I had two books to write, interviews to re-schedule, research to organize. Hiroko's story deserved my full attention, and so didthe book I'd been dreaming about for years—the one that would expose the truth about Japan's underground sex industry.
Kenji's war might be tearing through the criminal underworld, but my work wouldn't wait.
And I refused to be the woman who lost herself completely in a man's arms, no matter how perfect those arms felt.
Quietly, I padded toward the closet, my mind already racing through interview questions and chapter outlines.
Inside it, I grabbed the first comfortable things I found—black yoga pants that felt obscenely expensive against my skin and a simple grey shirt that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe back in the States.
Everything in this closet was designer, tailored, and perfect.
I dressed quickly, aware that every second I took was another second Kenji might wake and pull me back to bed.
Not that I'd fight him very hard.
Once dressed, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and slipped out of the bedroom.
Seven big guards stood in the hallway.
Oh damn.
I stopped, taking them in with the same assessing eye I'd used during last night's test.
The one nearest the door had his weight distributed evenly—ready to move but not tense. His hands hung loose at his sides, no white knuckles, no clenched fists. When his eyes met mine, they were alert but not hostile.
Alright. He’s. . .loyal and. . .confident in his position here.
The second guard had a small scar above his left eyebrow and wore his suit like a second skin—comfortable, lived-in. I guessed that he'd been doing this job long enough that the uniform didn't feel like a costume. His stance mirrored the first guard's.
Also loyal.
I scanned the rest quickly. Same tells—relaxed but alert postures, clean weapons maintenance. I could see the careful way they wore their shoulder holsters. I noted everyone’s direct eye contact that held full respect to me rather than challenge.
All of them are safe.
These weren't men who questioned their orders or secretly worked for the Fox. These were some of Kenji's most loyal guards.
Of course Reo would have the best watching us.
I nodded at them. “Good morning.”
They politely nodded back.
I headed off.
Three of the guards followed as I moved down the hallway. Not threatening, just. . .accompanying. That told me that Reo had assigned a small new unit to shadow the Tiger wherever she wandered.
Interesting.
The one on my left and with the scar, lifted his wrist to his mouth. A small communication device must have been built into his watch because he began to speak into it, "Reo, the Tiger is up and moving."
Oh okay.
I quirked my brows.
It was hard not to feel like the First Lady or something—three Secret Service agents trailing behind me while I padded down the hallway.
A small laugh escaped before I could stop it.
