Broader.
His body completely caged me, one of his thighs pressed between my legs to keep me immobilized.
This wasn’t just restraint.
This was combat.
Instinct.
Lethal efficiency.
And he was still fucking sleeping.
He’d moved on pure muscle memory—disarm, control, neutralize the threat—all while still mostly unconscious.
How the fuck. . . ?
My heart hammered so hard I could hear it in my ears. My breath came in short, panicked gasps that made my chest rise and fall against his.
Pointing guns at his head, the guards crept closer and continued speaking in Japanese.
"H-hiro," I whispered, my voice shaking. "It’s me. It’s Nyomi."
Yawning, slowly. . .his eyes began to open.
Meanwhile, the blade didn’t waver.
"HIRO!" The scarred guard’s voice cracked like a whip. "Stand down! That’s the Tiger!"
Hiro blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Slow.
Confused.
Like he was surfacing from deep water.
His pupils shifted, focusing gradually. The haze cleared in fragments—awareness trickling back piece by piece.
I watched it happen.
Watched him come back to himself.
Watched the exact moment he realized what he’d done.
His eyes widened.
The knife was still at my throat.
My wrist was still pinned.
His body was still pressed against mine, holding me captive against the counter.
Neither of us moved.
