Emperor of Havoc: Chapter 1

Mercifully, the mask covers the blush that stains my cheeks as I reread the words.

The message from the appropriately named “Kaiju” glares up at me from my phone, sharp and menacing like the edge of a blade, making my heart hammer in my chest.

It’s not as though I’ve never heard crude talk from a man before…not when in most cases, my father is both his boss and worst nightmare. Men in our world—the underworld, that is—have a habit of speaking crudely. So it’s not like my eyes and ears are so pure and virginal that reading Kaiju’s messages should throw me into a tizzy or anything.

And yet…it does.

Not “a tizzy”, per se. I’m not sure anyone’s been in “a tizzy” since the forties. But still, every time I reread the line, my face throbs a little hotter. My pulse skips a little faster.

Darkness wraps its clawed hands around my neck and squeezes a little more dangerously.

Temptingly.

Outside the Sensoji Temple at the Hagoita-Ichi Fair, the crowd bustles around me, coming and going with waves of laughter and chatter. Lanterns cast their golden glow over the streets and the holiday stalls, and the air is thick with the aroma of grilled fish and sweet azuki bean paste. I should be blending in, just another reveler in a tengu, oni, or kitsune mask.

But I’m not here for the traditional year-end holiday festivities.

So what exactly ARE you here for?

My face throbs again as some shred of whatever sanity I have left demands to be heard. Once again, I’m thankful for the kabuki -style mask I’m wearing, hiding the heat in my cheeks as my eyes furtively dip back to the Club Venom app open on my phone.

Just like the first time I visited, it’s like lifting the lid of Pandora’s box.

Even though it’s half a world away, in New York, I’ve heard whispers about it here in Tokyo: a notorious club that caters to the rich, powerful, dark, and insanely deviant. When Nina told me about it months ago, it was in hushed tones, her eyes wide and face close to mine, as if she was sharing some scandalous gossip with me.

“It’s a SEX CLUB, Kat. Like, a kink club for mafia types. Apparently, it caters to people with super kinky tastes, too.”

I swear I can still taste the shame on my tongue when I’d asked her “what type of kinks”.

“Dunno,” she’d shrugged. “My cousin Mara was telling me about it. But, like, real kinky shit. Bondage, S&M, even non-con stuff.”

For the eleventy millionth time tonight, I’m grateful for the mask covering my face as I replay that first conversation that led me here, to the very brink of my sanity.

I shouldn’t like what I like.

I shouldn’t want the things I want.

I shouldn’t have these sorts of urges.

But I do.

And at times, keeping them bottled up so tightly, buried so deep inside, is almost too much to take. Like I’m sitting on a live grenade about to go off and blast my dirty secrets all over the fucking room.

So that’s why I finally…did it.

While physically located in New York, Club Venom offers an online matching service, sort of like Tinder on steroids, for like-minded, kinky fucks like—well, me, I guess. I chickened out midway through the application process seven times in a row before I finally took their guarantee of confidentiality to heart, powered through my shame, and hit the submit button.

I was granted membership within a day.

I created my “Snowflake” profile a week later, listing my kinks, interests, and what I was looking for in a potential partner.

Tall. Athletic. Dark tastes like mine.

A willingness to overlook the annoying little detail that they’d be helping me lose my virginity at the age of twenty-two to a supremely fucked-up rape kink fantasy.

I…might have omitted the last part.

They don’t need to know that.

And that’s what brings me to the Hagoita-Ichi Fair tonight, masked, waiting to meet the ridiculously appropriately named “Kaiju”. When little ole me posted my interest in getting chased down like prey and forced, just about every Club Venom member in Japan responded.

But none of them caught my attention like him.

Kaiju.

That’s Japanese for “strange beast” or “giant monster”.

We’ve never met. But even just talking to him, seeing pictures of him—wearing a terrifying oni demon mask—I knew.

My darkness craves a monster, and I truly found one in him.

And tonight, he’s either going to destroy me, or give me the most memorable night of my life.

The rational part of my brain keeps saying that this is merely a pressure release. This is me uncorking the bottle with the demons inside me and letting them out to play for a while before the bottle is sealed back up.

Tonight is about me jumping into the deep end and seeing if I sink or swim. After that, I can go back to my intricately woven Yakuza world. Back to the carefully orchestrated dance I do to help my father lead, even though a woman “has no place” at that table.

I mean, fuck that.

My phone buzzes in my hand. Adrenaline spikes through me, physically jolting me as I glance down at the screen, and my throat tightens.

I mean Jesus. Sell the fantasy much?

A cold shiver ripples up my spine, raw need pulsing and throbbing deep in my core and my pulse ringing loudly in my ears as I suck my bottom lip between my teeth.

I’m about to reply when my phone buzzes again. This time, it’s not a notification from the Venom app. It’s a regular text. When I see who it’s from, my body stiffens.

Something vicious drags down my spine.

Fuck.

Zero part of this plan is a good idea, or even vaguely north of “a supremely shitty idea”.

But this is what winning a war takes, even if that war is currently of the “cold” type. Just because I’m the daughter of a Yakuza Oyabun with ties to the Russian Bratva, it doesn’t mean I’m a fucking princess. It means I’m every bit the warlord my father is. And if I can sneak behind enemy lines to get intel on how the Mori-kai are trying to infiltrate our city, I’m going to do it.

Except that means I can’t dance this dance of madness tonight with Kaiju.

I won’t lie: a small part of me is kinda relieved. Like I’ve looked over the edge, seen how far down it actually is, and decided not to go base-jumping today.

I frown as I pull up the Venom app again and type out a reply to him.

Kaiju doesn’t respond. Which, to be fair, seems super on-brand for a man who calls himself “strange beast” or “giant monster” and promises to “ruin me”.

I frown as I stare at the screen again. Still no reply.

I exhale as I start to make my way through the crowd, texting Okita, my driver, to come meet me.

Another buzz from my phone has me pausing to look at the screen.

Instantly, my heart skips a beat.

My family, the Ishida-kai, has unquestionably ruled the Tokyo criminal underground for decades, ever since my father Kolya came back to Japan from his exile in Russia to claim what was his. Recently, however, our hold on this city has been…challenged.

Apparently deciding Kyoto wasn’t enough for them, the Mori-kai has recently expanded in a large way into Tokyo, helped by their treaty with the Nikolayev Bratva. Not long ago, it appeared we were looking at actual, blood-in-the-streets war with them. But then cooler heads prevailed, and the conflict was “downgraded” to a Cold War.

But I’ve read my history books, and I know how Cold Wars are won.

With spies.

Which is exactly what I am tonight.

Okita is loyal enough to not ask awkward questions like “Why are we stopping at a clothing store to buy a men’s black hoodie and black sweatpants?” Just the same, I have him drop me off ten blocks from my actual destination.

I walk the rest of the way to the vast compound that the Mori-kai have recently moved into. When I’m near, I pull my coppery blonde hair into a tight bun and yank up my hood, covering my face enough to—hopefully—conceal both my gender and my race.

Dad is half-Japanese, half-Russian. My mother was all Russian. Needless to say, my hair color, gray eyes, and unquestionably Caucasian skin don’t exactly do much to help me pass for a young Japanese man looking for a potential gig with the Mori-kai.

But Higashi, my secret source within the Mori-kai organization, also told me that the initiation tonight also has all the initiates wearing masks. So when I finally get to the street that runs behind the Mori-kai compound, all I have to do is keep my hood up and my head down as I join the line of other initiates at the back door.

When it opens, a big, surly-looking Japanese guy steps out and immediately jams an e-cigarette between his lips, sucking greedily.

“Listen up,” he growls in Japanese. “My name is Kai, but that doesn’t matter. All that matters is for you all to fucking listen, follow directions, and shut the fuck up. Any questions?”

“Yeah—”

Before the guy can actually voice his question, Kai strides over, grabs him, and physically hurls him halfway across the street.

“Out. Don’t ever come back. Hopefully that answers your question.”

The rest of us stare as the guy with the question picks himself off the ground, glances at Kai, then turns and scurries off into the night.

“Anyone else have a question?”

Nah, I’m good.

Kai slips back through the door and the initiates follow him, one by one. A man just inside the dimly lit hallway hands out blank black oni masks. I quickly slip mine on, finally able to raise my head a little more without giving away my identity.

Inside, the air is thick with anticipation. We’re led down a flight of stairs into a huge basement the size of professional basketball court. The only illumination comes from dim lights set into the floor at the base of the stone walls, making it feel like we’re in an old dungeon. What look like wrestling mats cover the concrete floors, and a raised stage lords it over the whole scene from the far wall.

The initiates form uneasy clusters, everyone’s nervous energy crackling like static.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

A hush falls over the room as the sound, coming from the shadows of the stage, echoes throughout the room.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

My blood runs cold as a figure emerges from the gloom—a huge, towering, menacing figure, shirtless, with swirling irezumi-style tattoo ink covering his broad chest, bulging arms, and chiseled abs.

A man wearing a terrifying oni mask, the carved demon’s grin leering at us as he taps the baseball bat in his powerful grip on the floor.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Finally, the tapping stops and he comes to a halt at the front of the stage, facing us all.

“Welcome,” his voice rumbles, slicing through the silence like a blade. “Tonight, we separate the worthy from the weak.”

The crowd tenses, and I feel the weight of his gaze sweeping over us. My heartbeat thumps in my ears, but I remain still.

This is why I’m here: to take mental notes. To understand how our enemies are building strength within our city while this Cold War hangs over our heads.

The man in the oni mask leers at us. He’s not commanding the room.

He’s owning it.

Without warning, he jumps off the stage into the crowd. The first row of initiates gasps and shuffles back, making room for him. Malevolence swirls around him like a black cloud as he moves. I’m shorter than most of the men around me so I lose sight of him as he begins to prowl through the initiates.

“When I say so, you’ll all square off with the man standing closest to you. Don’t make it a fucking ordeal. Just find someone. But choose wisely, because when I give the word, you’ll be fighting this person.”

My pulse skips.

Wait, what?

“And when I say fight, I mean you’ll fucking fight, like your life depended on it. The fight will continue until one of you either taps out or blacks out. Is that clear?”

Everyone around me nods nervously. I grit my teeth, swallowing as I ball my hands into fists.

I’ve taken various hand-to-hand fighting classes my entire life. But still. Higashi didn’t mention this part.

Without warning, my phone vibrates against my hip. I pull it out discreetly and glance at the screen.

For a split second, my whole world freezes. An icy chill drags its claws over my skin, and nauseating dread settles deep in my stomach.

What. The. Fuck.

My phone buzzes again.

My fingers shake as I tap on the Venom app preferences, my pulse jangling as my eyes scan down the list.

Oh, shit.

The toggle next to “share location with matched partner” is set to “always”.

My face pales.

I remember choosing this setting when I was first looking for…well, what I was on the Club Venom app to find: someone to chase me. To hunt me, pin me down, and fuck me like an animal. Someone to tap into the darkest recesses of the fantasies in my head, even just once.

But I’d forgotten it was toggled on until just now.

My eyes land on the fine print underneath the setting: location settings are accurate to within two feet.

My throat tightens.

He knows.

Not only does he know I’m here at this initiation. He knows which of the initiates I am. And the second I think that, my brain connects the final dots with horrifying clarity: it means he’s here too.

A brutal chill ripples through me as I turn quietly, glancing left and right at the men standing near me.

“Choose your partner now.”

The voice rips me out of my horrified stupor, yanking my attention to the savage-looking tattooed man with the bat slowly prowling down the row of initiates in front of me. He’s seriously huge, towering above all the others as his blank, masked eyes sweep the crowd.

“Hey, pay the fuck attention.”

I flinch, ripping my gaze to the person standing next to me, dressed all in black just like me, with the blank black oni mask. All around us the others are pairing off, facing each other as they get ready.

Shit, this is happening.

I swallow as I move into a fighting stance, bringing up my fists. The man opposite me is only a little taller than I am but definitely has some bulk to him.

“Tap out now,” he growls, “and I won’t break you.”

Fifteen years of karate, jiu jitsu, and aikido, I think silently to myself. Let’s do this, bitch.

“What’s the matter,” my opponent snickers. “Too scared to say anything? Tap out, pussy. Save me the effo⁠—”

“Fight!”

The second the huge, masked leader barks the word, I’m hurling myself at the man facing me. I hear a gasp of shock from behind his mask as I slam into him, grappling at his arm and twisting as I jam my foot between his and then roll forward. The momentum knocks him off his feet, sending him hurtling over my shoulder and slamming into the floor mats.

All around us, pairs of initiates roar and grunt, hitting, fighting and kicking. My pulse roars as my opponent groans and tries to get up.

He doesn’t make it.

In one move, I’ve got him flipped face down, my knee in the small of his back and my arm wrapped around his neck. He kicks and flails, cursing me in a ragged, choked voice as he gasps for air.

Tap out. Tap the fuck out.

His palm slaps the mat, over and over.

Yes.

I’m obviously not actually here to try and join the Mori-kai. But still. There’s a smug smile on my face behind my mask as I let go of him and stand, victorious.

“Fuck that,” the man on the ground wheezes, sucking in ragged breaths. “I want another⁠—”

“You’re done.”

My blood feels like it runs slower and colder when I hear his voice behind me, his black, malevolent presence swirling around me like toxic smoke.

I’m still frozen as he moves past me, his powerful bare arm brushing my shoulder as he looms over the man on the ground.

“You,” he grunts, pointing his bat at the guy. “You’re done. Leave.”

“But—”

“Or I can fight you, and I promise, I won’t stop when you tap out like a pussy.”

In seconds, my opponent is scrambling to his feet, bowing at the man in the mask, then hurrying toward the stairs.

The tall, built guy with the terrifying mask and the bat doesn’t move. I stand there, a shudder creeping up my spine as the other fights play out around us. I watch his back muscles flex as he lifts his arm, resting the bat on one muscled, tattooed shoulder.

Then slowly, he turns.

Jesus.

Even masked, making me unable to see his eyes, the sheer violence and brutal coldness in him lances right into my soul as he turns to level his blank gaze at me. His head tips slowly to the side, sending another cold, vicious shiver rippling through my body.

The seconds tick by. The sound of grunts and fists hitting flesh around us recede, until it’s just he and I.

“Come.”

The word hits me like a slap, shaking me out of my stupor. He turns and I follow, my pulse roaring in my ears as we slip past scrabbling, fighting duos and men lying groaning on the ground. The man with the bat opens a door set into the wall, near the stage. He doesn’t hold it for me or usher me in first. He just steps through into pitch blackness, his pure, venomous power drawing me after him. There’s no other option but to follow.

Or else.

The door is already slowly swinging shut when I step forward, pushing it open again and stepping after him.

Then the door closes with a heavy click and pure darkness engulfs us, like the deepest part of the ocean, crushing me under its weight.

Silence pulses in the air.

“You’re not an initiate.”

His voice is low and cold with a dark, sultry tone. And he’s speaking English, with a cultured, upper-class British accent.

My throat bobs.

“I’ll take your silence as an admission of fact,” he growls.

I shudder as I feel him move slowly around behind me. Something touches me in the darkness, making me flinch—his bat, lightly running across the small of my back.

“And you’re a woman.”

My breath catches.

“You disappointed me earlier, Snowflake,” he murmurs quietly. I freeze.

“But since you went to such lengths to seek me out anyway, I’ll assume that means you’re desperate for me to follow through with my…”

I shudder when I feel his breath in my ear.

“Promises. So here’s what’s going to happen.”

My eyes widen, my blood turning to ice as a large, powerful hand wraps around my throat from behind.

“You’re going to run, little prey,” he growls. “And I’m going to chase you. And catch you. And when I do…” Excited darkness explodes through my soul as pain cuts into the side of my neck.

I think he just fucking BIT me.

“I’m going to fuck you. Hard. Without mercy. Until I’ve fucking ruined you.”

The hand slips from my neck. His presence recedes, slowly melting into the darkness around me.

“So, little prey…” the voice murmurs from the abyss.

“Run.”