Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 101427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Hiro turned his gaze to the forest. “So they’re hiding in there.”
“And waiting to kill us.”
Five acres of engineered wilderness sealed under glass and steel.
My graveyard of traitors.
At first glance, it looked peaceful. Tall shoots of black, red, and green bamboo reached for the sky, their stalks polished smooth by time, their leaves swaying in the dark. But the serenity was a lie. This forest wasn’t built for beauty.
It was built to break men.
The layout was a labyrinth—winding paths, no symmetry, no sanctuary. The floor was soft moss and volcanic gravel.
Moonlight slipped through the glass ceiling in long, broken beams, catching on steam, sweat, and something worse.
Bodies lay bound to the forest itself—arms lashed behind backs, chests strapped to the thickest stalks. My men had tied them and then let the bamboo grow through their bodies.
It pierced abdomens, thighs, throats—slow, green spears pushing through flesh over the course of days.
Sometimes weeks.
The lucky ones bled out quickly.
The unlucky ones remained alive in torture for days, becoming part of the forest.
Some of the bodies had rotted and been stripped to bone. Others were halfway consumed by pests, organs dangling between shoots like jungle fruit. A few still had their faces. Wide-eyed. Agape. Staring at nothing.
The scent was always the same—death and chlorophyll.
“We should split up,” Hiro said.
“But we won’t.”
His gaze snapped to me. “Now who’s being overly protective?”
“Me. And I’m fine with it.”
“If I need you, I’ll yell for you.”
“We remain next to each other.”
Hiro let out a long breath, but he didn’t argue again. He knew I wouldn’t bend when it came to his safety. Not here. Not in my forest of ghosts.
I turned to my ten personal guards still stationed near the threshold—my sharpest blades outside the Claws.
“We need more men here,” I told them. “Guard the door. No one leaves without my word. And signal the rest—any remaining loyal on this island should be converging here now. We can’t risk chaos breaking out while we’re in there hunting.”
I turned my attention to the Claws—Hiro’s men that he’d bled beside, punished, trained, and trusted in ways even Reo and I had never fully understood.
Kaede moved first, adjusting his gloves with a flick of his fingers. Then, with precise efficiency, he put his guns up and drew a collapsible bone saw from another holster along his spine. It unfolded with a click too soft to be anything but threatening. That weapon had taken more men apart than most rifles.
Daisuke was behind Hiro, almost invisible until he moved. In one smooth motion, he pulled a silenced pistol from his chest harness and checked the chamber with a flick of his thumb. Two throwing blades slid from his sleeves next.
He rotated them once in his palms, then let them vanish again.
Smoke and steel.
That was Daisuke.
Toma let out a low whistle—too cheerful, too feral—and reached back to grab his sawed-off shotgun from the harness strapped across his back.
He loaded it with a casual, practiced snap and slung a weighted chain from his belt, letting it coil around his wrist like a serpent.
The chain’s steel fangs gleamed.
Toma grinned.
That usually meant someone was about to scream.
The twins—Aki and Yuki—readied at the same time, like a mirror folding in on itself. Their curved tantos were drawn in perfect sync, held in reverse grip, blades catching moonlight for a breath before they lowered into position.
With his other hand, Yuki checked the mag on his compact submachine gun and then clicked it back into place.
Aki unwound his fine garrote wire and looped it once around each gloved knuckle.
Then I checked my own weapons.
I already had both guns in my hands—two custom-modified Uzis, matte black, heavy in the grip, built to cut through flesh like silk. The barrels had been forged with dragon-scale engraving, fine enough to be art, brutal enough to be disrespectful to show in museums.
I cocked the first. The sound cracked through the hush.
I checked the second.
Smooth slide.
Loaded.
Clean.
Across the handle of one, etched in metal was Obey.
Across the other: Burn.
“Put your guns up.” Hiro shook his head. “I don’t want you coming in there with us. You’ll stay by the door.”
“Who the fuck are you talking to?”
“Stay by the door, brother.”
I arched a brow. “You think I can’t handle five traitors?”
“You’re the head—”
“Yeah. Reo said that same bullshit at Hiroko’s club. And now Reo’s in a hospital bed. I’m fucking coming.”
Hiro frowned but didn’t push further. He turned to the twins. “Stay close to my brother. Something happens to him, and you answer to me.”
The twins stepped to my side and flanked me.
I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t need the twins to guard me. I need them searching, moving, killing. Not babysitting me.”
“The twins keep you safe.” Hiro’s tone went flat. “That is the deal.”
“What fucking deal?”
“You want to come into your death forest with us, then you will fucking have guards. No other option is available.” Without another word, Hiro adjusted the grip of his custom sidearm. He pulled it from his belt holster, checked the slide, popped the mag, and confirmed the rounds with a quick flick of his thumb.