“Where are they?” I ask in a still, threatening tone.
Kurosaki takes a seat at the long, wooden table. Its legs are trembling under the weight of a breakfast feast. Doughnuts, waffles, pancakes, heaps of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, and other pastries are laid out.
I slam my fist on the table. The silverware trembles, but Kurosaki doesn’t blink.
“If you hurt my people, if you touch even a single hair on their head, our deal is off. I will burn this place to the ground, and I will take you down with me.”
His lips form that amused half-smirk. “The food is getting cold.”
“Wherethe hellare they?”
Kurosaki gestures to the chair at the end of the table. “I prepared a Western feast as I figured your palate is more accustomed to that.”
My chest balloons and caves with each tortured breath.
“Sit,” Kurosaki repeats himself and there’s a bite to his tone.
The last thing I want to do is eat. My stomach is in knots, and it would all taste like ash, but I have no power here. Wrapping my fingers around the back of the chair, I pull it out and force myself to do as instructed.
Kurosaki shares a pastry with some kind of jam in the middle. “I did not have a chance to raise you,” he says conversationally, as if we didn’t just fight in front of the cherry blossoms a minute ago. “There were many things I missed out on. Teaching you how to tie your shoes. How to ride a bike. Small things, really. But when I saw a child, I always thought of you. You were never far from my mind. Here, try a scone.”
My jaw hardens.
He arches a brow, sees that I haven’t reached for the pastry, and then lowers the plate. With a long-suffering sigh, Kurosaki rests both elbows on the table and slides his fingers together.
“Your brothers are unharmed. For now.”
I bristle but refuse to let him needle me. Calmly, I look across the table and swear, “If that ever changes, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“They are not your blood.”
“I don’t need to share their blood. They’re my family.” I stare him down, daring him to debate me on that.
Kurosaki purses his lips as he reaches for a piece of toast. “I have no squabble with them.”
“Then why…?”
“Yesterday, their father took you somewhere without my permission.”
At first, I’m surprised he knows about that. But then I realize who I’m talking to. Kurosaki had Ren and Hayato following me for days, and I had no idea. Even his guards blended right into the shadows until they were ready to be seen.
Kurosaki takes a bite of the toast and then wipes his mouth with a cloth napkin. Raising a hand, he gestures for someone to enter the room.
Two men scurry in, pushing a large television monitor on a rolling desk. They leave the television in place, bow, and shuffle out quietly.
On the screen is surveillance footage of an empty Japanese restaurant. Dutch and Zane are walking in to greet Jarod Cross.
I scramble to the edge of my seat. “What is this?”
“Sh.” Kurosaki places a finger on his lips, and with his other hand, he opens his palm. Someone shuffles forward and puts a phone straight into his waiting hand.
Bringing the phone close, he commands, “Wave to the camera.”
Goosebumps pop on my skin when Jarod Cross raises his hand and starts waving.
“Who are you waving at?” Dutch’s voice sounds muffled from the television speakers.
Kurosaki mutes the television and speaks to the phone again. “Jarod, I’m grateful to you for raising Keiji. This is true. However, I am here now, and you must learn not to overstep your bounds.”
