The other followed suit. "Good morning."
My steps slowed. "Um. Good morning."
They rose with matching smiles, returning to their flowers but stealing glances at me as I passed.
Al-righty.
I swallowed hard, trying to process the fact that they weren't just being polite. They were treating me like I mattered.
We passed another hallway where three guards stood at attention.
All three straightened as I approached.
They nodded in unison, hands clasped behind their backs, expressions respectful but not cold.
I nodded. “Good morning.”
One of them—the oldest, with gray at his temples—gave me a small smile. "It's an honor to serve you, Tiger-sama."
My throat tightened.
Honor.
To serveme.
I kept walking, pulling up Deja's voicemails because I needed something normal right now. Something that wasn't guards bowing and staff treating me like royalty.
On the first message, Deja's voice exploded through the phone, loud and absolutely panicked.
Oh FUCK!! What happened?!
Chapter eleven
Laughter Before the Blade
Nyomi
My stylist’s voicemail played.
"NYOMI! Girl!”Deja sounded frightened.“I’ve got a whole SQUADRON of Japanese men here at my house! WITH GUNS! Big tall men in suits with GUNS on their hips like this is some mob movie! What is GOING ON?! Did I tell you that they got GUNS?!"
Oh my God.
I could picture it perfectly.
Deja's brownstone in Bed-Stuy. Her living room where she did hair—the folding chair by the window,The Young and the Restlessplaying on the TV, her cousin Nika probably mid-gossip about somebody from the neighborhood.
And then the door opens and in walks a squad of yakuza soldiers.
In suits.
Tattooed necks and wrists.
Scarred faces.
Colorful hair.
Armed.
