Page 108 of Emperor of Wrath

The taste of her soft lips when I kissed her, taking her by surprise.

I’m pretty sure my next maneuver would have involved less romance and more “ripping her clothes off and fucking her into the mattress until she saw God”. But we never made it that far before the drug she slipped me took hold and sent me reeling to the floor.

“I’m going to remember you,” I growl as the darkness closes in. I stare at her face, memorizing every detail.

Remembering.

The blonde flashes me a cocky smirk as she pulls my wallet from my jacket pocket. “In your dreams, sunshine.”

“No, princess.” I grab her by the wrist with the last of my strength as reality fades. “In yours, which I’ll be fucking haunting.”

Hana wasn’t that far off when she asked me if it was “the necklace, the girl, or the fact that someone beat you that had you all angry and riled up for five fucking years.” I already know the answer to that.

Spoiler: it’s not the necklace.

It might not even be that someone got one over on me.

And that leaves the girl.

Annika turns to look at me as the flickering lights from the club signs outside illuminate her soft features and her full lips. Her big, seductive eyes. She arches a questioning brow, curious why I’m staring at her.

I don’t have an answer to that. At least not one I’m prepared to voice, even just to myself inside my own head.

When we pull up outside the lounge where the event is being held, I get out first. Some of the press is waiting—pictures of the Yakuza sell as well as photos of movie stars in Japan—and I turn away from the flash of cameras to open the door and help Annika out.

I’m sure people will have plenty to say about the half-gaijin Yakuza prince marrying a European girl. But I don’t give a fuck. I don’t care if I’m not “Japanese enough” in their eyes.

I know where I came from. I know who I am. My family’s blood is soaked deep into the streets of this city.

I’m no gaijin outsider.

I’m Yakuza, through and through. And the woman at my side is my fucking queen.

“Well now, if it isn’t the guest of honor,” Mal says sarcastically.

I tap the rim of my scotch glass to his. “And if it isn’t the one Mori kid who wasn’t fast enough to weasel his way out of this trainwreck.”

Takeshi and Hana were both quick to come up with “legitimate” reasons for Sota why they couldn’t come to this thing tonight.

Mal’s excuse, if he even tried one, wasn’t solid enough. I mean, it’s not like Sota would order him or anything. But that thing parents do…where they’re not “mad”, just “disappointed”…fucking works. And Sota is a master at it.

“Touche,” Mal grunts, sipping his drink.

We turn to survey the crowd at the Nijo Empire, the exclusive VIP club named after some local castle ruins, where tonight’s festivities are being held.

“Where’s your bride?”

“Nakahara Turo’s wife found her and dragged her in with the other wives.”

Mal grimaces. “Brutal. You just threw her to the wolves like that?”

“She can handle herself.”

He smirks, eying me. “Well, she seems to be handling you just fine. That’s no mean feat.”

I’m about to reply with something biting when Mal scowls, his gaze shifting past me to the front of the club.

“Fuck me, look at Tamura.”

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