Maybe ripping open the wound fast was the only way to start healing it.
And even if we had found them all. . .
What happens now?
Surely if Kenji's men could make the spies talk—if they could trace the threads back to the Fox himself—then maybe this war could end sooner than anyone expected.
I thought of Reo's cold efficiency. Hiro's sharp smile. The Fangs. The Claws. The prison beneath the mansion that Hiro had mentioned so casually.
They would make the spies talk.
Whatever that looked like, I knew it wouldn't be gentle.
Blood.
Screams.
Maybe flames.
Undoubtedly death.
My stomach tightened as we walked toward the hallway to meet the twins.
Four snakes, caught.
But somewhere out there, the Fox was still breathing.
Still scheming.
Still waiting to see what his son would do next.
And soon, he would find out.
Chapter forty-one
Soul Food for Soldiers
Nyomi
Minutes later, I entered the bedroom, closed the door behind me, and leaned against it.
Breathe. Just breathe.
My pulse was still erratic, my skin still humming from everything that had just happened. The twins remained on the other side of that door under Hiro's calm authority. Meanwhile, Hiro was going to take the phone to his brother.
My thoughts spun in my head, torturing me with what-ifs and maybes. I closed my eyes and desperately tried to snuff out the relentless images flashing behind my lids. It was as if some malicious film director had taken up residence in my mind, intent on replaying the night’s events in an unending loop.
Did we really find all the spies?
I opened my eyes.
The stillness of the room mocked my internal turmoil.
The moonlight streamed through the windows, painting the space in shades of silver and shadow.
The bed—where Kenji had expertly fucked me last night and then given me passionate aftercare—now looked foreboding and distant.
But my body remembered.
