Emperor of Rage: Chapter 21

I stare out the window, my breath stuck in my throat, my pulse skipping like a record scratch. Annika’s words still echo in my ears, sharp and jarring in the hollow quiet of the room.

We got Kenzo back. Ulkan Gacaferi is dead. It’s over.

The air I exhale feels thick and heavy, like I’m purging poison from my lungs. A chain that’s been wrapped around my neck for weeks feels like it’s loosening, falling away. The tension that’s had me by the throat, the fear and anxiety I’ve carried like an anchor—it’s all disappearing.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I can breathe again.

I stare into the middle distance, my mind blank and full at the same time, trying to process it all.

Ulkan is dead.

I want to scream with relief, but I can’t even find the energy to move. It’s over—finally over.

I know the world’s been spinning for weeks around Annika’s forced marriage to Kenzo to broker a fragile peace between Bratva and Yakuza. But underneath that, dragging us both down like the deadliest of weights, has been the mess we created the night Anni and I stupidly stole that Lamborghini.

Agreeing to take that job for Ulkan was a monumentally bad decision. It put our relationship with Kir in jeopardy and broke every promise we made to him about staying out of petty shit like that.

Worse, it got us back on Valon Leka’s radar, after Annika had escaped him all those years ago.

But now, all that tension and weight are finally lifting.

It’s been days—six, to be exact—since Annika flew to Kyoto. It’s been just as long since I spoke with Mal.

Not that I’m counting.

Not one call or text to let me know he was done with me, and our unholy arrangement was over. Well, I don’t know if it is over. But I feel like there is—or at least should be—some sort of implied expiration date given that he’s dropped off the face of the Earth.

But that all gets brushed aside with what happened earlier today. The moment my phone lit up with a desperate, terrified call from Annika, I knew something had gone terribly wrong. I could hear it in her panicked, terrified voice.

Ulkan followed her to Kyoto. He used Valon as bait to draw Kenzo and Takeshi to a luxurious house in the Kamigyo Ward. That was where Ulkan ambushed them, took Kenzo, and all hell broke loose.

It turns out Kenzo wasn’t the prize Ulkan was hunting.

He wanted Annika.

When she called me in a panic after Kenzo was taken, I hacked into the Kyoto municipal CCTV system and tracked the license plate of Ulkan’s car to where he was holding Kenzo.

And now, it’s over.

Ulkan Gacaferi is dead.

I slump back further in my chair, feeling the weight of that truth sink into my bones. My body feels drained, exhausted. It’s like someone finally hit the pause button on the chaos that’s been my life, and now the adrenaline is draining out of me, leaving nothing but fatigue and a cold wash of relief.

For days—weeks—I’ve been walking around with a gnawing fear that something awful was lurking around the corner. Every time I closed my eyes, I could feel it, looming.

I don’t know if that’s because my like-a-sister best friend was half a world away from me for the first time in pretty much ever, or because Mal pulled the rug out from under me.

Maybe both.

And maybe I’d prefer not to look too hard into that because I’m worried what I might find.

Whatever. It’s over now.

Before I can really let that sink in, Annika speaks again. Her voice shakes a little this time, like she’s finally letting herself breathe, too.

“There’s something else, Frey.”

I stiffen, wondering if that’s hope I hear in her voice.

“She clears her throat. “Valon’s dead, too.”

I freeze, my pulse spiking again.

“W-what?” I stammer.

“He got away from Ulkan’s place after they took Kenzo. He was really cut up, Frey. The police just called: they found his body in a ditch across the street from that house.”

It takes a moment for the words to register, but when they do, the relief that crashes over me is overwhelming, a tidal wave that knocks me off my feet. I sink back into the chair, my heart pounding, my hands trembling.

Valon Leka, the monster who kept Annika and I in little gilded cages while he abused her—the man who almost broke her—is fucking dead.

It’s over.

It’s really over.

I let out a shaky breath, my head dropping into my hands as a tear slips down my cheek—whether from relief or exhaustion, I’m not sure. Maybe both.

“You’re serious?” I whisper.

“Fuck yes,” Annika mutters, bitterness and satisfaction on her lips. “I almost feel like I should send flowers to Ulkan’s family for cutting that fucker up so badly.”

For so long, Valon was this dark, looming threat, a shadow that she and I could never quite shake. And now, he’s just…gone. I don’t know what to say.

Annika’s voice drops, barely audible over the phone. “It’s finally over, Freya.”

I exhale again, slumping into the chair as I start to grin.

“Mal was a huge help getting Kenzo free.”

Hearing the name is a slap to the face I wasn’t ready for. My stomach lurches, the phone suddenly cold in my hand, every muscle in my body tense. I hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t wanted that.

Not after everything. Not after he left and fucked off to Japan and vanished from my life without a word. As if none of it mattered. As if I didn’t matter.

I take a shaky breath, trying to swallow down the sick feeling bubbling up inside me. I hate that just hearing his name makes my heart race, that it still affects me. What we had wasn’t a relationship. It was just a messed-up arrangement.

I should be glad he got bored of me and went to find some other victim for his sick games. That I’m free of him.

Why the hell does it sting so much?

The bitterness sinks deeper into my chest, filling the spaces he carved out. He took everything. My control. My freaking virginity. And then he just—walked away. No explanation. No closure. Nothing.

Annika must sense my mood shift, because her voice softens. “You okay?”

I force myself to breathe, plastering a fake smile on my face that I hope will come through to my voice. “Yeah! I’m fine, just fucking relieved, you know? And I guess, sort of in shock?”

“Same,” she breathes. “It hasn’t really sunk in yet.” She clears her throat. “Hey, Frey?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna come to Kyoto?”

I grin widely. “Aww, missin’ me?”

She snorts. “Don’t be a dork. Obviously. It’s been fucking forever since I got some Frey time, and I know Kenzo would love to see you, too.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me? Since when do you care what Kenzo wants?”

She laughs, but it’s softer than usual. Suddenly, I get it. Something’s changed between them. The whole point of Annika and Kenzo’s marriage was just to prevent all-out war between the Yakuza and the Bratva.

But now?

“Ahem, would you say it’s getting a bit serious with your husband?”

She laughs lightly. “I’ll explain when you visit,” Annika says, almost shyly. “But yeah, things are…different.”

I should be happy for her. I am happy for her. But the hollow feeling gnaws at me, pulling me under. Annika’s found something real, something unexpected. And here I am, left alone with nothing but radio silence.

After we say goodbye and I hang up, the elated relief I felt earlier is gone, replaced with that gnawing ache. Annika has Kenzo. She has something stable, something that’s real.

And me?

I’m just left sitting in the middle of the mess that Mal created.

I hate myself for doing it, but the next day, I’m checking my phone again, scrolling through my messages hoping for some sign of him. But it’s always the same—nothing. A void.

God, I’m pathetic.

The problem isn’t just that he left. It’s that the moody asshole turned me into a fucking addict before he did. I’ve always had a fairly high sex drive, just nobody to explore that drive with.

Then Mal barged into the picture, knocked down my walls, ripped me out of my comfort zone, and blew my fucking mind.

…And then left.

And now I’m floundering, anxiously trying to score a fix that scratches that Mal itch, like a fucking junkie.

Believe me, I’ve had all sorts of alone time, just me and my fingers and a vibrator, since he left.

It’s not the slightest bit the same. And I hate it.

With a frustrated sigh, I open my social media. It’s a distraction at best, but maybe that’s what I need right now. Anything to stop thinking about him. I scroll through Hana’s latest posts first, pictures of gorgeously presented food at fancy restaurants and scenic views.

She lives a life that seems so uncomplicated, so normal…if regimented and precise. I wonder what it’s like to wake up in the morning without the weight of secrets crushing you, without the constant fear of who’s watching or waiting in the shadows. To know exactly what your day will bring.

Takeshi’s feed is the usual chaotic mess of motorcycles, fast cars, and rowdy nights out. A world of adrenaline, mayhem and havoc. I scroll through his recent posts, barely paying attention. Then a photo from a few days ago, taken at some club, catches my eye. In the background, sitting in a dimly lit corner, is Mal.

My heart stutters to a stop.

There’s a girl draped across his lap, her arm wrapped possessively around his neck.

What the fucking FUCK.

The jealousy hits me so hard I almost drop my phone. I zoom in on the picture, my blood boiling as I stare at the image.

I mean, it’s not like he’s my boyfriend…I guess. But is he fucking serious?! After everything we did, everything we shared, he’s just moved on and is out there sharing the darkness I found in him with random girls?

Fury twists in my gut, hot and ugly. I can’t believe I let him get to me like this. Can’t believe I gave him something so personal only for him to throw it back in my face.

Fuck him.

Fuck all of it.

I toss my phone aside, hating myself for caring so much. For letting him get under my skin.

As if triggered by the impact of hitting the bed behind me, my phone rings. I turn to scowl at it before seeing Damian’s number on the screen.

“We’re going out.”

He grunts the words even before I can make a crack about bedpans. Damian’s out of the hospital now. He should be here at Kir’s place so I can keep an eye on him, but he’s insisted on staying at his place to heal up.

Emphasis on “heal up”. Not “go out”.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“We’re going out, Frey,” Damian grumbles. “I’m losing my fucking mind being cooped up in here.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, the two-story glass penthouse overlooking Central Park with the personal chef, maid, and twenty-four-hour nursing care sounds like a real fucking drag, D.”

He snorts. “You know me. I need people. To go out. Listen to some music, or dance or some shit. See where the night takes me.”

I sigh. “Why does that sound like code for you wanting to go out and get laid?”

Damian chuckles. “You manage to make friends with a single girl yet that you could invite out?”

I frown. “Okay, A, you’re high if you think you’re going out clubbing. You’re still healing. And B, if I even had any, I’d send my girlfriends on dates with Jeffery Dahmer before you.”

He barks out a laugh. “First of all, ouch. Second of all, Dahmer fucked and killed dudes. So your non-existent girlfriends would be fine. That said, they’d still be unequivocally finer with me.”

“Still a moot point, because I don’t have⁠—”

“I know Ulkan Gacaferi is dead, Freya. I also heard that shit-stain Valon is, too.”

Damian’s never known the full story of Anni’s and my history with Valon. If he did, I’m pretty sure he’d have hunted Valon down and ripped his head off.

But Valon was a dangerous, well-guarded piece of shit, and Damian could easily have gotten himself killed in the process of beheading that monster. Plus, Annika and I both wanted to keep that past in the past.

But his words give me pause. I mean, he’s got a point. The nightmares hounding Annika and me are both dead. My shoulders do feel lighter. Maybe it is an occasion to go out and celebrate?

And to try and shake Mal from your head.

That one makes me scowl. It’s also the one that sticks. Maybe going out, having some drinks, and dancing until my head spins is the perfect way to try and forget about him.

I clear my throat. “Damian, you’re still healing⁠—”

“I wasn’t asking permission, Frey. I wanted to see if you wanted to join me.”

I smirk. “Why do I feel like I’m going to be your chaperone?” I make a face. “Or…wing-woman?”

He snickers. “No idea what you’re talking about. I’m picking you up in an hour. Be ready.”

The music pulses in the air, the bass thudding deep in my chest as I take another sip of my cocktail. I glance over at Damian sitting across from me in the booth, his usual cocky grin on full display as he talks to the group we came with.

I’m fine going out to a quiet—or even loud—bar alone. But Damian is Bratva royalty, and royalty never goes out alone.

And definitely not without making a splash.

We’re at Achtung, an ultra-chic, ultra “scene”, ultra loud club in Soho full of models, finance types, and a who’s-who of young, rich New York.

Supposedly. I haven’t the slightest clue who those people are, but Damian at least travels on the periphery of those circles.

But that’s pretty much who we’re out with: a handful of bored, drugged-up fashion models, two guys who look like they only exist to sell the fashion models coke, and a couple of higher-up avtoritets in the Nikolayev Bratva dressed like cliché Russian mobsters.

Bratva royally also doesn’t go out without protection. We’re joined by about ten of Damian’s soldiers, including—much to my chagrin, since he keeps staring at me—Dimitri.

As I’m looking out over the dance floor, I have the misfortune to catch Dimitri’s eye. He nods his chin at me, grinning what I’m sure he hopes is his most winning, charming smile. I flash a weird face and an even weirder dance move his way before pulling my gaze to Damian.

I scowl as I watch him toss back the drink in his hand like there’s no tomorrow.

“You’re supposed to be taking it easy,” I murmur, leaning in close so only he can hear.

Damian shoots me a lopsided grin, his violet eyes glinting under the flashing club lights. “Relax. It was just a bullet, Frey. Not a lobotomy or open-heart surgery.”

I glare at him. “They literally did operate on your heart, dumbass.”

“It would seem I’m invincible, then,” he smirks back.

I roll my eyes but can’t suppress the smile tugging at my lips. That’s Damian for you—always brushing off the seriousness of everything.

“Still,” I say, my tone firm, “you’re not bulletproof⁠—”

“The fuck I’m not,” he grins before sighing. “Frey, please, just enjoy yourself for once. You can even go dance with someone and I won’t pull the overprotective brother card.”

“Really?”

“I mean…maybe,” he shrugs.

I laugh.

“Seriously, you look great, Frey. And those fuckers Ulkan and Valon are dead. Why not live a little?”

I clear my throat, glancing down at myself.

Okay, I do look hot, thanks to Damian, who made me go back upstairs when he picked me up and change out of my black jeans and hoodie into “something that they’ll actually let through the door”.

I decided to take that idea and run with it, coming back down half an hour later in my current ensemble: a short, strapless, shiny black vinyl dress with matching vinyl thigh-high boots and black choker.

I sigh, glaring at Damian as I take another sip of my drink. “I’m just saying, you don’t need to prove anything by drinking the bar dry.”

Damian laughs, leaning back in his seat. “Don’t worry about me, sis. I’m fine.”

I sigh, shaking my head, pushing whatever lingering thoughts I have concerning Mal away to focus on the moment and enjoy the night. I ignore the rest of these people Damian’s dragged along with us…whoever they are…and just focus on the fact that he and I are out, sharing some drinks, maybe even having a good time.

The alcohol is doing its job, making everything feel lighter. I even find myself laughing at a seriously gross joke one of Damian’s avtoritets makes.

But after another two hours or so, I notice Damian gritting his jaw a little tighter, his face a little paler. I march over, giving my most withering “goth chick” look to the girl sitting draped all over him. She swallows, looking nervously at him. Even Damian nods for her to take a hike.

“You’re going home,” I mutter. “Don’t even try to fight me on this. You look like you’re in pain.”

He grimaces. “I’m…”

I glare right at him. Damian sighs.

“Fine, fuck,” he grunts. “Okay, it might be time to call it. Let’s bounce.”

I snort. “What’s this ‘we’ shit? You dragged me out and forced me to have fun. I’m staying.”

He sighs, rolling his eyes. “I’m not just leaving you here, Frey.”

“I’m a big girl, D. I think I can survive a little dancing without you.”

His brow furrows. “Fine, but I’m leaving half my men here.”

I sigh. “Oh, well, yes that sounds very relaxing and definitely not intrusive at all.”

He rolls his eyes. “Try to stay out of trouble, Freya.”

Once he’s gone, the empty seat beside me feels too empty. His entourage also seems to fade away, having no interest in hanging out with yours-truly without the crown prince himself being here too. The laughter that was bubbling up inside me moments ago fades, replaced with the familiar heaviness. Without Damian here, it’s like the club is overwhelming me, the noise too loud, the lights too harsh.

I take another sip of my drink, trying to drown out the tangled mess of thoughts swirling in my mind. But there’s no escaping them. Not tonight.

Scowling to myself, I pull out my phone. But before I can navigate to Takeshi Mori’s Insta again to glare at the picture of Mal with that fucking girl, I stop myself.

I mean, seriously. This is pathetic.

I put the phone away, taking a heavier gulp of my drink as I try to push Mal from my mind. But it’s like he’s there in the shadows, looming over me even when he’s nowhere to be found. Even when he’s made it abundantly clear by flying to the other side of the fucking world without so much as a goodbye that whatever we had is over and done with.

I hate how much space he takes up in my head.

Soon after Damian leaves, I start to feel super weird sitting alone in the VIP booth. I make my way through the crowd, dancing a little on my way to the bar for another drink.

“You look beautiful tonight.”

I start, turning to see Dimitri grinning down into my face.

“Uh, thanks,” I smile politely. My gaze drifts to the drink in his hand, and I cock an eyebrow.

“I am not working tonight,” he shrugs.

“You just came out anyway?”

He keeps smiling at me.

Shit.

“Damian, he prefers the bimbos with the big tits and the fake tans. But me?” Dimitri’s grin gets even more salacious as his eyes sweep down over my body. “I think you are the perfect woman.”

I mean, I get that it’s meant to be a compliment, even if his delivery is a little…weird. My brows knit as I take a second to really look at Dimitri.

He’s not a bad looking guy. He’s tall, he’s built, and there’s a sexiness about his dark eyes and lashes. He’s got some cool tattoos, and I’ve noticed the little scar holes before in his ears, lips, and eyebrow from piercings I’m betting the Bratva wasn’t too keen on, so he removed them.

But more than any of that, right now more than ever, it’s clear that Dimitri really does have a thing for me. And for the first time, I’m wondering why I’ve never…

Okay, I know why.

Because I’m damaged. Because I don’t date anyone, not just men who work for Kir. But in a post-Mal world, has that changed? Have I “gotten over” my hangups enough to be open to casual dating or hookups?

Like, Dimitri isn’t a bad guy. He’s attractive enough. And he’s here, and I can’t deny that it feels good to have someone fawning over me when my mind is so wrapped up in Mal.

He could be a good distraction.

Could be.

But won’t.

Because even when the image of Mal with that fucking girl with her hands all over him roars into my head, I can’t even try to imagine being with Dimitri. Kissing him, or letting him touch me, or…eww.

No.

I get ripped out of my thoughts when Dimitri pulls close to me and wraps an arm around my waist. His palm runs up my back, then returns to my waist, lingering too low on my hip.

I smile flatly as I gently push his hand away.

Dimitri frowns, clearly not getting the message. “Please, Freya. You and I… We could have a good time.”

“I don’t think so, Dimitri. That’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

His hand slips around my waist again, gripping me a little tighter.

This time, I’m much more aggressive when I peel his fingers off me and push his hand away.

“I said no,” I snap coldly, my voice rising.

Dimitri looks taken aback, his face flushed—whether from embarrassment or alcohol, I don’t know. For a second, I think he’ll back off, but then he grabs my wrist, his grip tight and unrelenting.

“Freya,” he says, his voice lower, more insistent. “Don’t be like that.”

My skin crawls at the way he says my name and his fingers dig into my wrist. I yank my arm away.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, turning and storming off to the bathroom, needing to get away from him and his fucking hands. My heart is pounding, my blood boiling from a mix of alcohol and anger.

The one perk of sitting in the obnoxiously chi-chi “VIP booths” is that you get access to restrooms the rest of the club doesn’t. So I get to skip the line for the ladies’ room and instead slip past the velvet ropes and bouncers back into the uber-pretentious area.

The VIP restroom is small but quiet and empty, the music from the club muted behind the door. In the flickering candlelight illuminating the space, I splash water on my face, trying to calm myself, but it doesn’t help.

That’s when the door swings open, and Dimitri walks in.

My stomach twists and I whirl.

Fuck.

“Dimitri, get out,” I say, my voice sharp.

He doesn’t listen. He steps closer, his eyes glazed with alcohol and something dark and dangerous. “Come on, Freya. Don’t be like that. You know I’d be good for you.”

He reaches for me again, and this time, there’s nowhere for me to go. I’m backed up against the sink, my heart racing as panic surges through me.

“I said no,” I snap, pushing him away. He doesn’t stop.

“Let me make you feel good, Freya,” he groans, pinning me to the sink. His hands slide over my hip, and then one starts to push lower.

And lower.

Dimitri grabs for the hem of my short dress, trying to pull it up.

A million horrible memories come rushing to the surface. I go stiff and almost catatonic, my eyes looking through him, my mind leaving my body.

Going somewhere else. Shutting down. Pretending this isn’t happening.

I’m barely breathing as Dimitri lowers his mouth to my neck, kissing my skin with wet, sloppy kisses that have the bile rearing up in my stomach as my world turns black.

Then the bathroom door slams open with a force that shakes the walls. And out of nowhere, Mal appears.

Everything happens lightning fast after that. Mal grabs Dimitri by the collar, ripping him away from me and slamming him against the wall so hard I hear the breath leave Dimitri’s lungs. There’s a fury in Mal’s eyes unlike anything I’ve seen before as his fists connect with Dimitri’s face over and over, the sound of bone meeting flesh echoing through the small room.

I stand there, frozen, as Mal tears into Dimitri like a force of nature. He beats him to a bloody pulp, and then keeps going. It’s only then that I realize that Mal doesn’t just want to hurt this man.

He wants to kill him.

“Mal,” I finally manage to choke out, my voice trembling.

He still doesn’t stop. He keeps hitting Dimitri until the light goes out of his eyes and his consciousness fades, slumping to the floor like a broken ragdoll.

Mal goes to hit him again, but I grab his wrist.

It’s only then that he snaps out of it, stepping back and breathing heavily, his hands covered in blood.

He turns toward me, his sharp eyes locking on mine. The intensity in his gaze sends a chill down my spine, but it’s not fear that grips me.

Without a word, Mal crosses the room, yanks me against his chest, lifts my chin, and brands my lips with his in the single most punishing, brutal, and all-consuming kiss of my life.