Page 34 of The Dragon 2 (Tokyo Empire #2)

Chapter thirty-one

The Hoe Pad

Kenji

I swirled the rest of my cocktail, watching the curl of zest spiral through amber light.

Her question lingered in the air longer than I wanted it to.

I didn’t answer immediately.

How would I tell her my home was a lonely echo chamber that reminded me too much of being untouchable?

“Kenji. . .tell me.”

I put my view on her. "It’s too quiet in my mansion."

"But quiet sounds nice."

"Not this kind of quiet. Where every step you take bounces back at you like it’s asking why you even came home."

Her expression softened.

"Every sound echoes, my footsteps, the shift of fabric, the breath I take after a long day—it all comes back louder. As if the house wants me to feel. . .”

“Feel what?”

“The absence of something."

Nyomi didn’t speak.

I looked away. "So, I stay at my office more often than I should. Reo hates it, but I sleep at my club a lot."

She smirked. "You sleep in that dark-ass club like Batman?"

I let out a soft laugh. "Sometimes."

"You say your mansion is quiet, but I bet you have tons of women over.”

“No.” I shook my head. "No woman has gone there. I have an apartment in Roppongi for that. Or sometimes. . .I put the woman up in the Four Seasons as you know."

“As I know?” Nyomi frowned. "So, the Four Seasons Suite is your hoe pad?"

"It is not my hoe pad."

She gave me a look. "Kenji."

"It’s a nice suite."

"Don’t tell me it’s the same suite every time."

"No. And even if it was the same suite, there is housekeeping, Tora."

“Oh hell no.”

“Tora, this is a nice suite—”

“I’m glad I never stepped foot in that room. Because I’m not one of your women—”

“No. You’re the reason I’ll never need another woman.”

She narrowed her eyes. "If I’d found out I was sleeping in your hoe pad, you wouldn’t have gotten another date. In fact. . .I’m taking some points away from your score right now."

I leaned in, slow and close, until there was barely space between our mouths. “You can pretend to take points away from me, naughty Tiger. You can play the game of indignation. But let’s not lie to each other—not tonight.”

“There is no lie in my statement.”

“Hoe pad or not, you would have given me a second date.” I brushed the back of my fingers across her jaw, savoring the way her breath caught. “You knew from the moment of our first kiss that you had already surrendered.”

“Yet. . .” Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t look away. “I can say no.”

A wicked smile spread across my face. “This lovely city that you’re in is mine.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“And everything within my city listens to me. Everyone obeys.”

“Except me.”

“Let us hope we never have to test that.”

“ You better hope we don’t have to test that.”

“My Tiger and her very sharp claws.”

“It’s not claws. I just have the right to say no, and you will listen.”

“I will not listen. It’s just your mouth, but. . .” I slipped my gaze down to her breasts. “I will always, obey your body before I ever obey your words. And your body—your pupils, your breath, the way your legs shift when I speak like this—has never once whispered no to me.”

She smirked. “So, you’re a body whisperer now?”

“Yes. And I hear your pussy.”

“She talks to you?”

“No, Tora. She calls to me.” I closed the tiny distance and brushed my lips just barely across her cheek. “And tonight, I will answer her.”

“And it won’t be in your hoe pad.”

I groaned and leaned back in my chair. “It will not, but I must stress that it is an elegant suite—”

“Negative hundred points.” She pointed at me.

I leaned over and kissed the tip of her finger. “Give me those points back.”

“Absolutely not. Now, you will have to earn them back.”

Stunned, I stared at her.

Earn? Negative points? Did she know who she was talking to?

I’d taken a lot in this life—through silence, through blood, through strategy. Fear was a tool. Force, a language. Finesse, the signature I left behind.

But Nyomi. . .

She told me I had to earn her.

No woman had ever told me that. No one had ever made me pause before claiming, before possessing.

Naughty Tora.

I glanced at Hiroko, who lingered in the shadows, smiling like a woman who had seen this kind of power unfold before.

But, how much had Hiroko heard?

Even more important, how much of this had Hiroko taught Nyomi?

There couldn’t have been enough time for Hiroko to teach this much defiance to Nyomi. No. . .I don’t think this is Hiroko’s doing.

That fire in Nyomi’s eyes and strength in her tone wasn’t performance or imitation. This must have already been rooted deep within my Tiger. It was the thing that triggered her to knee me when we first met.

Maybe it was the Bronx in her. That fire-forged grit masked beneath a curvy body.

Or maybe the thing flowing within her was older. Wiser. Something passed down by her grandmother with every wooden spoon and side-eye.

Whatever it was. . .she was making me want to set down the blade. Tame the storm in my chest. Smooth the edges of a life carved by violence.

Just to be worthy of the way she looked at me.

Earn. . .What is she doing to me? What is she saying?

Still, I had to show her that I was the fucking Dragon. I pointed at her. “You will be in my mansion tonight, and no woman has been there. Not one. That must erase the negative points.”

“First of all, I’m keeping score. Not you. Second of all, I will not be in your mansion tonight as I’ve already explained.” She lowered her hand. “But I would like to know something.”

“What?”

“Why won’t you bring women to your mansion? You said it was too quiet."

I tapped a finger against the glass. "I’ve never brought women there because. . .it’s mine.”

“Meaning?”

“That bringing someone there means more than sex or company. It’s. . .sharing."

"And you didn’t want to share yourself with them?"

“Not with them, but. . .” I met her gaze. "with you. . .I do want to share, so give me my points back.”

“Earn them.”

I sneered, but it was playful. “You will be the first woman to walk through my halls. The first to sleep in my bed.”

She swallowed, and I knew she had been unprepared for my confession. “That can’t be true.”

“But it is.”

“How could that be?”

“Because I had other places.”

“Hmmm.” She tilted her head and appeared to be assessing me. “In a way. . .that’s oddly fascinating. Philosophically, it makes sense.”

“What makes sense?”

“You’re not having women coming to your mansion. You probably don’t let people into your space because you don’t want them to see your cracks."

"Or touching them."

"Exactly."

“And more. . .I don’t want them judging the cracks. Whereas. . .I don’t think you would judge them. Maybe that’s why. . .now I only want to share my place with you."

“Hmmm.” Her lips parted just slightly, like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to smile or speak.

Soon, the music shifted again—this time to a richer groove, thick with bass and silk.

The waitresses returned, gliding in like ghosts. Each carried a single jet-black bowl and placed them in front of us.

Steam rose from each one.

The smell hit me first—creamy, briny, with something citrus-laced floating beneath the surface.

I stared into the bowl.

It was some sort of thick, pinkish liquid. A luxurious topping of some sort of cream spiraled in the center. Flecks of green and red floated at the surface like scattered confetti.

I inhaled and caught the scent of crab. “What is this?”

Nyomi smirked and folded her arms like she was about to lay down a parable. “Our second course is Low Country She-Crab Bisque with Coconut Cream and Yuzu Zest.”

“That sounds delicious.”

“It was the first real dish I ever made for my grandmother and parents. I was so proud. You know. . .I planned on being a chef. . .long ago. I had applied to culinary schools and everything.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And what happened?”

“The Feds came into our house, turned up all of our stuff, and arrested my father. Then. . .” she shrugged. “Life changed. All of our accounts were frozen. We lived with my grandmother and although I cooked. . .reading and writing was the only thing that really . . .kept me calm.”

“And that’s how you became a writer?”

“Yeah. But anyway. . .enough on my father and that craziness. . .” she shook her head. “This bisque is made with lump crab, coconut cream, and a kiss of yuzu zest.”

“A kiss?”

“Just enough to make you sit up and pay attention.” She winked.

“I am definitely paying attention, Tora.” I picked up the spoon, but before I could dive in, she reached over, laughing, and dragged my bowl away.

I almost growled. “What are you doing?”

“Sir, you have negative one hundred points. You don’t get to try any more of my food. Have a nice evening.”

“Tora,” I growled, half amused. “Give me back my bowl.”

“This is punishment for the Four Seasons Hoe Suite.”

I narrowed my eyes. “If you do not give me back my bowl, I will get my Fangs to handle you.”

She burst into laughter, holding the bowl protectively. “Go get your Fangs! I’ll give them the soup instead. They earned it.”

My smile dropped into something darker. “I already told you no one can eat your food. Don’t make me kill anyone this evening. I’m enjoying myself too much.”

Still laughing, she slid the bowl back toward me—slow and teasing. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you are very naughty.” I dipped my spoon into the soup and lifted it.

The moment the lush liquid hit my tongue; I stilled.

Oh, Tora.

The bisque was warmth. Silk. It slipped into my chest. Then there was the sweet crab meat with a rich base laced with something nutty.

Sherry, maybe.

Then came the brightness, a kiss of citrus from the yuzu. The coconut cream didn’t overpower—it soothed, smoothed, made the soup feel like a silk robe pulled over bare skin.

Groaning, I took another spoonful. “Fuck, Tora. I’m going to tell Reo to get your things. We’ll need several Scales to pack them.”

“Pack my stuff and get my things from where?”

“Your friend’s apartment here and also your place in New York.”

“Please do not scare Zo with your craziness tonight. I can’t with you right now.” She didn’t know how serious I was because there was only humor in that gaze. “But. . .do you like the bisque?”

“Yes.”

“It’s good?”

“Good?” I kept eating. “No, Tora. It’s dangerous.”

Nyomi laughed, but I wasn’t joking.

She began enjoying the soup too.

After several spoonfuls, I licked the spoon and asked. “Did your grandmother teach you how to make this too?”

“Yep. One summer, my grandmother gave me a wooden spoon and a stool and told me if I was going to have a mouth like mine, I better know how to feed people too.”

I chuckled. “I will have to tell Reo to get your grandmother too. She’s going to live in Tokyo also.”

“You better leave my grandmother alone.” She laughed and then let out a long sigh.

“While I was making the soup she watched and cheered me on. When I finally finished, she took a taste and said, ‘Good job, baby. Although you were born with silver spoons, it’s always better to learn how to stir your own pot. You never know what could come.’”

I looked down at the bowl again, deeper now. It wasn’t just a dish. It was her. Every element a reflection of legacy and rebellion. Tradition and invention. That sharp mouth of hers that challenged me and that soft heart that had stirred this for me.

I took another spoonful and groaned. “I don’t usually say things like this.”

“What?”

I met her eyes. “This might be the best soup I’ve ever had in my life.”

She bit her lip, clearly affected.

I leaned toward her. “You will be in my mansion this evening.”

She blinked. “Or. . .you can simply enjoy our date and say thank you. You don’t have to kidnap people.”

“It’s not kidnapping when you’re mine.”

“Wow. Am I going to need to call the police?”

“The police wouldn’t help you, even if you called.” I gathered up more of the liquid and feasted, losing my mind at the flavor.

She watched me. "When was your last relationship, Kenji?"

My last relationship. Have I ever even had any?

I ran my mind through the past days, weeks, and months, then I tensed.

Oh.

A shadow passed through my thoughts—sharp, unexpected. Not regret. Not guilt. Just the cold click of a truth I hadn’t yet spoken to many.

Hmmm. How will she feel about that?

For the first time in a while I began to get nervous.

I set the spoon down.

Fuck. Why didn’t I bring this up earlier? Well. . .I never thought I would need to. I thought my Tiger was just going to be a few nights of fucking.

I reached for my drink, but my hand stalled halfway.

Just the confession was enough to shift something sharp inside me. I didn’t want to ruin this night, but I also knew I had to tell her, especially if she had put her foot down about the Four Seasons suite.

With Nyomi I had to be mindful and very fucking careful continuing forward.

She watched me. “What?”

"There’s something I should tell you, Tora."

“It looks like it’s something bad.”

“Well. . .” I ran my fingers through my hair. “It’s probably not. . .the best news to tell you on this spectacular date.”

Shit. What will she say?