He lives close to violence, not just orders it. Plus, his posture says soldier, but his silence says elite killer.
I looked closer. He had scars on his neck and near his ears, but. . .they didn’t look like they had come from fighting.
Some sort of rash. . .maybe. . .
As I watched him, he scratched the side of his face like he had a major itch that he was trying to avoid touching.
What’s up with that?
Either way, he gave the vibe of a drill sergeant that got hard from folding their bed sheet so tight he could bounce a quarter off it.
He watched me without blinking, and I filed that away too.
If he blinks too much. Then. . .that’s his tell. Okay. Let’s go to the other guy.
The last man on the right looked like sin washed in ritual. He wore white from throat to ankle, a long collarless jacket tailored close over straight trousers.
White should have made him look softer. It didn’t. However, it at least made the stillness around him sharper. He was the knife you’d missed because the light blinded you.
His hair fell to his waist in an immaculate braid, smooth as a river pulled through fingers.
No facial hair.
No visible tattoos.
His hands were so goddamn beautiful that I was actually jealous—long fingers, trimmed nails, the faintest sheen at his cuticles like someone oiled them daily for him.
He definitely didn’t do it himself. His whole look and facial expression is giving high levels of PAMPERED.
On his wrist, a bracelet of something pale—bone? Ivory?—was stacked with a gold chain of jeweled beads that appeared very much real and even. . .ancient.
That wasn’t bought from a store. That was passed down many, many times.
He stood with his weight centered over the arches of both feet, a dancer’s neutral position, poised to pivot without warning.
When he breathed, his shoulders barely moved.
Minimalist style? He’s probably super wealthy? Definitely didn’t starve as a kid, and did not grow up on the streets either.
In fact, this wasn’t the wealth you flashed in clubs; this was dynastic, temple-deep wealth, the kind that could buy a bloodline.
He looked at me and did not look away. There was no challenge in it, just this air of boredom.
He’s not pleased to be here, but he will do so out of fierce loyalty to Kenji.
I wondered what Kenji had done to get such great loyalty from such a wealthy man. That fact would be super important for some reason.
“Okay.” I drew a slow breath and put my gaze back on Kenji. “I’m done.”
“Good, Tora. Do you have any questions so far?”
“I know Kaoru. But what are the other men’s names?”
Something sharp flickered over Kenji’s face.
Rage?
Jealousy?
