His jaw clenched. "I’m sorry. . .I could have killed you. . ."
"I’m okay.” Shivering, I let out a nervous chuckle and edged back. “It’s all good. Lesson learned. Give you some space when you sleep.”
Because you are one dangerous motherfucker.
I backed up some more.
Hiro stood there in the middle of the kitchen—shirtless, tattooed, hair a mess, eyes devastated—looking like a man who’djust woken up from a nightmare only to find he’d brought the nightmare with him.
"I’m really sorry." His voice was barely audible. "I didn’t. . .I wasn’t—"
"I know."
He looked at my scattered notebook on the floor next to my phone that now had a cracked screen. “Fuck.”
He picked everything up and placed them on the counter. "I'm sorry."
"No, I'm. . .I'm sorry." I shook my head.
He studied me for a moment. Sadness crossed his face. Then he glanced at the guards and gave them a short nod.
The other guards came over and assessed me quickly making sure the knife didn’t puncture my neck. Once satisfied, they went back to their positions and put up their guns.
I couldn't help myself and had to ask Hiro a question. "How were you able to sense that I was close to you while you were asleep and then act so quickly?"
"It's something I had to learn as a kid." The words came out flat, final, like a door slamming shut on that conversation.
But I saw it—the flash of despair in his eyes, the tightness around his mouth.
What kind of child had to learn to defend themselves while sleeping?
What kind of life had he lived before this?
My chest ached.
Hiro and Kenji were brothers, but clearly their childhoods had been vastly different. Where Kenji carried violence like a crown, Hiro wore it like scar tissue—trauma that had been carved into him against his will.
Hiro continued to watch me. "What are you doing in here?"
"I was going to make some tea and maybe something quick to eat."
The guards stirred and exchanged glances.
The scarred one spoke carefully, "Nyomi, perhaps we should escort you back to your room. We can have the chef prepare tea and bring it to you."
I could hear what he wasn't saying: Please let us get you away from Hiro. He’s crazy.
But. . .I looked at Hiro.
Really looked at him.
His shoulders were rigid, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping. But it was his eyes that got me. They were filled with such raw horror, such devastating shame, that my chest ached.
This wasn't a dangerous man.
This was a broken one.
And all I could do was wonder why.
