Emperor of Rage: Chapter 22

Everything in my world narrows to the feeling of Freya beneath me, her lips soft yet demanding.

I don’t know how to stop.

I don’t know that I’d want to if I could.

My hands tangle possessively in her hair, pulling just enough to make her gasp against my mouth, and the sound sends a shockwave through my body.

She tastes like vodka and rebellion, like a sin I’ve already committed a thousand times in my mind but never in reality. I should stop. I know that. But my body never listens to reason when it comes to Freya.

Suddenly, she pulls away.

Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps, her eyes blazing as she stares at me. I reach for her instinctively, my fingers brushing her wrist to pull her back to me, to continue the kiss that I can still taste on my lips.

But before I can bring her close again, her palm cracks sharply across my cheek.

The slap isn’t gentle—it’s forceful and reverberates through my skull, freezing me in place. For a moment, the world slows to a stop, and we just stare at each other, both stunned by what just happened.

Her eyes widen with raw confusion flickering behind them. As if the slap wasn’t just meant to snap me out of something.

It was meant to rip her from wherever her head just went, too.

Freya’s breath hitches, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and for a heartbeat, we’re caught in that place between rage and desire. Then she whirls around, storming out of the small bathroom and quickly disappearing into the hallway that leads back to the VIP area.

I’m faster.

I’m on her in seconds, catching her wrist and yanking her back toward me. Her wide, wild eyes meet mine, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from pinning her against the wall and devouring her. I can’t think, can’t focus. I’m drowning in everything Freya always brings out in me—anger, desire, guilt—and none of it makes sense.

She yanks her arm back but I hold firm, my grip tightening, keeping her close.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” she spits, her voice shaking with a mixture of fury, shock, and alcohol.

“We’re not talking about me,” I snarl. “We’re talking about whatever the fuck was going on in there with that fucking prick!” I jab a finger at the restroom.

She gapes at me. “Did you seriously fly from Japan just to make sure another man wasn’t touching me?!”

Maybe.

Probably.

Yes.

But I don’t respond. I just step closer, my towering presence swallowing the space between us. I can still feel the heat of her anger radiating off her skin, but behind it, there’s something more. Something vulnerable.

“You disappeared,” she continues, her voice cracking. “You just walked away without a word. Not one text, not one call. Nothing. And now you show up out of nowhere like—like I belong to you?!”

My jaw clenches, and I step even closer, pushing her against the wall. I’m losing control, and I know it. But she’s pushing me to the brink, and the raw emotion in her voice is like pouring gasoline on a fire.

“You don’t get to do that!” she screams. “You don’t get to come back and act like everything is fine. Like you didn’t just abandon me. Like what happened between us didn’t mean anything!”

Her voice breaks, and something inside me stirs awake. Her words are dismantling the walls I’ve spent years building around myself, brick by brick.

Everything between us meant something.

Still does.

I want to say it. The words are hovering on the tip of my tongue, but they don’t come. Instead, I just step closer, my body caging hers against the wall, my hands sliding down to rest on her hips. She’s trembling, but she doesn’t try to escape.

“I left because I had responsibilities, Freya,” I growl. “To the Yakuza, and my family.”

Her chest heaves with the force of her emotions as she stares up at me, her lips parted in shock. My hands tighten on her hips, pulling her closer until our bodies are almost flush against each other.

“Why now?” she whispers, her voice unsteady. “Why come back here now? To—what, prove you can still control me? Prove that I still belong to you?”

One of my hands darts out to grab her hip, pinning her to the wall. The other wraps around her throat.

Not hard, but enough to turn her face crimson and set a tantalizing fire blazing in her eyes as my thumb strokes her pulse point.

“You do belong to me,” I growl.

The admission feels like it’s torn from a part of myself I’ve been trying to bury for weeks. I hate that she’s gotten under my skin like this, that no matter how far I run, no matter how much distance I put between us, she’s always there.

Freya’s eyes search mine. I can see in them the war she’s fighting with herself, the struggle on her face. She wants to deny it, to push me away, but she can’t.

“Why did you leave?” she demands, her voice cracking.

I don’t answer right away. How can I explain the storm raging inside me? The way she quiets the chaos in my head, even as she drives me mad?

“Because I knew if I stayed, I’d consume you,” I finally growl.

Her eyes soften for a split second, and that look—that briefest moment of vulnerability—almost undoes me. Then her expression hardens again.

“You don’t get to decide that,” she snaps. “You don’t get to bounce in and out of my life whenever you feel like it!”

Guilt crashes into me. She’s right, and I don’t deserve the way she looks at me, like she’s waiting for me to say all the right things that will make this all make sense.

I don’t have those words.

“You left,” she says again, her voice tight and angry. “You just disappeared. And now, golly-gee, you’re back!” Her eyes narrow. “I’m not some prostitute for you to just screw whenever you feel like it!” she snaps.

Her words hit me like a punch. And the problem with me and punches is that I only have one reaction when someone throws one at me.

I throw one back.

“I didn’t hear any complaints before.”

Regret immediately hits me like a truck, but it’s too late. Her expression shifts, fury and betrayal flooding her face.

“Fuck you, Mal,” she spits, shoving me hard.

I stumble back into the wall. Before I can recover, she bolts, leaving me standing there, cursing under my breath.

Fuck.

I push away from the wall and charge after her, barreling through the VIP section. The thumping bass of the club’s sound system fills the air, but all I can focus on is Freya as she shoves through the crowd.

I catch up to her outside, grabbing her arm, spinning her around, and slamming her back against the cold brick wall of the alley.

“What the hell are you doing?” she snaps.

I’m not thinking clearly, but I need her to listen and maybe understand, even if I don’t understand myself.

“I don’t do this,” I growl. “I don’t do relationships. That’s not me.”

Freya glares, her eyes flashing as she barks out a cold laugh. “I’m not asking you to be my fucking boyfriend, asshole! I’m asking for basic human decency!”

“Fresh out of that, too,” I snarl.

It’s true. Kasper beat any decency out of me years ago. Or maybe I never had it to begin with. Either way, any softness or kindness I was born with—it’s long gone.

This is who I am now. And I don’t know how to be anyone else.

Anger flashes in Freya’s face as she juts out her chin at me. “You don’t get to come into my life, fuck with my head, and then just walk away when it suits you.”

Her chest heaves as she glares at me. I want to shut her up with a kiss, force her to stop talking and throwing my own weaknesses back in my face. But I can’t. Not yet.

“I’m not doing this anymore, Mal,” she says, her voice breaking. “I just can’t do this whiplash with you.”

Freya yanks herself away from me, turning and storming off into the night.

I don’t know how to stop this. I don’t know how to fix it. So instead, I do what I always do.

Throw fuel on the fire, and probably make shit worse.

In a few strides I catch up to her again, grabbing her arm and spinning her around to face me.

“Do not walk away from me,” I growl, my grip tightening on her arm.

She jerks her arm, trying to break free, but I pull her closer, pinning her against the cold bricks of the alley wall. Her chest rises and falls rapidly as she glares up at me with wild, angry eyes.

“I’m not letting you go,” I snarl, my voice low and dangerous. “Not now. Not ever.”

Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t say anything. The air between us is charged, electric, the tension crackling like a live wire about to snap.

“You’re mine,” I growl, my lips brushing against her ear, my voice a rough whisper. “And I’ll never let you forget it.”

Freya’s pulse races under my touch, and her hands come up but then stop, resting against my chest as if she can’t decide whether to shove me away or pull me closer. Her breath comes in short gasps, her lips parted as she stares up at me, her eyes wide and wild.

“I hate you,” she whispers, her voice shaky.

I smirk, leaning closer, my lips brushing against her neck. “No, you don’t.”

She trembles, her body responding to my touch even as her mind fights it. I can feel the conflict raging inside her, the way she’s so torn.

And I love it.

I love the chaos I stir up in her very blood.

“Let me go,” she whispers. The words are weak, barely a protest.

I tighten my grip on her hips, pulling her closer until there’s no space between us. “No.”

Her breath catches in her throat as she stares up at me with wide, wild eyes. She hates me. I know she does. But she wants me just as much. That’s what drives me crazy and makes this so addictive, so dangerous.

I lean down, my lips brushing across hers, a rough whisper escaping my mouth. “You’re mine, Freya.”

And then I kiss her.

It’s not gentle. Not soft. It’s a possessive, desperate kiss that claims her and reminds her who she belongs to. Her hands clutch at my shirt, pulling me closer, and for a moment, we’re lost in the chaos of each other, in the fury and passion burning between us.

When I pull back, staring down at her flushed face and trembling lips, something else is flickering in her eyes—something vulnerable and broken.

“You left,” she whispers again, her voice small.

The words hit me harder than I expect. For a brief moment, the fury inside me quiets. I stare down at her, my chest tightening with something I don’t want to name and can’t afford to feel.

“But I came back,” I murmur roughly.

She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine, and everything stills. The anger, the desire, the chaos—it all fades away, leaving just the two of us, standing in the alley, clinging to each other like we’re the only things keeping each other from falling apart.

But I know better.

This isn’t something that can be fixed with words or kisses. This is something darker and much more dangerous.

I can’t save her from me.

But I also can’t let her go.

So…I don’t.

I kiss her again, harder. This time, she does pull away, wrestling herself out of my grip with a choked gasp.

“This is done, Mal,” she blurts, her voice shaking with fury. “This…thing between us. It’s over.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” I growl harshly. “We still have an arrangement.”

Her eyes flare with anger, and she steps forward, jabbing her finger into my chest. “Fuck the arrangement! Just tell them!” she yells. “Tell Kir! Tell Sota! Tell everyone! I don’t care anymore, Mal!”

I blink, my mind whirling. I can feel her slipping, and no matter how hard I try to hold on, the ground is crumbling under my feet.

Freya’s voice softens, but there’s still an edge to it. “You’re here and then you’re not. You want me but you hate me.” Her gaze turns stony as she steps back, putting distance between us. “Why don’t I make this easy for you.”

A dark mania surges into my chest when I see the resolve in her eyes.

“How about you stay,” she says coldly, “and I walk away this time.”

She turns before I can respond, before I can even process the words, and storms away. I start to follow but stop when she gets into a black SUV I recognize as belonging to the Nikolayev organization.

The door shuts, and the car peels away from the curb. I watch her go, my chest full of anger, frustration, and something that feels too much like loss. The sight of her driving away sends a surge of anxiousness through me so foreign and uncomfortable that I almost don’t recognize it.

I need to let her go. It’s all I’ve ever done.

But with Freya, I can’t. The roaring in my head only quiets when she’s near.

And that’s a problem I don’t know how to solve.