Emperor of Rage: Chapter 14

I crouch in the darkness outside Kir’s mansion, the scope of my rifle trained on the lit office windows. My finger hovers over the trigger, more for comfort than anything else. I’m not here to take a shot tonight, even if the windows weren’t bulletproof.

Which they definitely are.

In the crosshairs, I see Kir lean back in his chair, sipping whiskey, the light catching the sharp angles of his face. He looks calm, collected—every bit the powerful Bratva leader.

But I know better. I’ve seen cracks in that façade at time. I’ve seen him rattled, if only momentarily.

I watched him that night the sky was filled with fire and the stench of death.

I saw him standing in the wreckage of my family home after the massacre that ripped my life apart. The blood was still fresh on the ground. The house was still ablaze.

And Kir Nikolayev was walking through the ruins like a ghost.

He had no business with my family. He had no reason to be there.

Except maybe to gloat?

To smile at the destruction?

Who knows.

The image of him standing there, surrounded by the corpses of my family, is burned into my mind. It’s a memory that refuses to die, no matter how many years have passed. It’s why I’m here now, watching him.

Kir takes another sip of his drink, blissfully unaware of my presence, completely relaxed. I let my finger drift off the trigger and settle lower, my eyes focusing on the room behind him. My attention shifts to the mantelpiece, where a row of photographs sits in neat, polished frames.

I adjust the scope, zooming in. The first photo is of Annika and Kir, sitting at a fancy restaurant together. Another, much older, is of a teenaged Kir with his arm around a young girl who looks very much like him.

Polina, his late sister; mother of Damian, still in the hospital.

My scope drifts to the left, and I frown when it lands on more framed pictures.

Of Freya.

There’s one of her with Kir—some Nikolayev family event, perhaps. She’s smiling, laughing, carefree.

Carefree.

It’s almost laughable. If only Kir knew the truth about the girl he’s been treating like a daughter all these years. If only he knew who she really was, what blood runs in her veins. Lindqvist blood—killers and betrayers, all of them.

Her father orchestrated the betrayal that shattered my world, and took Polina Nikolayev’s and her husband’s lives. Freya’s part of that legacy, whether she admits it or not.

I almost want to feel smug about it. I’ve started my revenge, haven’t I? Sunk my claws into her? Marked her, dirtied her, tainted the girl Kir’s kept so carefully under his wing?

The thought should satisfy me immensely.

It doesn’t.

Because she was very into it. More than I expected. Freya wasn’t just some passive player in my game—she wanted and craved it, and that changes everything. Blurs the clean lines I drew for this revenge.

It’s one thing to bend someone to your will. To have them look at you with needy hunger—that’s a different kind of power entirely. Power I didn’t expect her to hand me so willingly.

I think about her eyes, so wide with fear and excitement, so eager for more. The way her breath caught when I touched her and her body responded to every command I gave her.

I linger a few moments longer, my focus drifting back to Kir. The need to end him, to see the fear in his eyes the moment he realizes who I am and why I’m after him—it’s a craving that gnaws at my insides, a hunger I’ve been feeding for years.

But I’m patient. I can wait.

I lower the rifle, disappearing back into the shadows, my movements silent and practiced. The guards are lazy—Kir thinks he’s untouchable in this fortress of his.

He’s wrong.

I easily slip past the security cameras, moving like a shadow across the grounds until I’m out of sight. Once I clear the perimeter, I take a deep breath, letting the tension roll off me in waves.

I should head back…regroup…plan my next move. But as I slip the rifle into the hidden compartment in the trunk of my car, my mind drifts to Freya.

I can still feel her skin under my fingers, her warm, trembling breath as she wrapped her mouth around me.

She thinks she’s in control of her world; thinks she can dictate the terms of our arrangement.

She’s wrong. She’s mine.

I smile to myself, closing the compartment and glancing back toward the mansion one last time.

I want to feel satisfied, but all I feel is anticipation.

I slip into the car, the engine purring to life as I pull away from Kir’s estate, the shadows of the past still clinging to me as I roar into the night.

I’m not even the smallest bit done watching her tonight.