had been my angle.

But now, as I stared across the table at a woman like Ms. Hiroko—who could command a room without ever raising her voice, who could make billionaires kneel with a glance—I realized I’d been wrong.

There was another story pulsing beneath the one I’d come for.

One even more dangerous.

One even more necessary.

This wasn’t just about men and what they did in the dark.

This was about women.

The ones who dared to take the whip in hand.

The ones who built sanctuaries in neon-lit cities and taught gods how to fall to their knees.

This was a story of women unearthing a power the world told them to bury.

And suddenly, I knew.

This was the book.

Not just some exposé on gang-controlled pleasure markets. This would be about the women who ruled the empire behind the curtain. The real architects of desire. The queens of the underground.

Ms. Hiroko took a slow sip of tea and looked at me.

Damn. We’re about to make a lot of money.

We talked more about the book plans, then the date’s steps, and finished lots of tea. Once she left, all I could think about was the fact that I was really going to do this with Kenji, and it terrified me.

Can I really make him kneel? And is this fucking crazy?