“The surprise attack?”
“No. I expected that from our father.”
“Our rushing this bomb plan?”
“No. I’m happy to finally get to set the bombs off. I never wanted the days’ delay like you did. Plus, I’m excited to begin this war. Another day our father lives is a day of suffering for me.”
Up ahead, a sharp, high-pitched wail echoed.
I tensed and glanced at him. “Then, what are you the most upset by about this night?”
“I was told your Tiger made bento boxes of soul food for Reo, the Fangs, and Eyes. They said it was a full sample of all her delights from the evening.”
“Who told you this?”
“You know as well as any that the Fangs gossip like women. And they bragged a lot this evening. They said she drew fangs for them and eyes for the Cum Guards—”
“They are my Eyes. I’ve asked you to not call them Cum Guards.”
“She drew a mouth roaring for your Roar. Doesn’t that sound creative?”
Ignoring him, I put my focus back on the path.
“Additionally, she even had little notes of appreciation for their service on the boxes. Drew flowers and everything.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Does she not know about your brother?”
“I’ve told her about you.”
“Has she never heard about your Claws?”
“She has.”
“And yet no bento box for me or our men?”
Behind us, the Claws’ boots crunched harder into the gravel. They were measured steps turning into something just shy of loud stomps which told me that every last one of them was very fucking pissed about not getting my Tiger’s food.
Up ahead, a voice cried out for help once—then again, shorter, as if whatever breath he had left, the bamboo had punched out of him.
I sneered and raised my voice. “I have other things on my mind right now. Ifany of youare fucking hungry, I will have my chef make you all a five-course meal when we return to the house.”
I caught the tail end of a low, muttered “Hmph,” behind me, but no one owned it.
Are they really serious?
However, Kaede made a sharp sound—leather tugging tight as he adjusted his gloves.
The gesture was pointed.
Precise.
Pissed.
Hiro wagged his lollipop at me. “We have eaten your chef’s foodmanytimes. We have not hadhers.”
“Smells like betrayal to me,” Toma muttered. “I would have killed a man for a bite of those yams. Glazed in warm bourbon butter? They sounded good.”
