No Ordinary Love by Kenya Wright Read Free Book Online Page B

front. There was a strong resemblance between her father and her. They had the same eyes and high cheekbones. At the center of the photo was the beginning of a rip, the edges burnt.
    What an odd thing to do to your father’s picture, and so publicly. She must hate him.
    The book had told me even more about her, even though the topic was all about her father. Her anger lived between the lines of sentences and pretty words. It was the things she left unspoken that made me aware of how much she hurt.
    This is how she uses her claws. She writes like a killer sharpens knives right before a murder.
    Nyomi’s book had kept me away from all of my responsibilities that evening. She hooked me from the first page and then never let go. How peculiar that her story's topic would discuss the cruelty and criminal activity of her father.
    Did she not think she’d betrayed him? Or did she believe that it was time for him to pay for his sins?
    It was reckless, yet liberating to see. I didn’t have a book like that in me. To speak badly of my father would mean exile from everything I’d known. One didn’t display a flag of their family’s atrocities to strangers. They kept them hidden away in the darkness and then dealt with those secrets after their own deaths.
    Yet, for most of the evening, I had read her book. My men had knocked on the door and I roared. My cousin, Emi, brought in my lunch and tea. I gave her no praise and simply waved her away. She huffed, but said nothing, probably thinking I was swimming in one of my many mood swings.
    Nyomi had a way with drawing me into her world. With each chapter, I breathed in the rough, cold streets of New York City. I'd been there during my soccer career for ads and the promotion of tournaments, but this city was something more to her. I could taste the urban life, feel its rough edges scratching at my fingertips.
    Let Father make me wait. I’ll just read.
    Back in the car, I started the vehicle and left with visions of the mean streets of this American city in my head and erotic thoughts of my Tora flashing through my mind.

Chapter 7
     
    NYOMI
     
     
    The next evening, I waited for the Dragon.
    Piano music played as I stood on the fortieth floor of the Park Hyatt, waiting for Kenji. A white, strapless dress hugged my body and ended at my knees. A black waist corset, done in tiny beads with carved Japanese characters on them, hugged my center. Zo loved draping me in white and thought the color went perfectly with my caramel skin. Granted, white was also his favorite color, so he would’ve thought up any excuse to use it.
    Where is Kenji?
    I'd brought a gift for him and placed it next to my seat where I stood near it. My nerves were a jumbled mess. I would’ve paced, but the six-inch heels made me stumble every three feet or so. Zo also had a thing about angles and dimensions when styling clothes. Due to my curls being in a sweeping updo, Zo demanded that I wear high heels.
    I checked my watch again.
    Nine o’clock.
    I’d give Kenji another fifteen minutes before I decided to leave. He'd sent a limo to Zo’s house right at eight. The driver transported me to the hotel where two suited guys escorted me up to the restaurant.
    The place was huge. The ceilings rose high in the air. Polished mahogany coated the interior surfaces. Glass made up the outer walls. Tokyo’s glittering lights below served as the true décor and afforded me the best view in the city. A savory aroma drifted from where I assumed the kitchen was located. No one else lounged in the main dining area, besides Kenji’s men and me. The guys wore black suits and talked among themselves as they stayed by the doorway, hopefully not to keep me in but to keep others out.
    Kenji must’ve rented the restaurant tonight. How much would that have cost him?
    The Park Hyatt was an expensive hotel. Stars from around the world stayed there. Even the movie Lost in Translation had been filmed throughout the building. The fact that