Meanwhile, as Jiro straightens the suit and effortlessly shakes his hair into submission, I can’t help but stare at how gorgeous he looks. That man is made for a suit, or rather, the suit looks like it was made for him. I know the Yakuza are all about wearing suits and looking professional but seeing him in a pristine one rather than the torn version he came to the island in does something to my lady bits.

It makes them dance and howl.

Fuck, the urge to get on my knees before him in strong even though this really isn’t the time.

Maybe we could make time?

“We still need clothes,” Achilles points out. “I say we split up, so we don’t draw too many eyes and meet at the docks.”

“Is splitting up a good idea?’ I ask seriously. “What if something happens to one of us?”

“No one will be alone,” Row says. “We’re just going to get some clothes and meet back up. Once you go inside, you’ll be within the compound.” He points at me. “Don’t make eye contact if you can help it. You’re the most easily recognized of us.”

“What about you?” I ask. “You’re one of them. And what about my tracker?”

“The likelihood of them knowing you’re on Predator Point is slim,” he says, but there’s something in his eyes, worry perhaps, about if he’s right or not. “As for me, if I’m recognized, it’s not a big deal. They won’t hurt me.”

“Okay,” I murmur. “So we meet at the docks.” I meet each of their eyes. “Stay out of trouble. Stay alive.”

Jiro offers me his hand and I take it, going for the appearance like we’re some grand couple. The shoes I’m wearing pinch my toes viciously, but I’ve danced in heels too small before. This is a cake walk. I force myself to take deep breaths as we draw closer to the doors. I glance back once to where the others were, but they’re already gone, off to find clothes for themselves. We all disappear into the compound, trying to look like we wouldn’t gut them all if given the chance.

“Relax,” Jiro murmurs. “Deep breaths. Walk like you own the place.”

I do as he says, taking in deep breaths and letting them out. I tell myself over and over again three lines.

These people hold no power over you. You are not the Prey they expected. You are fierce, powerful, and in control.

I repeat them until I believe them, until I’m walking with my chin held high and a slight smile curls my lips.

“Good girl,” he purrs just before grabbing the handle of the door and pulling it open.