Emperor of Rage: Chapter 23

It’s almost daybreak, that quiet hour when the world starts waking up as dawn creeps up on the horizon, smearing the sky with pale streaks of light. But inside my mind, it’s nothing but darkness. A constant, unyielding roar.

I’m crouched in the shadows just outside Kir’s Bronx mansion, still as a statue, watching.

Waiting.

Freya came back here hours ago, and I’ve been watching her ever since. There’s something calming to me in the way she moves when she thinks no one is looking—unguarded, vulnerable. She didn’t see me. She never does. But I see her, same as always.

I should leave her alone. Turn and walk away.

That’s not happening.

The mansion’s security patrols are regular as clockwork. It’s easy to slip between the gaps and blend into the night. These guards aren’t trained for someone like me—someone who’s made a life out of remaining invisible.

I keep my eyes on the driveway, waiting for Kir’s car. He’s laughably predictable, a weakness I’ve always hated in men like him. Kir is normally up before dawn to work out, eat his customary breakfast, and have his cup and a half—no more, no less—of black coffee. Then he leaves the house for his first meeting with his advisors. Always at the same time.

When he leaves today, I’ll get what I came for.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the large black armored SUV rolls out to the gates. I watch his guards wave him through, and as soon as the car disappears around the bend, I move.

I slip across the lawn, keeping low, my footsteps light but deliberate. The mansion looms above me, its dark windows watching like a predator waiting to pounce. I bypass all the main entrances, knowing they’ll be guarded, and find instead a second-floor balcony, easily reachable via the thick covering of ivy running up the side of the house.

Once up, the door’s lock is easy to pick—disappointingly easy. The click of it disengaging sounds like a gunshot in the silence, but there’s no one around to hear it. I slip into Kir’s office, the scent of leather and whiskey hanging in the air.

He really should have better security.

The room is dark, the faint light from the approaching dawn filtering in through the high windows, casting long shadows across the floor. I make my way to Kir’s desk, scanning the room for any alarms or traps.

Nothing. He clearly trusts his guards implicitly.

Another mistake.

I sit behind the desk and boot up his laptop. The screen flickers to life, and I’m faced with the standard login screen. I’ve cracked tougher codes in my sleep. A few precise keystrokes, a bypass here, a backdoor there, and bingo, I’m in.

I search the directories, combing through financial records, business deals, the usual shit. Honestly, I could copy this whole thing right now and make a fortune selling it to his competitors.

But pigs, as they say, get fat.

Hogs get slaughtered.

AKA, don’t be fucking greedy.

Besides, I’m here for something else, something that will get me closer to the truth. Something I didn’t find when I broke into Orlov Financial Solutions’ offices that first night I crossed Freya’s path.

Then I see it.

A folder named Lindqvist, William.

I click on it, calmly scrolling through the files. There’s nothing groundbreaking—just a basic dossier like any crime boss would make on a rival or even a friend. That’s the nature of our world. I’ve compiled insanely invasive dossiers on close allies of the Mori-kai.

Hey, you never know.

I poke around Freya’s past, my brow furrowing when my gaze lands on some scanned documents.

Interesting.

It’s a domestic incident report, dated years ago, back when Freya was just a kid.

I lean forward, and my jaw tightens.

It would appear her father beat the shit out of her mother more than once. Bad enough that the household help, or someone in the house at least, called the police.

Obviously, nothing ever happened. They police came out because they had to make a show of doing so. But no charges were ever laid—not given what I’m sure William Lindqvist was paying the local authorities.

Nothing that I’m reading is that surprising. It’s common knowledge that Freya’s father was a backstabbing piece of shit. But the details paint an even darker picture than I expected. The violence, the control—it’s all there in black and white.

Then a line catches my eye: Argument stemmed from allegations of infidelity.

It doesn’t say who was cheating on whom, but, come on. I know what kind of man Freya’s father was. I can only assume it was him stepping out.

I pull a flash drive from my pocket and copy the entire file on William Lindqvist, making sure to leave no digital trace of my presence. When the transfer is complete, I pocket the drive and power down the computer.

Time to go.

But not before I see her.

I move silently through the house, my steps whispering on the polished floors. It’s too early for anyone to be awake, and the few guards inside won’t be patrolling the private quarters.

Silently, I push open the door to her room and I slip inside. It’s quiet, save for the soft sound of her breathing. She’s asleep, her body curled up beneath the blankets, her face relaxed in the soft glow of dawn seeping in through the curtains.

She looks peaceful, almost innocent. But I know better. Freya isn’t innocent. She’s been through hell, and it’s carved itself into her soul in ways I recognize because I’ve been through something similar.

For a moment, I just watch her. Then my hands curl into fists at my sides. The urge to touch her is overwhelming. I could wake her up. Tell her why I left. Tell her the truth that’s been gnawing at me since the moment I laid eyes on her. But I don’t. I stay still, my eyes drinking her in, memorizing the way the blankets move with each breath.

My gaze drifts to her lips, parted slightly as she breathes. I can still taste her, feel the softness of her mouth on mine. It’s a memory that’s burned into my brain, one I can’t shake no matter how hard I try.

I should leave.

I don’t.

I walk closer to the bed until I’m looming over her, watching her chest rise and fall beneath the covers.

I don’t think. I don’t weigh any of it out. I simply do.

I reach out and tug the sheet down a little. Freya barely stirs as it slips away from her neck and down over her rising and falling chest.

Fuck.

I was almost expecting a t-shirt or tank top. Not the see-through, lacy pale pink chemise covering—barely—her tits and falling only to her waist.

As my eyes adjust more to the darkness, I can make out the dusky pink of her areolas through the gauzy, elegantly sexy fabric.

This girl really does have a thing for luxury lingerie. She even sleeps in it.

And now, my curiosity—and my dick—are at full attention.

Freya shifts just a little as I pull the sheet the rest of the way from her. My eyes slide down to the matching lacy, see-through thong pulled tight against the tempting lips of her pretty pussy.

I should fucking go.

But I already know I won’t.

Not before I’ve had a taste.

She murmurs in her sleep as I pull her hips gently to the edge of the bed. I drape her legs over my shoulders and move between her thighs. My finger traces up and down the seam of her cunt, feeling her grow warmer and wetter as she mewls softly.

She’s still asleep when I roll my thumb over her clit through the material. She lets out a tiny snore when I slip a finger underneath the lace and tug the gusset of her panties aside, feasting my eyes on her bare, sweet, pink pussy.

Freya gasps quietly when my tongue drags up her lips, opening her up and tasting her sweetness like a man starving. I groan into her, relishing her whimpered little sleepy moans, the way her hips gently but eagerly rise to meet my mouth as she dreams.

I’m aware that this is fucked on a few levels. But then, we do have an arrangement. One she agreed to. Her words from earlier to “go ahead and tell them” echo in my head. Even so…

I didn’t. Tell them, that is. Which means Freya and I still have an arrangement.

She’s mine. All of her. Even if she’s fucking sleeping.

I growl into her pussy as I devour her, tonguing her clit hard enough to make her squirm and writhe, but not so hard that I rouse her. I want to ram my fingers into her—better yet, my cock. But that would most certainly wake her. And I’ll be honest, a sick, dark, fucked-up part of me is enjoying the fact that she’s fast asleep while I do this to her.

So I keep nibbling at her clit and sucking on her lips. I drag my tongue up and down, swirling it around her clit before dragging it all the way to her tight little asshole.

Yeah, that’ll be mine, too.

Soon.

For now, though, I just use my tongue, teasing her little hole with it and rubbing her clit as Freya melts into her bed. Her soft, sleepy whines of pleasure fill the room, her breath becoming faster and more urgent.

With a groan, I reach down and free my cock. My hand wraps around the swollen shaft, stroking hard as I savor the taste of her sweet sticky cunt on my lips and tongue.

This woman is fucking delicious, and I’m going to swallow every goddamn drop.

Her hips begin to writhe, her moans growing louder and more urgent. I bury my tongue in her pussy, fucking her shallowly with it before I pull her clit between my lips. My tongue is merciless, my fingertips stroking and teasing her skin as her back arches.

“Maaaal…” she coos softly in her sleep before she gasps sharply and jerks her hips off the bed, still asleep. I love the taste of her cum as it floods my tongue and lips. But what drives me over the fucking edge is what I heard right before it.

My name.

She said my fucking name.

With a grunt, I stand, pushing between her thighs and keeping her panties pulled aside as I stroke my swollen dick. My balls tighten and I bite back a growl as thick cum explodes from the head of my cock.

I grunt, stroking over and over as my hot, sticky cum splatters all over Freya’s pussy and thighs. I watch with darkness blazing in my eyes as white streaks of cum drip down her flushed pink pussy lips, over her asshole and down her thighs.

Marking her as mine.

I’m still not done.

With my cock still out, I walk around to the head of the bed and kneel down beside her sleeping face.

I run the head of my cock over her lips, groaning when I see a few more drops of my cum leak onto her lips.

You’re fucking mine…

I stand up and pull her panties back into place, gritting my teeth and groaning as I watch all my cum soak into them. Then I tuck her back into bed, pushing her hair back from her face before my thumb traces the pulse point of her neck.

I could stay here for hours, watching her, obsessing over the way she makes me feel like I’m not the broken monster I am. But I can’t. Not tonight.

I take one last look at her, my fingers itching to reach out and touch her again. To pull her close and never let go.

To fuck her.

Instead, I step back, slipping out of the room as silently as I came in.

The mansion is utterly quiet as I make my way back to the office and the little balcony outside, the early morning light just starting to creep through the windows. Deep inside me, the darkness is still there, gnawing in the pit of my stomach and reminding me what I am.

As I step into the cool morning air, I feel the flash drive in my pocket. It’s not much, but it’s enough to give me a reason to keep digging. Enough to keep me tied to her.

I can’t let go, anyway.

Not now. Not ever.