Page 7 of The Dragon 2
My thumb hovered over the screen andhisname.
I could hear his voice in my head already. That deep, commanding rumble laced in smoke and velvet.
I wanted to hear that voice.
Just for a second.
No. What the fuck are you doing?
This was dangerous.
I couldn’t be the girl who came in her sleepandcalled the man responsible for it five minutes later.
That wasn’t power.
That was obsession.
That was. . .
Fuck it.
I pressed on his name and placed the phone next to my ear.
Oh God. You are fucking crazy!
His line rang twice. Right as I was about to hang up. . .his voice came on the phone—velvet death, so smooth my body shivered. “Tora?”
Fuck. Now what?
Chapter one
Strategy
Kenji
My private jet hummed like a sleeping beast—quiet, expensive, engineered for men like me who needed altitude to plot blood.
I sat at the long obsidian table in the center of the jet. Unfurled before me were the blueprints of Tokyo—not the tourist gloss, not the skyline sold on postcards, but its criminal underworld’s bones.
Every district I personally owned was marked with jagged neon blue ink:
The Ashen Blocks—where burnt-out buildings hid underground arms trades and old money whispered in abandoned temples.
Ironport—once a shipping district, now a gate of illegal imports, organ traffickers, and chemical caches buried beneath rusted docks and ramen joints that never close.
The Velvet Quarter—a playground for elite depravity. Secret, red-soaked brothels, glass-box voyeur clubs, and auction floors where innocence was sold to the highest bidder.
And now, the ones my father still owned:
Kurokawa Strip—a slick, black artery of assassins, debt collectors, and contract killers with gunpowder tattoos and no last names.
Shinjuku Thirteen—not on any map. A hidden ward of thirteen blocks where even the police didn’t go. Where body bags left through the sewers.
The Pale Gate—his oldest territory. A ghost city layered in shrines and slaughterhouses. There, whispers of the Fox still ruled. There, his word was gospel and his punishment biblical.
Every pin on the map marked a different kind of power.
But I believed that every color was a future grave.
