Page 101 of Brutal Union
Her smile falters, something raw flickering in her gaze before she nestles into my chest again, her arm tightening around my waist like she doesn’t believe herself either.
And in that fragile moment, amid the chaos of the world we built on blood and betrayal, I dare to hope that maybe, just maybe, we can survive each other.
Nadia rolls off my chest a few minutes later, slipping into the depths of sleep with a kind of ease that only comes from absolute exhaustion. She sprawls out across the bed, one arm flung over a pillow, her legs tangled in the sheets like she owns every inch of the room.
I watch her for a moment longer, memorizing the curve of her lips and the rise and fall of her bare back, before carefully slipping out from under her. Every movement is a slow, panther-like jump. I don’t want to risk waking her.
As I pad toward the kitchen, the low murmur of voices pulls me to a stop just beyond the hallway. Instinct kicks in immediately, my shoulders tensing, heart rate edging toward alert. I tilt my head, listening, ready for a threat—until Bhon’s unmistakable laugh rings out, sharp and unbothered, slicing through the quiet.
Rounding the corner, I find Bhon and Aoi seated at the kitchen table. They’re deep in conversation, Aoi practically draped over him, laughing like he’s just told the greatest joke in the world. She wears that familiar smirk—mischievous, unreadable—and Bhon, as usual, looks like he has three plans and two escape routes already mapped out.
When Bhon catches sight of me in the doorway, he gives a knowing smile.
“You must be feeling like a god right now,” he says, his voice low and amused.
I snort, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “Are gods usually covered in bruises and cuts? Honestly, how’d you do it?”
He laughs again, softer this time, and Aoi slides a steaming cup of tea toward me. The smell alone is enough to cut throughthe lingering ache in my bones. I take it gratefully and nod. “Thanks.”
Aoi returns the gesture with a tight-lipped smile. “We have news.”
That word—news—always lands wrong when it comes from Aoi’s mouth. With her, it rarely means something good. Usually it’s the kind of news that demands bloodshed, pain, and a plan sketched in destruction.
I hesitate, taking a sip of the tea. “Okay,” I say slowly. “What kind of news?”
She straightens, her tone shifting into a chilling sharp edge. “We reached out to an old informant with ties to the Yakuza. They’re holding someone—Mia. The girl Nadia mentioned. She’s alive.”
My cup nearly slips from my fingers. “Where?” I ask, sharper than I mean to, the word cracking through the air like a shot.
“Patience, child,” Aoi chides, her voice a strange echo of my mother’s when I used to run ahead without looking. Firm, not angry—measured. “This isn’t the time for a reckless charge. We need precision. Planning. Control.”
I force myself to breathe through the adrenaline starting to build. “So what do you have in mind?”
“That depends,” Bhon says, his fingers tapping slowly against the table.
“On what?”
“On you.”
The way they look at me then—Bhon’s brow slightly furrowed, Aoi’s lips pressed into a fine line—it’s the look people wearbefore delivering something dangerous. Not impossible, just heavy. Like they’re more afraid of how I’ll react than what they’re about to suggest.
“Okay…” I say cautiously. “Can you stop staring at me like I’m about to explode and just tell me?”
Bhon reaches for a slim folder and lays it on the table. He opens it methodically, revealing two passports with unfamiliar names and our faces, a folded letter, and a small brass key.
“We can’t storm their compound, not without getting all of us killed. Even I’m not arrogant enough to try that. But there’s another way. The auction.”
I tense immediately.
“We get in through the auction,” he continues. “We let them think they’re in control. We use their own system to infiltrate, gather intel from the inside, and destroy them. Slowly. Quietly. The only way this works is if they don’t see us coming.”
His eyes meet mine squarely as he delivers the blow.
“We put Nadia up for bidding.”
“No.” The word erupts out of me before I even register the thought. My fist slams against the table, and tea sloshes over the edge of my cup, burning the back of my hand. I barely feel it.
Aoi slaps my arm—hard enough to sting, not hard enough to be disrespectful—but the glare she gives me is deadly serious. Her eyes flick up toward the bedroom. Toward Nadia. The silent message is clear:Don’t wake her. Don’t do this now.
