Emperor of Rage: Chapter 27

The distance between us is unbearable, but I’m trying not to admit that.

It’s been days since I’ve seen Mal, and his absence feels like a slow, creeping ache. It’s ridiculous, really. But no matter how I try to push him out of my mind, the memory of the other night keeps pulling me back.

Or rather, dragging me back, by the hair, and then fucking me into oblivion.

Whatever that was with him that last time was fucking insane. I’ve been sore and covered in bruises for days. My wardrobe suddenly exclusively features turtlenecks, hoodies with the hoods bunched up around my neck and scarves, to cover the marks from what looks like a fucking chain and tire iron attack to my neck.

I had to tell Hana I fell awkwardly getting out of the bathtub. For fuck’s sake, I’ve been wearing pantyliners because of how fucking raw my poor pussy still is.

And yet?

…Worth it. All. Fucking. Worth. It. Best sex of my life. Okay, that’s a low-to-non-existent bar. But I’d venture to say best sex of anyone’s life.

If you’re into playing rough, that is. Really, really fucking rough.

Like, the sort of rough I should maybe be a little more scared of, given how unhinged Mal is.

I could lie to myself and say that’s why I’ve kept my distance since that night. But that’s not even the littlest bit true. It’s not because I’m scared of him.

I’m scared of me. I’m scared of what this all means to me.

I’m the one who left the other night. After the sex, and after he’d given me a hoodie and gone to get water, I ran. Or more like staggered, wincing, back to the main house.

I had to.

Mal made it perfectly clear before any of that happened that what we had wasn’t going to be anything serious. No strings, no complications. No emotions. He’s “not capable of that”, I believe his words were.

And I told myself I was fine with that. I am fine with that. I’m not some lovesick girl pining for more, not from a dangerous, emotionally screwed-up man who’s possibly—or probably—a psychopath.

I mean…why can’t it just be fun? Why can’t I just enjoy him and the frankly life-altering sex without wanting more? He makes me feel incredible, and fucks like a god with the Devil’s cock.

I refuse to be “that girl.” The one who gets attached. I’m smarter than that. Stronger than that.

Besides, I should be staying a continent away from someone like Mal. So the fact that the opportunity here is to be able to sleep with him without any strings binding me to him?

That’s arguably for the best. No mess, no heartbreak, just…whatever this is.

Casual, highly addictive, but nothing more.

…Aside from possibly lethal.

I stare down at my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen, tempted to text him asking what he’s doing tonight. Or, like, now.

I know I shouldn’t—I’m the one who walked away—but the urge is maddening. A tight knot of frustration and longing twists inside me, pulling at my resolve.

No. If Mal wants it, he can make the first move. I won’t chase him. I can’t.

With a frustrated sigh, I toss the phone onto the couch beside me. The room is quiet, the silence pressing in around me.

Kir and Isaak are back in New York, but I’ve stayed in Kyoto longer than I planned. I keep telling myself it’s for Annika. But deep down, I know it’s because of him.

Because although Annika and Kenzo are still around, there’s a ton of lovey-dovey shit radiating from them. With my own emotions in such a tangled mess of confusion and darkness, it’s a weird vibe to be around. So I’ve been avoiding them.

I lean back against the couch, staring at the ceiling with the strange sense of melancholy that’s been following me around for days settling heavily in my chest.

My phone lights up on the couch next to me, pulling my attention to the text that just popped up.

Cain

Hi Freya! It’s Cain. We met at that ramen place in New York. I borrowed your phone charger.

I grin widely as I type a reply.

Me

OMG, of course I remember you! Hi!

Cain

Hi!!! Sorry, I have no idea what time it is in NYC. I hope I’m not waking you.

Me

Lol, I keep weird hours. Also, I’m not in New York right now. How’s it going?

Cain

Good! But I have this encryption problem I can’t crack. Then I thought of you and thought…why not ask?

Cain

Up for a challenge? I mean only if you have the time. I’m totally hitting my head against this one.

Me

Sure! Feel free to send it over and I’ll take a look.

Cain

OMG, you’re the best!!

I grin, reaching for my laptop. Cain’s email arrives instantly, with the encryption data and algorithm attached. I go into sleuth mode, booting up the code and giving it a quick look to see if anything jumps out.

Cain

Seriously, thank you. I’m not technically supposed to be sharing this, BTW, so shh. But I’m close to the deadline for this job and I’m stumped.

My eyes backtrack to a command line, rereading the code a few times. I pause and my bottom lip retreats between my teeth as I switch up what I think might be a syntax error and add in an extra line of code just to be sure.

Me

I MIGHT have figured it out. One sec, running a stress test on it.

Cain

WTAF!?! You are a QUEEN. Thank you!!

Me

No prob! Test is running now. Should take five minutes.

Cain

I seriously owe you. For real, you have no idea how much you’ve just saved my ass.

Me

Lol, been there, girl. A hundred times. My pleasure.

Cain

So where are you if you’re not in NYC?

I blow air through my lips.

That, new internet friend, is a long story.

Me

It’s…complicated. Short version: my friend married a Japanese guy, and I’m over here living with them for a while.

Cain

OMG! You’re in Japan?! I’m back too, in Tokyo!

Me

Kyoto!

Cain

Amazing! I love Kyoto, it’s gorgeous there. We should meet up while you’re still here!

Me

Yes! That would be awesome!

My laptop dings. I glance at it and grin before I attach the updated code and email it back to Cain.

Me

Code headed your way. Stress test says all clear.

Cain

THANK YOU!!!

She finishes her text with about a million happy face, heart, confetti and champagne emojis. Then we reiterate that we HAVE to meet up while I’m still in Japan.

A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Cain’s banter and needing my help has grounded me a little, compared to earlier. Later that evening, I retreat to my room for a scheduled video call with Kir and as the screen flickers to life, the familiar sight of his face further easing the tension that’s been building in my chest. His sharp blue eyes focus on me, his expression as composed as ever.

“How are things over there?” Kir asks.

“Busy,” I reply, trying to muster a smile. “I’ve been reviewing the quarterlies for Flux Logistics.”

Kir’s brow arches at the mention of the latest company to fall in his crosshairs. Yes, the Nikolayev Bratva is a criminal organization. But that doesn’t mean it’s exclusively criminal. Kir is very, very good at layering his illegal activities and income between legitimate endeavors, which hides his criminality quite well. Flux Logistics, a Baltimore-based shipping company, is a perfect acquisition target for him: a legitimate company that’s already a front for a smuggling operation. The purchase price includes the actual shipping company, which turns a good profit, as well as the muscle and connections with the smuggling operation.

“And?” Kir asks, amusement and excitement in his voice that he can’t quite hide.

“Their numbers check out.”

“But…?”

He’s smirking. He already knows what I would find on the current owner. He just needed me to find the proof of it for leverage.

“Yeah… He’s fucking the nanny. They meet twice a week at his offices once the wife takes the kids back from her.”

Kir smiles. “And would this be the thirty-five-year-old nanny, or the⁠—”

“You know perfectly well that it’s the one who’s nineteen.”

“God, I’m going to enjoy fucking him with this. Good work, Frey. Seriously. That wasn’t an easy find. He was cautious.”

I grin. What can I say? I’m a sucker for genuine, nice compliments, especially from someone I respect, like Kir.

But even as we discuss business, my thoughts keep drifting to Mal, to the strange distance between us that I can’t seem to bridge, the wall between us that I don’t know how to break through.

“Everything else all right?” Kir’s brow furrows slightly as he studies me.

I pause, debating whether I should tell him what’s been bothering me.

Are you fucking high?

I clear my throat, forcing a smile. “I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Just a little tired. It’s nothing.”

Kir gives me a long, searching look, but eventually nods. “Make sure you take care of yourself. Oh—have you talked with Damian recently?”

Not as recently as I’d like, but Damian and I have been talking pretty regularly since I got to Japan.

“Maybe two days ago?”

Kir sighs. “Well, he’s got it into his head that he wants to come visit.”

I snort. “Let me guess, someone’s still pissed that they were in a coma when Kenzo married their pseudo-sister and now he wants to come over and shit on the lawn about it?”

Kir throws his head back in a big laugh. “That about sums it up.”

“Won’t that be fun.”

He grins. “Give him a call. I doubt you’ll convince him not to come, but maybe you can take the pressure down a bit before he goes over there and does something reckless.”

“Hey, he’s your nephew.”

“Oh, and he so listens to me,” Kir mutters sarcastically.

I giggle. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Annika and I had plans for some late-night hangouts later. But when she’s completely MIA, and when Kenzo is also MIA, I can add two and two together and get “fucking each other’s brains out”. I’m smart like that.

So instead, I end up on one of the patios, aimlessly doom-scrolling Instagram. It’s a bad habit—one that both Annika and Hana constantly tease me about. But sometimes it’s easier to get lost in other people’s lives than deal with your own.

I pause when I see a new post from Takeshi.

Dammit.

I’ve been fastidiously not going back to that particular photo of Mal at the club with Tak, because it pisses me off in a way that confuses me. The mere thought of that fucking girl sitting on his lap is enough to drive my internal temperature up in a supremely stabby way.

And that’s confusing.

I mean for one, what Mal and I have isn’t a “relationship”. It’s an arrangement. Or I guess it was an arrangement—one based on a blackmail threat. Now it’s just…a different kind of arrangement? One based on me being addicted to fucking him? But also having feelings for him I can’t, or am scared, to put into words?

Pretty much.

Either way, it’s just now hitting me that we never had any sort of conversation about exclusivity. And yet, Mal’s behavior—i.e., flying back to the US from fucking Japan and beating up a guy for me—would suggest otherwise.

Like I said: it’s confusing. It’s also why I’ve tried to not look at the goddamn picture again.

So much for that.

I flick to Tak’s profile, scroll through a bunch of newer posts involving motorcycles and parties, and finally find the rage-inducing post itself.

I glare at the somewhat blurry pic again, grinding my teeth as I look past Takeshi to where Mal is sitting with that fucking girl on⁠—

I frown, stiffening as I take a better look at the skank on his lap.

What the FUCK?

My stomach twists. I take a screenshot of the post, then go into my gallery and zoom in.

Holy shit.

It’s Mia, the household help that Kir fired back in New York for constantly flirting with him.

Just to be sure, I do a reverse image search on the zoomed-in photo. Sure enough, it comes back with a link to her Instagram.

I stare at the profile, incredulous, then glance back at the photo of her on Mal’s lap.

What the fuck is Mia doing in Kyoto? And what the fucking fuck is she doing sitting on Mal’s lap like she belongs there?

A tidal wave of jealousy and anger crashes over me as I scroll through her profile. Mia’s most recent posts show that she is, in fact, living in Kyoto now, working at a hostess club as a cocktail waitress.

There’s no way this is a coincidence.

I need answers.

The neon lights of Shimogyo Ward flash above me, the bike I borrowed from Takeshi rumbling to a stop beneath me as I cut the engine. The city hums around me, the air thick with the smell of sweat, smoke, food, and alcohol.

I glance up at the blinking neon sign for Club Heartbreaker, a high-end, exclusive “Hostess Club”.

Japan is full of these. The guests are male, with female staff, although there’s clubs going in the opposite direction cropping up too these days. Basically, businessmen-types can come in and sit and drink with gorgeous, younger women who are great at conversation, or have specialized knowledge on certain subjects, or are just good at making their clients feel like rock stars.

They’re not brothels. There’s no touching or anything like that, and nobody’s stripping. They’re literally just places to go and pay someone to be your friend for the night.

Japan has a serious loneliness problem.

My heart pounds as I push open the club’s door, the dim lighting and upbeat jazz music washing over me. I scan the room, searching for Mia.

It doesn’t take long.

She’s working the floor, weaving through tables with a tray of drinks in hand. Her eyes meet mine from across the room, and I see the flicker of confused recognition followed by a sharp jolt of panic right away.

Yeah, she knows why I’m here.

She swallows, glancing around nervously as I approach.

“Ms. Holm,” Mia says, her voice quiet. “I don’t want any trouble⁠—”

“We need to talk,” I say icily.

Mia shifts uneasily, her eyes darting around. “I’m working⁠—”

“It won’t take long,” I snap, stepping closer.

She hesitates, then sighs, swallowing nervously as she sets her tray down. “Look, I didn’t follow you or Annika to Kyoto, okay?”

“Now why would you assume I’d think that?” I say pointedly.

Mia gives me a look, suddenly dropping all pretenses. “Okay, I get that you don’t like me. I hit on Kir, and you’re like, I don’t know, jealous about that?”

I make a face. “Hardly. I just don’t like seeing gold diggers trying to hook their claws into him. He’s like a father to me.”

She nods glumly, looking away. “Well, first of all, I’m not a fucking gold digger.” She shrugs. “I thought he was hot, sue me.”

“He was your boss.”

She sighs, giving me a look. “Is there another reason besides me taking a shot with Kir that you don’t like me? If you’re curious why I’m here, my cousin is in Kyoto for a study abroad semester and I wanted to come visit her. Japan makes it really hard to get a work visa, but this place…” She clears her throat, lowering her voice and glancing around. “Well, there’s a market in hostess bars for blonde American gaijin. And this place is willing to pay under the table to satisfy it.”

Mia sighs heavily, shooting me a look.

“Can I please get back to work now? I’m not trying to steal your daddy, okay? I’m just working, and I need to⁠—”

“What’s going on between you and Mal?”

Her brows knit. “Who?”

“Mal Ulstäd.”

Mia gives me a look. “Freya, not gonna lie, I have no fucking idea who that is.”

My anger surges as I open my phone to the saved screenshot of Takeshi’s post and shove it under her nose. “Ring any fucking bells?”

She stares at the picture briefly before slowly raising her eyes to me.

“Freya, you understand how these places work, right? Guys come in, they spend money, they buy bottles, they get pretty girls to sit with them and laugh at their dumb jokes and tell them how fascinating they are, and that’s it. The next night, a whole new crowd of lonely guys with money comes in. Rinse, repeat⁠—”

“You’re actually going to tell me you have no idea who the guy is who came in with his cousin Takeshi Mori, of the Mori-kai Yakuza? The same Takeshi Mori who happens to own a controlling interest in this very bar?”

Mia’s face falls.

“The same Takeshi Mori, actually,” I smile, batting my eyelashes, “who’s the very guy paying you under the table to work here? That still not ringing any⁠—”

“Okay, okay! Jesus!” Mia blurts, flustered. “Seriously, I don’t want anything to do with any of this shit, okay? I just want to make some spending money, hang with my cousin for a semester in a hella cool foreign city, and go home. That’s it, Freya.” She frowns and glances at the picture again. “Fine, you want to know what’s going on with him and I?” Mia sighs. “It’s not what you think. Like, at all.”

“Then enlighten me, Mia.”

She looks away, shoving her hand through her blonde hair before sighing and turning back to me. “He wanted information about Kir.”

I frown. “Excuse me?”

“That’s literally it. He’s been in a few times. And that is all he ever wants to talk about: Kir Nikolayev.”

“What about Kir?”

Mia shrugs. “Anything. Like, anything I can remember about working for him. Where I remember him traveling to. He was really curious to know if he’d ever been to Norway. Something about a Link family?”

I stiffen. “Excuse me?”

“Link-something. It was super Norwegian sounding. Link-mist…Link-twist…”

“Lindqvist?”

Her face lights up. “That was it!” She sighs. “But I have no idea who the fuck that is, and I told him as much.” Mia glances over to a lively table of Japanese salesman in suits. “Look, as fun as this has been, I really do need to work, okay?”

I nod, my head spinning as I glance at her. “Sure.” I frown. “Thanks, Mia.”

I turn and head out, almost more confused than I was when I walked in.

“Freya—wait.”

Mia is stepping out the front door after me. She bites her lip, clearly conflicted before she finally speaks.

“Look, for what it’s worth, Mal didn’t ‘want me’, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I frown, feeling my face flush. “What?”

“You like this guy, yeah?”

My cheeks burn hotter. “I never said that.”

She smirks, rolling her eyes. “Right. Well, trust me—I know men, and when they want me. Him?” She shakes her head. “He didn’t. Take that how you will.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just give her a small smile. Mia gives me one last look before slipping back into the club, leaving me standing outside, my mind racing.