The Dragon 4 – Tokyo Empire Read Online Kenya Wright

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Oh shit. What is going on? Had I done something wrong?

Turning to him, I kept my face neutral.

"However, the Claws are next. This is the most important thing you must remember."

“Alright. Claws right under the Fangs.”

“Exactly.” Hiro gestured for us to continue.

We moved to another section where fresh herbs were kept in a temperature-controlled case. The glass doors were etched with delicate designs, and inside, everything was perfectly arranged.

I grabbed what I needed.

Chives.

Parsley.

Tarragon.

"The Claws are what the Dragon strikes with," Hiro took the bundle of tarragon out of my hand and placed it in the bag. "They're what the Dragon kills with. They are insanely important. In fact, the Claws tend to do more of the dirty work than the Fangs and the Roar."

"That makes a lot of sense too."

"But then you have the Eyes."

"Okay."

"The Eyes are unimportant."

I nearly dropped the container of cream I'd just picked up. "Really? I would think they're super important."

"Absolutely not," he said it with so much conviction that I had to look at him. "They're not important at all."

I laughed at the absolute disdain in his voice. "What's wrong with the Eyes?"

"They just watch Kenji have sex."

I smirked. "But isn't that important?"

"No."

"But what if there's a woman who tries to kill him during sex?"

"It's not going to happen. Reo created this job from pure, unnecessary micro-managing and anxiety. No one is killing my brother while he has sex. His reflexes are too fast." Hiro grabbed the container of heavy cream from me and placed it in the bag. "It's a cushy, useless job. The Eyes don't deserve anything, and they definitely didn't deserve the bento boxes that night."

Oh.

And there it was.

The grievance.

I studied him.

Hiro was exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, his hair slightly tangled, his pants rumpled from sleeping at the kitchen table. But he was also alert, ready.

I had no doubt he could kill someone right now if he needed to.

And beneath all of that, he looked genuinely hurt.

I'd given bento boxes to the Eyes—the unimportant ones—but not to the Claws and him. And somehow, without meaning to, I'd offended an entire tier of Kenji's inner circle.

"You know what?" I nodded and met his eyes. "You're right. Thank you for telling me. I will correct that immediately."

His eyes brightened. “You will?”

"Yes. I must. You all are the Claws.”

“That’s all I’m saying.”

“And not only will you all get something to eat, but it has to be much grander than the bento boxes I gave the Eyes."

He smiled—really smiled—and it transformed his whole face.

"But first," I held up one finger, "let's go make some Eggs Benedict for breakfast, and we can talk more about how I'm going to make it up to you and the Claws."

He looked so genuinely happy that it made my chest ache.

This man—this dangerous, broken man who'd just held a knife to my throat—was delighted that I was going to cook him breakfast and acknowledge the hierarchy he valued.

We headed back toward the kitchen, and I continued to try and understand the new family that I was joining. This strange, violent, hierarchical family where love was measured in protection, hierarchy mattered more than rank, and broken men held knives in their sleep.

Hiro glanced at me, still carrying the bag of groceries, still careful to keep distance between us.

Still so clearly terrified of hurting me again.

And despite everything—despite my cracked phone, despite the ghost of steel I could still feel at my throat, despite knowing he was one of the most dangerous men on this island—I wanted to know him.

The Dragon's brother.

The man with cherry blossoms torn apart on his back.

The one who'd learned to fight in his sleep as a child.

Because as my grandma always said. . .broken things could still be precious with the right type of love.

Chapter thirteen

Bento Box Politics

Nyomi

Back in the kitchen, I stopped and really looked at the space.

It was massive—professional-grade appliances, marble countertops that gleamed under pendant lighting, copper pots hanging from a rack above an island that could seat eight people. Everything was pristine and organized with military precision.

This was clearly a high-end chef's domain.

"Hey," I turned to Hiro. "Where's the chef? He surely has a staff and everything here."

Hiro leaned against the counter. "He was in here earlier, bored because everyone was asleep. I told him to get out because I wanted some peace."

I laughed at Hiro’s audacity, but also made a mental note not to mess anything up in this beautiful kitchen. Whoever ran this space deserved respect.

I turned to my guards. "Are you guys hungry too?"

"Absolutely not," Hiro said immediately.

I tensed. "What?"

"You can't make stuff for your guards."

“Why not?”

"Because if you do that, then the Dragon's guards are going to be upset that they didn't get anything to eat."

"Oh my God." I pressed my hand to my forehead. "This is becoming a thing."


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