Emperor of Lust: Chapter 36

Freya was incredulous when I called.

“Kolya?” she’d snapped coldly. “You want a face-to-face with the piece of shit who kidnapped and fucking tortured you?!”

I didn’t tell her everything. But I did tell her it was about Hana.

“ Lead with that next time, dickhead,” she’d muttered. “Okay, gimme a minute.”

My cousin works fast. It appears Kolya is a man of habit who takes a late dinner at the same upscale restaurant almost every night.

Fueled by adrenaline and rage, I walk in with such conviction that Kolya’s men at the front door to the restaurant don’t even think to stop me. Two more inside recognize me, though, and move in on me.

Yeah, good luck with that. Coming at me right now is like trying to stop a runaway train with a fly swatter.

I hit the first one so hard that he flies backward off his feet . I whirl savagely on the second, smashing my forearm into his nose before grabbing him and sending him sailing into the host stand.

Chaos erupts as I storm toward the main dining room, just as four more of Kolya’s guys rush me. I take out the first, but I’m grappling blindly and without a single shit for my own well-being when the rest of them pile onto me.

I roar like a banshee, fighting, clawing and punching as the Ishida-kai guards take me down to the floor.

“Stop.”

The voice is cool and composed. The men punching me freeze. And when I yank my head up, my eyes land on Kolya Ishida, sitting alone in the middle of the opulent dining room, a glass of wine poised near his mouth.

Kolya nods curtly.

“Let him go.”

His voice is calm, almost amused. I shove another man off, my pulse hammering as I struggle to my feet.

Kolya Ishida is seated at a linen-draped table, sipping his drink with such ease he might as well be on vacation. His piercing grayish eyes glint under the dim lights, his expression barely changing at the sight of me, bloodied and bristling with anger, or of his guards, who’ve been a spectacular failure at keeping me out.

He simply raises a hand, beckoning me forward.

“Come,” he murmurs quietly. “Sit.” He smirks. “I won’t even tie you up and skewer you with a sword this time. Wine?”

My face is pure rage.

“Fuck you.”

He lifts a brow, smirking. “I’m afraid you’re not my type, Mr. Nikolayev.”

My jaw grinds I stalk over and sit across from him, regarding him with deadly fury.

Kolya clears his throat.

“Leave us.”

The response is instant, like a switch being flipped. Everyone—patrons, waitstaff, even his own guards—stands and files out.

We’re alone.

I glare across the table at him, ignoring the pain in my knuckles and chest. Kolya smiles slightly, setting his glass down.

“You understand that it’s considered rude to leave a party early, Mr. Nikolayev? Without saying goodbye to your host?” He smiles tightly.

I glare at him, my fury barely contained. “Funny. I was taught it was rude to crucify and almost kill your guests. Where the fuck is she?”

Kolya tilts his head. “Please. I’m not in the habit of keeping track of other men’s fiancées, Damian. It’s…unbecoming.”

Something inside me snaps and I reach for the blade hidden in my coat. Before I can even draw it, Kolya speaks again.

“There are three rifles trained on you right now, Mr. Nikolayev. One on your heart, one between your eyes, and the third on your balls.”

My hand tenses around the hilt of my knife, still in my jacket.

Kolya smirks. “And my men never miss.”

A sneer curls my lips. “You think I give a fuck right now about⁠—”

“Your balls? No.” Kolya shakes his head, picking up his wine glass and taking another casual sip. “But I do think you’d be interested to see this.”

He reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket, pulling out a phone. He taps something on it, sets it on the table between us, and turns it so the screen is facing me.

Instantly, my heart goes cold.

“It’s really a lovely home. I’m quite jealous of it, to be honest.”

It’s the Mori house in Kyoto, filmed using a night vision camera.

And in the center of the screen, sitting at a small table outside next to a koi pond, tapping away on her laptop, is Freya. Even in tones of green and black, I recognize her: the Doc Martens, the studded choker.

The room goes still. Slowly, full of poison and venom, my gaze drags like a knife back to Kolya.

He nods at the screen between us.

“My man has a clear, unobstructed shot. And as I was saying, my men never miss.” He smiles coldly. “Do you truly believe with everything going on right now, I’d simply be sitting here, waiting for you to waltz in? If so, I’m almost offended that I’m almost at the brink of war with you and yours.”

Kolya takes a slow, measured sip of wine, his eyes never leaving mine over the rim of the glass.

“I made sure my schedule, which your intrepid cousin Freya found—though I do hope it wasn’t too easy for her—incorrectly gives the impression that I dine here almost every night.”

He leans forward slightly.

“I know Hana Mori is missing. But that’s not what we’re going to discuss.”

“The hell it isn’t,” I hiss dangerously, half rising out of my seat to reach across the table and throttle him. But then my eyes drop to the phone.

To the video of Freya, sitting under the Kyoto moon, oblivious to the danger looking right at her.

…Danger I’ll be responsible for pushing her closer to if I make another move toward this motherfucker.

Slowly, inhaling through my nose, I sink back into my chair.

“What are we going to discuss, then,” I mutter.

Kolya’s face is expressionless but something dangerous glints in his eyes as his jaw works. He steeples his hands in front of him, his cold gray eyes never leaving mine. “Where is she.”

My brow furrows. “Who?”

“I can assure you, Mr. Nikolayev,” Kolya says, his voice throbbing with malice, “I’m in no mood for games.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

His nostrils flare. The veins in his neck throb.

“Where. Is. She,” he says icily in a measured, dangerous tone.

“I. Don’t. Fucking. Know. What. You’re⁠—”

The man across from me surges out of his seat so fast I can barely comprehend it and backhands me across the mouth.

I go knocking sideways, tipping over his glass and sending wine splattering across the white linen tablecloth, together with blood from my split lip. I snarl in rage and blink back stars. Kolya nods his chin past me and hands instantly grab me. I roar, bucking and twisting, but the men—four of them, I think—overpower me, slamming my cheek down on the table and grabbing my right hand. One of them yanks my arm out, splaying my fingers across the tablecloth.

“I’m not going to ask you again, Mr. Nikolayev,” Kolya growls quietly. The burst of violence and emotion is gone, and his face is back to being utterly calm, eyes lethally focused on me. He reaches into his suit jacket and slips out a small, vicious-looking knife.

Fuck me. That’s⁠—

“I don’t like the Bratva,” he says, his voice chillingly candid. “Frankly, I’m not particularly fond of the Yakuza either. Both tried to strangle me in the cradle.”

I grit my teeth. “And yet, you are the Yakuza now.”

He shrugs. “Become what you hate, and you remove its power over you.”

He lifts the blade, letting the light catch it.

“I’m sure you’ve been in Japan long enough to know what a tantō knife is, yes, Mr. Nikolayev?”

He slowly presses the edge of it against my pinky finger, right at the knuckle.

My jaw tenses.

“Your little friend, Takeshi Mori, recently took the pinky of an associate of mine.” His eyes glint coldly. “Not very good for business, as you might guess.”

He trails the edge of the blade over my knuckle again.

“I’m not going to ask again. Where is she.”

“Who,” I snarl.

The blade cuts into my skin, blood instantly spurting out over the white linen beneath it. I grit my teeth, not making a sound as the blade sinks down against bone.

“I admire your stubbornness and resolve, Damian,” Kolya sighs. “But I can assure you, from years of personal experience, all men break. Every. Single. One. No matter how tough they think they are, or how big they think their balls, all men break under torture. So I will find out what you’ve done with her eventually. The question is…”

He drags the blade through the cut he’s already made.

“How many appendages would you care to lose before I learn what you’re going to tell me anyway.”

He leans right down into my face, his eyes slicing into mine.

“Where. The fuck. Is she.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” I roar. “Even if I did, you could use that thing until the blade went dull, and I’d still never fucking tell you.”

Kolya’s face tenses. For a half second I wince, straining against the men holding me down as Kolya starts to add pressure to my finger.

Then he stops.

He pulls the blade away, the icy, calm expression back on his face. Then he turns and nods past me. I struggle and grunt as I feel hands yank up the cuff of my pants. Metal wraps around my ankle, and I snarl when I feel it click into place.

“Release him.”

The four big fuckers holding me down instantly stand and step away from me as I lurch upright. I whirl on Kolya, seething as he meditatively wipes the blade of the tantō knife on the edge of the ruined tablecloth.

“I’m choosing to believe you, Mr. Nikolayev,” he says quietly. His gaze drops to my ankle. I follow it, frowning at the little black box I see strapped around it.

“That’s a tracking device, Damian,” Kolya explains. “You will not attempt to remove, damage, or even tamper with it. If you do, I’ll know. And I should mention—it’s not just Freya that I’ve got my eye on.”

He turns and taps the phone on the table. Instantly, another greenish-black live video feed pops up.

This time, it’s Annika who’s dead center of the screen, standing on a balcony outside her and Kenzo’s room, running a hand through her hair distractedly, a worried look on her face.

Slowly, I rake my gaze back to Kolya, my eyes narrowing.

“What the fuck do you want.”

Kolya nods again. A man steps into my peripheral vision before walking over to his boss.

Ryu.

He glares at me before he leans close to Kolya, the two of them speaking quietly before Ryu nods, bows, and steps away again.

“What I want, Mr. Nikolayev, is simple: go find your woman.”

My jaw ticks. “What’s the catch?”

“Catch?”

“You’re letting me go with a tracking device strapped to my goddamn ankle after accusing me of fuck-knows-what and almost cutting off my goddamn finger,” I hiss quietly. “So why don’t we stop jerking each other off and you tell me: what’s the fucking catch.”

Kolya’s face is dark and lined, without a single trace of smugness now.

“The catch, Mr. Nikolayev, is that someone very close to me is also missing. And my gut says that when you find your fiancée, you may very well find her as well.”

My jaw tightens. “Why does it sound like you know things that might help me, and yet you’re not sharing them?”

Kolya’s face is unreadable as he slowly rolls his neck, adjusts his dinner jacket, and buttons the top button.

“When you and I fight, Damian…or when Kenzo Mori and I fight… It won’t be from the shadows. We will be looking each other in the eye when we draw blood, so we can watch it flow.” A twisted smile spreads across his face. “Otherwise, where’s the fun in that?”

He exhales. “I believe we’re both being played, Mr. Nikolayev. Make of that what you will. In the meantime, I suggest you find Hana Mori. Your life depends on it.” He turns to nod at the phone on the table again. “So do Freya’s and Annika’s.”