Page 37

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

It was closing in on midnight, and everyone had long retired to their rooms. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Two days had passed, and I still couldn’t shake the image of Taka and Dori falling. Dori’s eyes locked onto mine in that final moment, pleading for help. The guilt continued to weigh on me.

I hadn’t tried to help. I hadn’t done anything. I’d stood and watched, as useless as someone filming on their phone.

Jiro had told me over and over that there was nothing I could’ve done. The challenge was designed for failure, and someone had to fall. But knowing that didn’t ease the guilt clawing at me. It didn’t change the fact that their deaths didn’t feel like accidents. Kenji’s actions had tilted the scales. His deliberate malice had turned a gamble of chance into a calculated death sentence.

Would it have ended differently if Taka had been faster or if Dori hadn’t panicked? Or had Kenji sealed their fates the moment he stepped onto the rope?

Two challenges left. Three of us remained. If Jiro’s theory was correct and Chef Sakamoto intended for only one person to survive, the math was simple. But it contradicted what Reina had told me: Chef Sakamoto chose his apprentice. And then there were the points, which still made no sense to me.

Why Chef Sakamoto had bothered to give us points in the last challenge was a mystery. Each of us having one point was no different from being tied at zero.

I rolled onto my side, curling into a ball.

Three soft knocks broke the silence. I froze, staring at the wall that separated Jiro’s room from mine. It was our signal to talk. If the other responded, it was a go. I debated for a moment before sliding out of bed and knocking back.

A few moments later, I opened the door just enough for Jiro to slip inside.

“Am I disturbing you?” he asked as I climbed back onto the bed.

“No,” I said, pulling the blanket over my legs. “I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Everything,” I replied honestly, tilting my head to look at him. He sat at the foot of the bed and leaned against the wall. My feet were close enough to touch him if I straightened them. “And you?”

“I’ve been giving the game a lot of thought,” he said. “Mostly about what would be the best strategy moving forward.”

“And?”

“No one else can die. That includes Kenji.” His voice was flat, his gaze fixed on the wall.

I pushed myself up on my elbows, studying him. His jaw was tight, his shoulders tense. Sensing my gaze, he turned slightly to look at me. He looked exhausted.

“I mean it,” he said, quieter now. “The odds are too great now. We all have an equal one-in-three chance of being the one to go. It’s better if we all survive the next two challenges. If we all survive, it forces Chef Sakamoto’s hand to pick a winner. The two that aren’t picked walk away with their lives.”

I couldn’t argue with the logic. The alternative was to gamble with our lives.

Jiro reached down and took one of my feet in his hand, massaging it absentmindedly, just like he used to when we were dating. His thumb pressed into the arch of my foot, firm but soothing, and despite myself, I felt my muscles relax.

He wasn’t looking at me; his focus remained on the wall, and his expression was unreadable. His hands were moving on memory alone.

“I’ve thought this through from every angle,” he continued in a low voice. “This is the only way forward.”

Even though I could hear Jiro, I was fixated on his massaging my foot. It was so familiar that I didn’t know what to do for a moment. Should I pull away? Make a joke? Or just let it happen?

But more importantly, why did this massage make me feel vastly different from the one Kenji had given me?

In the end, I let it happen. Maybe I needed the comfort, or perhaps I just wanted to pretend, for a fleeting second, that things between us were still simple.

“That’s a radical solution,” I said finally. “Especially since none of us have been able to predict a challenge.”

“It is,” he admitted. “But the alternative is taking your chances with dying.”

“But are the odds really equal?” I pressed. “It’s not just chance, is it? These challenges test skill, cunning…and maybe something else we don’t even realize. If one of us has an edge, or if someone sabotages another, those odds shift.”

“If we start thinking like that,” he said slowly, “turning on each other, measuring who’s weakest, it’ll tear us apart.”

“It’s already happening,” I said sharply. “Kenji turned on us. He killed Taka and Dori. If we play the game your way, and he doesn’t, doesn’t that give him the advantage?”

Jiro was silent for a moment, his fingers stilling against my foot. “You’re not wrong,” he said finally. “But that’s why we need to stick to the plan. All three of us make it to the end, even if Kenji attacks us.”

I paused. Could I do that to Kenji? We were best friends as kids, inseparable. And while he’d turned into something else now…was I now capable of the worst?

No one deserved to die here. Not Kaiyo, not Miyo or the others, not even Taka and Dori, as much as I despised those two. And though I feared Kenji, he didn’t deserve to die. At least not by my hand.

“I know you’re feeling conflicted about Kenji,” Jiro said. “I get it. He was a big part of your life when you were young.”

Jiro lifted my legs off him so that he could slip into the space between me and the wall. He lay on his side, his entire body pressed up against my back.

It happened so fast. I was still processing. Was he cuddling?

A second later he’d wrapped his arms around me, entwining them with mine. And just like that, we were spooning, like we always used to do during the conversations we’d have late into the night.

“But you’ve also known me for quite some time too,” he continued, his warm breaths tickling the side of my face. “I mean, we both know you, in different ways. But if I may be so bold, I think I have an edge on Kenji.”

Why was I not bucking him off me?

Every second without objection said this was okay. I should have already moved away.

And yet I hadn’t.

I should have been disgusted by his warmth. But I wasn’t. Nor was I afraid of what he might be thinking.

Was I seriously enjoying this?

Apparently, because the five-second rule has passed. Throwing an elbow into him and demanding he unspoon you is impossible now. It’ll be awkward and paint you as a waffler.

Five-second rule? That’s for food that falls on the floor.

Nope, it applies to this situation. You gave him the go-ahead by shouting “Drivers, start your engines!” followed by an enthusiastic wave of the green flag. You might as well have flicked on the “Open 24 Hours” neon sign, left a trail of breadcrumbs, slipped a get-out-of-jail card into his hand…

Okay, okay. I get it already. But I’m in control.

“This has nothing to do with me not liking Kenji,” Jiro continued, his thumb rubbing gently against my wrist. “And you know there’s no jealousy from my end. This is about making it to the end.”

You could have fooled me. Seems like this is about making it so my clothes come off.

He nuzzled his face into my neck, sending chills down my arms and turning the hairs into purposeful little prickles. Then he drew a breath, the tip of his nose grazing my neck, before…

And there it was. His full lips, lightly touching my neck. My legs were useless, all feeling drained from them, as I lay back into him. His gentle kisses peppering me, slowly, intentionally.

Right then I didn’t care about our relationship.

I didn’t care about what had happened in the past.

I didn’t care about the challenges we were still facing.

None of that mattered as I melted into him.

You still have a chance to save yourself, Akiko. You can stop this. Jiro would never force you to do anything. Just roll over and tell him.

Jiro’s fingers gripped my waist, dragging me against him. I could feel him—hard, deliberate. His breaths were uneven.

I turned to fully face him, to stop this madness. I locked onto his hazel eyes. That familiar look froze me.

I expected him to kiss me again. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, eyeing me the way he did back in university—like he was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

And then he did.

His lips crushed against mine, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, deep and sure. His hands brushed down my sides on cue, thumbs grazing my ribs, fingertips burning against the thin barrier of my shirt.

I knew I should stop this. Kenji was right down the hall.

But I didn’t stop it.

I didn’t stop him when he slipped a hand under my shirt, fingertips gliding over my stomach, tracing the curve of my waist. I didn’t stop him when he pushed me onto my back, his body shifting above mine, heat radiating between us.

I didn’t stop him when he started moving down.

His lips pressed against my collarbone, then lower still.

“Jiro—” My voice hitched when he reached my stomach, his tongue trailing over my skin.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. His fingers were already hooking into the waistband of my panties, dragging them down, baring me completely to him.

I knew what he was going to do.

I remembered what he could do.

And yet somehow, I wasn’t prepared.

His mouth was on me before I could even exhale.

A sharp cry caught in my throat, my fingers grabbing at the sheets, his hair, anything to anchor me. His tongue swept across me, slow and deliberate, his lips closing around the most sensitive part of me. He sucked lightly—just enough to make my hips jerk off the bed, a gasp finally escaping me.

Oh, God!

Jiro groaned. The sound vibrated through me as his arms locked around my thighs to keep me from moving. His tongue pressed into me, a slow, unrelenting rhythm that had me fisting the sheets.

He wasn’t rushing. He was savoring me. Enjoying every second.

I knew because he always had. Because this wasn’t new. Jiro had always loved this part—loved unraveling me, loved listening to the sounds I made when I couldn’t hold back.

And I couldn’t hold back now.

I barely recognized my own voice when I moaned, my fingers twisting in his hair, tugging. But he didn’t stop. His tongue flicked, his grip on me tightening when I tried to squirm away. Too much. It was too much, and he knew it.

And still, he didn’t stop.

I felt it building, pressure coiling tighter, spiraling fast. He could sense it too. His mouth moved faster, more focused, his tongue stroking exactly where I wanted, as if he could still read every shift of my body.

“Jiro—oh, fuck?—”

The orgasm slammed into me so hard I arched off the bed, his hands locking me in place, his mouth not letting up until I was gasping and shaking beneath him. I came apart completely in his hands, just like he’d intended.

My mind was still spinning when I felt him moving back up, his mouth leaving a trail of soft, lazy kisses along my stomach and ribs. His lips found the curve of my breast; his tongue flicked over my nipple before he took it gently into his mouth.

A gasp escaped me, my fingers tightening in his hair. He lingered there, teasing, tasting, his other hand sliding up my side, fingertips grazing the other peak, rolling it between his fingers. I arched into him, chasing the warmth of his mouth.

He kept moving, pressing kisses along my neck, before his weight settled against me. I could feel him—still hard and wanting.

I reached for him, my fingers brushing over the hard outline beneath his pants. With a swift tug, I freed him, guiding him between my thighs, but Jiro caught my wrist before I could slip him inside.

“Not tonight.”

His words were gentle but firm, his grip steady, his breath warm against my ear. I blinked up at him, still dazed. “Why?”

“You know why.” His mouth brushed against my forehead. “You’re loud.”

Heat flushed my cheeks. Was he seriously bringing that up now?

“Jiro—”

“Not happening. Our friend is just down the hall.” He kissed me again, slower this time, before easing onto his side, pulling me back into him. “No need to give him another reason to want us dead.”

I should have been annoyed and frustrated. But he was right.

His arms curled around me, his breathing slowing. This Jiro, this new Jiro, didn’t just want to fuck me—he wanted to keep me.

And somehow, that seemed more dangerous than anything else.