Flick.

  Flame.

  "Who wants to talk first?"

  Chapter forty-six

  The Smell of Burning Flesh

  Kenji

  Three hours later, I stood in my war room’s shower, and the water was scalding.

  I didn’t want to return to Nyomi covered in so much death.

  Therefore. . .I must have stayed in that shower for another hour, letting the heat burn away the smell of smoke, gasoline, and charred flesh.

  I'd scrubbed my skin until it was raw.

  Changed into fresh clothes.

  Brushed my teeth three times.

  But some stains didn't wash off.

  Some memories didn't rinse down the drain.

  “I’m so sorry! I love you. I thought I was helping!” Mami screamed as the flames first touched her skin and began to crawl up her body like a hungry parasite, blistering everything it touched. The way her mouth opened—not to scream yet, but in pure disbelief, as if she couldn't understand what was happening.

  Eyes bulged in their sockets, swelling outward. Then, clouding over with a milky film. Her arched brows crisped away in a puff of acrid smoke. Hairline receding in a wave of orange as her scalp bubbled, split, and charred.

  And her gaze liquefied too.

  I blinked hard, forcing myself back to the present where I was finally walking toward the bedroom.

  The hallway stretched before me.

  Quiet.

  Empty of staff.

  Just the guards remained and the twins.

  Getting to my bedroom door felt longer than usual. Each step was a battle between the man I was trying to be and the monster I had become tonight.

  The smell.

  Sweet, sick, and wrong.

  Burning hair and cooking meat.

  The stench of urine and the chemical mixture of Mami’s perfume igniting from the flames.

  And then the noises that would live in my nightmares. The sound of her skin crackling like pork on a hot grill.

  The popping.

  The sizzling down of her melting cheeks.

  The way her fat liquefied and dripped onto the floor and plopped like bacon grease.

  Sako had been screaming her name, thrashing against his chains, begging me to stop even though he'd already given me everything I'd asked for. . .

  I shoved the image out of my head, stopped at the door, and gestured to the twins. “Get some rest.”

  “Will do.” One nodded.

  The other followed. “See you tomorrow.”

  With the rest of the guards behind me, I stood in front of the door and held my hands in front of me, making sure they didn’t see them shaking.

  No one could.

  I'd hidden it well down in the prison. Had kept my voice steady, my movements controlled, my face carved from stone as I watched four people I'd cared for confess their betrayals and then suffer for them.

  But now, alone in the silence of my own home, the tremors had started and wouldn't stop.

  “Kenji!! Forgive me!!” Then, Sako’s tongue swelled and caramelized, pouring out of his mouth as his lips peeled back and skin gurgled. Blistered. Frothed and foamed, then fully opened like overripe fruit, and beneath it the fat sizzled, popped, and oozed like yellow custard between the cracks of red muscle and darkening flesh over-cooked and glistening in the firelight before it too began to blacken and curl.

  And the obscene smell of rotten peaches filled the air.

  I gritted my teeth, and yearned to press my palm flat against the door and steady myself.

  One of the guards spoke, “Sir, are you okay?”

  “Yes.” I sneered. “Give me space. I’m thinking.”

  They took a few steps away and gave me their backs.

  Breathe. Just breathe. You can’t go in there like this. She can’t see this.

  I closed my eyes.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  I let out a long breath and my hands stopped shaking enough.

  Mami betrayed you. She photographed Nyomi. And Sako was going to help your father take everything you loved. Do not shed one tear for their deaths.

  The justification rang hollow in my skull.

  Because I also remembered how my mother used to braid Mami’s hair and hum songs during bad storms because she knew Mami was afraid of thunder.

  She’d been a sister to me, and now she was a traitor.

  Somehow both things were true.

  And I had burned her alive anyway.

  Her eyes and mouth had stayed open.

  Even as her face bubbled and boiled in the flames.

  Even when there was nothing left of her features but blackened bone and the sick pop of bursting fluid.

  Those empty sockets remained pointed in my direction.

  Staring at me.

  Accusing.

  My stomach twisted.

  You did what you had to do. They would have killed Nyomi. Would have taken her.

  A cold shiver ran through me.

  You didn't have to watch. You could have ordered it and left. But you stayed. You stayed for every second and forced yourself to watch.

  I had.

  Because if I was going to order someone's death, I owed them the weight of witnessing it. Owed them my presence, my attention, the fullness of my culpability.

  That was the code I'd created for myself years ago.

  I just hadn't understood until tonight how heavy that code would become.

  Sako's confessions had come out in broken fragments between sobs. Names spilled from his mouth like gushing blood from a gaping wound.

  Thirty more fucking names.

  Thirty more snakes hidden in my organization.

  Gardeners.

  Cooks.

  Guards.

  A whole network he'd been managing for fifteen years while pretending to be my friend.

  Sighing, I checked behind me and realized the guards took several more steps back, but I caught the glance that passed between them.

  Quick.

  Uncertain.

  Uncomfortable.

  I'd seen these men gut enemies without flinching. Watched them clean blood from their knuckles like it was nothing more than dirt. But something on my face tonight made them look away.

  Perhaps, even monsters recognized when they were standing too close to the abyss.

  My jaw ached from clenching.

  From holding everything in.

  I'd burned Sako's father alive in front of him. The old man who had wept silently through his son's entire confession. The man who had nodded once—just once—when Sako mouthed "I'm sorry" through his broken jaw.

  The pregnant sister, I'd released. She'd screamed and screamed as they dragged her away while I torched her husband, and Sako had vomited against the ceramic tile.

  One mercy.

  That was all I could afford.

  I reached out, my hand hovering over the handle.

  Arata had stopped screaming by the time Totoro’s flames kissed his mother's nightgown.

  He just. . .watched.

  His body had gone rigid against the chains, every muscle locked, his eyes fixed on the small woman who had raised him. She was still confused—had been confused since they'd dragged her from her bed.

  Her milky eyes couldn't see well in the harsh fluorescent light, and she kept asking where she was, why it was so cold, why her sons were crying.

  She never got an answer.

  The flame caught the cotton first.

  A small bloom of orange at the hem.

  Almost pretty.

  Almost gentle.

  Then it climbed.

  "Mama," Arata whispered.

  Just that.

  Just her name.

  She didn't scream at first. The confusion held her still for two eternal seconds—her aged mind trying to process why she was suddenly warm, why there was light crawling up her body, why her skin felt tight and then tighter and then. . .

  The screaming started.

  But it wasn't hers.

  It was Arata's.

  A sound I'd never heard from a grown man—high, keening, broken. His throat tearing itself apart as he thrashed against chains that wouldn't give.

  His wrists splitting open against the metal, blood streaming down his arms, and he didn't notice, didn't care, because his mother was burning and he couldn't reach her.

  His brother just stared in this broken way, watching his mother's grey hair ignite into a flaming halo.

  Her lips peel back from her teeth.

  Her nightgown melted into her skin.

  Her frail hands clawed at the air, reaching for sons who couldn't save her.

  And I watched Arata break.

  Not his body.

  His mind.

  I saw the exact moment it happened—the light leaving his eyes, something fundamental snapping behind them. His screams cut off mid-breath, and what remained was silence.

  A shell.

  A man-shaped thing staring at the blackening remains of the woman who had given him life.

  His lips were still moving.

  Mama. Mama. Mama.

  But no sound came out anymore.

  The rest of the families were burned alive, before I set flame to the traitors. They had to see what they’d done, before they met their deaths.

  All the parents.

  The college boy.

  Dead by fire.

  Screaming to the end.

  Ashes.

  Tons of ashes.

  And the smell of burning bodies.

  I should have showered longer. Should have scrubbed harder. My Tiger will smell the death on me. She'll see it in my eyes. She'll know what I am. She’ll want to run.

  On the other side of my bedroom door, Nyomi was there.

  Clean.

  Warm.

  Untouched by what I’d just done.

  Everything I wasn't right now.

  She already knows what I am. Doesn’t she?

  I turned the knob, pushed the door open, and walked in.

  The lights were low. Moonlight streamed through the windows, painting silver streaks across the floor. And there, curled in the center of our massive bed, my Tiger slept.

  Nyomi.

  My heart clenched at the sight of her.

  She lay on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, her braids fanned across the pillow. The sheets had slipped down to her waist, revealing the soft curve of her shoulder and the elegant line of her neck.

  Beautiful.

  So fucking beautiful it hurt to look at her.

  Sako's father had wept the entire time. Quiet tears streaming down his weathered face as his son confessed to years of betrayal and began spitting out every name.

  The old man hadn't said a word.

  Hadn't begged or pleaded.

  Just wept and shook his head.

  I squeezed my eyes shut.

  Stop. Stop. They’re dead. It's done. Stop.

  When I opened them again, I focused only on Nyomi. Let her steady breathing become my anchor. Let her warmth pull me back from the edge of whatever pit I was falling into.

  I moved closer, my bare feet silent on the floor.

  On the nightstand beside her, a book lay open and face-down. I recognized the cover immediately.

  When the Dragon Swallowed the Moon.

  She must have been reading it before she fell asleep.

  Waiting for me to return.

  For the first time in hours, a smile tugged at my lips—small, private, nothing like the cold mask I'd worn in the prison.

  How far did you get, naughty Tiger?

  I picked up the book carefully and placed it aside.

  Then I reached into my pocket and set a small velvet box on the nightstand.

  Her gift for saving my life tonight.

  Tora, how will I ever thank you enough?

  I slipped into bed beside her, and the mattress dipped beneath my weight. She stirred slightly but didn't wake—just shifted closer, her body instinctively seeking my warmth even in sleep.

  Mami's hand had been trembling too, right before I set her on fire.

  Reaching toward me.

  Telling me how much she loved me.

  I shoved that away and reached for one of Nyomi's braids, winding it around my finger. The texture was soft.

  This is real. My Tiger is real. You are here, not there. It is over.

  I let the braid slip free.

  Wound it again.

  And let it go.

  That calmed me more than standing outside the door.

  Oh, Tora. I will never let you leave me. Never. You are my protection. You are my pleasure. You are my peace. You are my love.

  My lips found her shoulder.

  I pressed a kiss there—soft, reverent, barely a brush of skin against skin.

  I kissed her again.

  And again.

  I truly craved to bite her, but I couldn’t let her wake up to pain.

  You’ll feel my teeth later.

  I pressed my forehead against Nyomi's shoulder, breathing her in.

  You saved me.

  The thought settled into my bones.

  You saved us all.

  Thirty more snakes. Sako had managed the entire network. Recruited them. Trained them. Gave them their orders. Reported back to my father through a system so simple it was almost elegant.

  They had a special way of messaging my father. Two spaces between the period and the last word of every sentence. That's all it took. That tiny signal told the Fox the text message was authentic, that it came from one of his snakes.

  For so many years, that's how they'd communicated.

  I kissed her shoulder again, harder this time.

  Stop. She's safe. You found them in time. Because of her.

  And I was going to spend the rest of my life making sure she knew what that meant.

  Get some rest. Soon we will be hunting the Fox.

  We were going to use Sako’s little text message system against our father. The hackers would wait for his response.

  And if that didn’t work, then surely my hackers would track his call to the Butcher.

  Soon. We’ll have our vengeance very fucking soon.

  I closed my eyes and the darkness wrapped around my tortured soul, and I thought sleep might finally claim me.

  Then my Tiger moved.

  A small shift at first—her fingers tightening around mine, her breathing changing rhythm. I felt the moment consciousness returned to her body, the way her muscles tensed slightly before she recognized where she was and who she was with.

  "Kenji?" Her voice was thick with sleep, soft and uncertain in the darkness.

  I kept my eyes closed. "I'm here, Tora. Right here."

  She turned in my arms.

  Slowly, I opened my eyes, and even in the dim moonlight I could see her gaze searching my face.

  Looking for something.

  Damage, maybe.

  Evidence of what I'd done tonight.

  No. Don’t read me, Tora. Not tonight. Don’t assess. I don’t want you to truly see who I am. . .

  Yet, she studied me.

  She assessed.

  And a minute later, I watched her expression shift as she found the horrors that I’d committed.

  You shouldn’t have looked, Tora. Because if this scares you. . .if you want to run. . .I will trap you.

  Her bottom lip quivered.

  I didn't know what she saw exactly—the haunted look in my eyes, the tension in my jaw, the way I couldn't quite meet her gaze for more than a few seconds. But whatever it was, her face softened with something that looked like heartbreak.

  She didn't ask if I was okay.

  She already knew the answer.

  Instead, her hand came up to touch my jaw, and her thumb traced the line of it.

  Gentle.

  Exploring.

  Grounding.

  Next, she whispered, “I love you, Kenji.”

  I blinked.

  Her words were soft, warm, and everything I didn't deserve after what I'd done tonight.

  Still, so many emotions cracked behind my eyes.

  No. Do not cry. She’s seen enough. You can’t. Not here. Not now. You are the Dragon. Don’t. . .

  "You're shaking," she whispered.

  I was.

  I hadn't realized it until she said it, but my whole body was trembling—fine tremors running through my muscles like aftershocks from an earthquake I couldn't escape.

  Her palm pressed flat against my chest, right over my heart. "Stay with me. Whatever you're seeing right now, you're not there anymore. You're here. With me. In our bed."

  Our bed.

  She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like we'd been sharing this space for years instead of days.

  Like she belonged here.

  Like I belonged here too.

  Sadness cracked within the splinters of my heart.

  "Tora. . ." Her name came out broken and so wrong. There was too much need bleeding through the syllables.

  "Shh." She shifted closer, and slid her leg between mine. Then, she pressed her body along the length of me until there was no space left. No room for ghosts or the sounds of screams. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

  Her fingers moved from my jaw to my hair, threading through the strands. Her nails gently dragged against my scalp. The way my mother used to do when I was small and couldn't sleep. The memory surfaced unbidden, and with it came a pressure behind my eyes that I hadn't felt in years.

  No. Stop. You can't. . .

  "You don't have to be strong right now, Kenji. Not with me. Never with me."

  Do not cry. If you start, you won't be able to stop. . .

  "Whatever happened down there. . ." She pressed a kiss to my forehead. Tender. Loving. "Whatever you had to do. . ."

  Another kiss, this one to the bridge of my nose. "It doesn't change how I feel about you."

  My throat closed.

  My chest seized.

  The pressure behind my eyes became something sharper.

  Hotter.

  Demanding release.

  Dragons don't cry. Dragons don't break. Dragons. . .

  "I've got you," she whispered, and her arms wrapped around me, pulling my head down to the curve of her neck. "Let go, Kenji. I've got you."

  I can't. I can't. If I let go, I'll fall apart completely. And then what sort of man would I be for her. . .If I let go. . .

  "You're safe here."