Page 191 of Divine Obsession

There was one sentiment floating in the air.

Betrayal.

Rats.

Punishment.

A moment later, Trevor was standing, shrugging his suit jacket on. The storm brewing beneath his skin was obvious.

Zane and I stood, ready to follow.

But Trevor turned to me, his expression hard. “No. You’re not coming.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll get the guns ready,” Zane spoke curtly, leaving us alone.

“You’re not coming,” Trevor repeated, his tone flat; final.

My chest tightened, anger bubbling beneath my ribs. “Kali is my best friend, Trevor.”

“This isn’t about loyalty. This is about keeping you out of danger.”

“I can handle myself.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m not asking, Natalia.”

“You think I’m just going to sit here while your sister – my best friend – is in danger?” Stepping closer, my eyes softened. “Where you go, I go.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. For a moment, we just stared at each other, the tension between us suffocating.

Then he muttered something under his breath and turned away, running a hand through his hair. “If anything happens to you, I swear–”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” I cut him off. “Let’s go.”

Without another word, he grabbed his keys and headed for the door. I followed, my pulse racing, but my resolve stronger than ever. There was no way I was staying behind. Not when Kali’s life was on the line.

The Blood Dragon.

The infamous Chinatown casino run by the New York Yakuza. Elaborate gold dragon statues coiled around red-painted columns, their emerald eyes gleaming in the dim light. A faint haze of smoke lingered in the air with each occasional puff on a Chinese imported cigar.

Trevor, Zane, and I sat at a large, round, jade table in the main room. The gold dragon motif continued here; etched into the table, carved into the chair legs, coiled around the base of the chandelier that hung above us.

Trevor was calm but coiled, his hand resting lightly on the table as he spoke, his tone cutting like a blade. Zane, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair with an air of casual indifference that felt just as dangerous.

Across from us, three Yakuza men sat like statues, their expressions unreadable. The man in the center wore a crisp black suit, his sharp features framed by a silver buzz cut. His eyes cold; calculating.

But my attention – along with Trevor and Zane’s – was solely on the man standing behind the three Yakuza men.

Tao.

There it was.

The fucking rat.

I hadn’t liked him from the start – when he spoke back to me in the first meeting we held on my birthday, at my father’s penthouse.

I’d had a bad feeling about the motherfucker. And I’d been right.

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