A fourth.
Deja took out another braid. "Nika, put those forks back. What is wrong with you?"
"They said I can have whatever I want at the table—"
"Food, Nika. Not silverware. Every time we go to a nice restaurant, I got to check your purse before we leave."
Zo shrugged. “In Nika’s defense, these are nice forks.”
"They’re real silver—"
"Put. Them. Back."
Nika sucked her teeth so hard I thought she'd pull a muscle. She opened her purse, took out all four forks, and set them back on the table with the attitude of a woman being forced to return a winning lottery ticket.
One of the kitchen staff stepped forward. "She can keep them if she'd like. We have plenty."
Nika's eyes lit up like Christmas morning. She snatched all four forks off the table and shoved them back into her purse before anyone could change their mind. "See? They said I could have them. Thank you, baby."
“Sorry, Nyomi.” Deja sighed. “My cousin isn’t a thief. She’s just so goddamn cheap.”
I grinned. “No worries.”
“I’m almost done, Nyomi.” Zo held a large plate and began placing food onto it. My throat felt tight. Crazy or not, Zo was taking care of me. Deja was doing my hair. Nika was laughing. The movie was about to start.
And somewhere in Tokyo, Kenji was walking into a war.
I checked my phone again.
Nothing.
I kept a strong face. Because I knew my worry wouldn't keep Kenji safe.
All I could do was stay here. Stay safe. And hope that the blood I'd smeared on those guns was enough.
Please, God. Let it be enough.
Chapter thirty-three
The Descent
Kenji
I had my phone out.
The screen glowed in the dim light of the helicopter, showing a live camera feed from the theater box back on the island.
Nyomi sat in a chair with her stylist behind her.
I couldn't hear what they were saying over the roar of the helicopter blades, but I could see Nyomi laughing. Her whole face lit up, and the stylist was saying something animated with her hands moving expressively.
I stared at the screen and tried to memorize every detail. The way Nyomi's shoulders relaxed as the stylist worked. The way my Tiger tilted her head slightly when the stylist sectioned off a piece of hair and started braiding.
I found myself wondering what style she would choose. What Nyomi would look like when it was done.
And then the darker thought crept in.
I was watching my Tiger through a screen because there was a chance I might never see her in person again.
