Emperor of Rage: Chapter 42

I feel like I’m floating, my body untethered from reality.

I can’t focus. Everything around me blurs and fades in and out of darkness.

It’s cold, too—a biting cold that gnaws at my skin, though the pain in my head overshadows everything else.

Where the fuck am I?

The last thing I remember is walking into that speakeasy cocktail bar with Hana to meet Cain. Then there was just blackness⁠—

Hana.

My heart lurches and I bolt upright, wincing as sharp, throbbing pain punches through my skull. My breath catches in my throat, and I instinctively press a hand to my temple.

“Hana…” I rasp, my voice cracking in my parched throat.

A soft whimper. Scuffling sounds nearby. I blink, forcing my vision to clear, and the blur around me slowly becomes slightly more defined—a stone floor beneath me, damp and rough against my palms. Stone walls, too. No windows. No light except for a single, dim bulb hanging over me, casting long, eerie shadows.

Panic twists in my gut as I turn, searching frantically for Hana. Then I see her.

“Hana!” I choke, scrambling to my knees and crawling toward her. She’s lying on the floor not far from me, curled up into a ball, her face pale, her breathing shallow. “Hana, wake up!”

My hand trembles as I touch her shoulder, gently shaking her. She stirs, groaning softly, her eyelids fluttering open. Her gaze is unfocused, and she looks how I feel. It’s weird to see her like this. She’s always so put-together, without a hair out of place. Now her makeup is smudged around her eyes, her hair tousled, and her clothes streaked with grime.

It’s unsettling.

“Freya…?” she mutters, sounding disoriented, her voice thick.

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you badly hurt?”

Hana squints, slowly getting herself up onto her elbows. “I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

“Same.” I try to smile, but it’s devoured by the dread crawling up my spine. “Do you remember what happened?”

Hana shakes her head slowly, her movements stiff. “We were at that place your friend told us about. And then…” She pauses, frowning, clearly trying to piece things together. “Then everything just went dark.”

Yeah—I remember that much, too. We’d walked into the “tea shop” front for the trendy bar, found the back room behind the shelves of cleaning supplies, opened the secret door to the bar itself. And then…nothing.

“I think someone drugged us,” I mutter, my voice tight with fury.

Hana groans again, pressing a hand to her head. “You think?”

“Yeah,” I mutter quietly. “Pretty sure.”

It happened to me once before, in the south of France. This was way before we found our footing and teamed up with Damian and Kir. Annika and I were thieving our way up the French Riviera, skimming watches and credit cards off drunk rich guys at clubs. I was feeling celebratory and ordered a glass of champagne. The next thing I knew, after three sips, the room was spinning.

Luckily, Annika was sober and got me out of there and back to our hotel, where I slept for almost an entire day afterward.

So yeah, I know what being roofied feels like.

Hana grimaces as she looks around. “Where the hell are we?”

I take a deep breath, looking around more carefully. The room is mid-sized, maybe twenty by twenty feet. But with no windows and barely any light, it feels suffocating. The walls are rough-hewn stone, cold and damp to the touch. Chains hang at the far end of the room, set into the stone like something out of a nightmare. The air smells stale, musty.

Old.

“It looks like some kind of basement or bunker,” I say, my voice hollow. “Or a bomb shelter, maybe.”

“Or a prison,” Hana mutters, her eyes scanning the room. She’s still pale, and I can see fear in her eyes even though she’s trying to hide it. I feel it too, crawling up my skin, making my chest tighten.

Then I hear it—a low, pained groan from somewhere in the far, dark corner.

I instinctively reach for Hana, pulling her closer. The shadow in the corner shifts, moving, and my breath hitches in my throat.

“Who the fuck is there?” I hiss.

For a long, agonizing moment, there’s nothing but silence.

Then, a voice—hoarse and broken—rattles out from the corner.

“Freya?”

I blink, stunned.

“Freya? Is that you?”

The figure in the corner stirs again, and finally, the dim light from the hanging bulb catches it enough to reveal the face. I gasp, scrambling to my feet, my mind spinning in disbelief.

It’s fucking Kir.

“Oh my God!” I rush to his side, dropping to my knees next to him.

Jesus.

He looks terrible—pale and bruised and weak, so unlike his usual powerful, lethal self. I glance down at his body, my eyes widening when I see his torn shirt and blood staining his side.

“Freya—” Hana is right next to me, yanking off her cardigan and tucking it gently under Kir’s head.

“What the fuck happened?!” I blurt. “How are you even here?!”

Kir groans, trying to sit up, but then winces, clutching his side where the blood has seeped through.

“Last thing I remember…” His voice is strained. “My SUV was hit. Isaak…” His jaw grits. “Isaak was shot. Then they took me and everything started to go black.”

I stare at him, horror washing over me. “Who took you?”

He winces, his breathing labored. “Krvi i Novca,” he grunts. “Blood and Money. Serbian mercenary outfit. At least, I think that’s who it was. Pretty sure I recognized the unit tattoo on a few of them.” His eyes darken. “And they might be the only motherfuckers crazy enough to accept a job that involves taking me.” He grimaces as he looks up at me. “They’re hardcore. Whoever hired them has solid connections, and deep pockets.”

My mind spins, trying to process it all. How the fuck is this happening? Who would want to take Kir, Hana, and me? My chest tightens as I take another look at Kir, my heart thudding in my ears.

“You’re hurt,” I whisper to him, my hand trembling as I touch the bloodstain on his shirt. “You need medical help.”

Kir shakes his head weakly, his expression stoic. “I’ll live.”

I look between him and Hana, the weight of our situation settling over me. We’re trapped in some basement or bunker, with no idea who took us, or why. Does anyone even know we’re missing? Have we been gone long enough for them to realize⁠—

I frown as I glance back at Kir. “Wait. You were in New York?”

He nods, then his brow furrows as he gets where I’m going. “Fuck,” he growls, glancing at Hana and me. “And you were in Kyoto.”

Hana nods, peering closer at his side. “Your wound is bad,” she mutters. “But the blood has stopped flowing freely. So you were injured some time ago.”

I glance at her. “Long enough for someone to get him to us, or us to him…”

“…Or all of us somewhere else,” Hana finishes glumly.

She’s right. When I was drugged that time in France, I was out for literally twenty-four hours. We could be anywhere on the fucking planet right now. But I squash down the horrible feeling that idea brings up inside me.

“Okay,” I say, my voice trembling but resolute. “We’re going to figure this out. We’ll get out of here.”

But just as the words leave my mouth, the crackle of a loudspeaker fills the room and I jolt, my heart slamming in my chest.

“We’re going to play a game.”

The voice makes my blood turn cold. It’s cruel, malicious, with a thick Scandinavian accent. It echoes through the small space, reverberating off the stone walls like something out of a nightmare.

Hana whirls, her hand shooting out to grab my wrist tightly.

“But there’s a game within the game,” the voice continues, its tone almost mocking. “Freya, I see your great concern for Kir. You care for him, don’t you?”

My fear twists into fury. “He needs help!” I yell into the gloom. “He’s hurt! You can’t just⁠—”

“I can do whatever I want,” the voice says dismissively. “I am in control now. Not you. He’s fine for now.”

My jaw sets as I glare into the darkness. “People will be missing us!” I scream defiantly. “They’ll come looking for us! And when they get here, you’re fucking dead.”

The voice is silent for a moment before it laughs darkly, the sound ominous. “Oh, I know, Freya Lindqvist.”

I stiffen, a nauseated, cold feeling ripping into me.

“What the fuck did he say?” Kir grunts from behind us, his voice weak.

“I know someone will come for you,” the voice chuckles. “I’m counting on it. In fact, I even know who it will be.”

A shiver runs down my spine.

“The man who loves you, Freya.”

The words send a tremor through me, and even though everything about this moment is a pure horror show, I can’t stop the spark that flickers in my chest.

The man who loves me.

Mal.

It hurts to think about him, after everything that happened. But when I hear those words, it hits me all at once, and I realize why it hurt so much. Why it broke me so badly when I saw that betrayal all over his laptop screen.

Because I love him, too.

I pull in a shaky breath, trying to stay strong. “If you think Mal’s going to come and indulge you in your little fucking games, you’re delusional,” I fire back fiercely, even though my hands are trembling.

The voice sighs in response, sounding almost bored. “Oh, he’ll play. But before he does, Freya, you have a chance to help him.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Hana snaps sharply, though I can hear the fear beneath her anger.

The voice chuckles again, that same cold, mocking sound. “When Mal arrives, he will face a choice: save the woman he loves or save his family.“

The words hit like a punch to the gut, forcing the air from my lungs. Hana and I glance at each other at the same time, a horrified feeling ripping up my spine as our eyes lock.

The voice continues, unrelenting. “Mal will have to choose between saving you, Freya, or Hana.”

Hana grabs my arm, her face pale.

“You’re fucking sick,” I hiss into the darkness. “You think the people who care about us are going to let you do this? You think I am?”

The voice shifts tone, growing darker. “As I said, you can help him, Freya. There is a way by which both you and Hana can be freed.”

I glare into the shadows of the room, my chest heaving. “How?” I snap.

The voice’s next words drop like boulders, heavy and crushing. “By killing your father.”

The room falls silent.

I freeze, my mind going blank.

“Kill your father,” the voice repeats, “and you and Hana both go free.”

The air feels thick, suffocating. My heart pounds so loudly in my ears that it drowns out everything else.

“My father is dead, you fucking idiot,” I snarl. “He died years ago.”

The voice laughs, cruel and mocking. “Oh, I’m afraid not, Freya. He is very much alive.”

“Freya…”

I turn to Kir when I hear his voice. His tone is still faint and fragile sounding, but he’s no longer looking at me in pain.

He’s looking at me with a look of…disbelief on his face.

Confusion.

Guilt.

“That surname,” he says quietly. “What… What did he just call you?”

I shake my head. “Kir, you need to rest⁠—”

“Well?” The voice mocks.

I grit my teeth as I turn away from Kir again. “I just fucking told you!” I roar. “My father is fucking dead!”

“That’s simply not true, Freya—not yet, anyway.”

“I’m not playing your fucking games, you stupid⁠—”

“In fact, he’s sitting right next to you.”

A hundred different emotions roar though my head. Anger at the situation and the lies. Humor at the absurdity of it.

Sadness that it’s not true.

But as the storm of emotions whips through me, there’s a certain numbness that sticks.

A clawed little something, hanging on until the storm passes.

The silence in the room is deafening.

I turn quickly to look at Kir.

His eyes meet mine, filled with something I’ve never seen before. Not denial. Not laughter at the silliness of the claim.

Just hollow, stunned, realization.

Oh my God…