Page 11 of Emperor of Wrath

My mood falters as I consider that that day might be coming sooner than expected. Sota has stage three lung cancer.

The miniscule silver lining is that he’s been in New York for much of his treatment. But it’s still brutal to watch one of the strongest men I’ve ever known brought to his knees by a cowardly fucking disease like cancer.

But I digress. Tonight is for celebrating, not lamenting.

Because tonight, I will finally catch the little thief who drugged me and stole from me. Tonight, my trap will be sprung, and when I wrap my hand around her throat, I’m going to fucking squeeze. Hard.

As if on cue, a flash of red flickers in my peripheral vision. I turn, and the dark, dangerous smile on my jaw widens as my fingers tighten on the stem of the champagne flute.

Just like every time I lay eyes on Annika Brancovich, the swirling, intoxicatingly lethal cocktail of hatred and desire explodes through my veins.

There’s a reason she got the drop on me that night five years ago. The drugs she slipped into my drink didn’t hurt, of course, but after five years reflecting on what happened, I know it’s because she got my guard down.

Because as much as I fucking hate Annika…as much as I’d like to tie concrete to her feet and drown her like a warren full of thieving rabbits…there is zero denying the fact that whenever I lay eyes on her, my cock has other ideas.

Ideas like savaging her. Pinning her to the dirty ground and burying every thick inch of me into every tight little hole she has. Making her scream as her eager little cunt milks my dick. Or watching her moan and drool as I fuck her throat.

My fantasies involving this woman, in case I wasn’t clear, do not involve making love to her. Or even “having sex” with her.

They involve dominating her in the fullest extent of the word. They involve her on her knees, whimpering and begging and submitting to me, with my cum glistening on her skin.

My jaw tightens.

Fucking hell.

I hate that this is where my mind goes with this woman. It’s not as if I see her often—she has, after all, spent the last five years running from me. But when we do cross paths, even momentarily, or at a distance like this, it’s the same thing every time.

There’s no denying that Annika is attractive. Half-American, half-Serbian, with high, full breasts and an ass to sink your teeth into. She’s also tall for a woman.

I like that.

I’m pushing six and a half feet, which makes me tall in the West and a fucking giant in Japan. And smaller women have never appealed to me. They just seem so….

Breakable.

Annika, however, is close to six feet. And although she’s on the thin side, probably from her years running and surviving as best she could, she seems…not so breakable.

Like I could manhandle her.

Pin her down.

Fuck her savagely.

I keep my eyes on my prey as she plucks a flute of champagne from a passing tray and then nods curiously at Neve Kildare, for some strange reason.

Oh. She’s trying to fit in.

Play the role all you fucking like, little rabbit, I think darkly.

Soon, you’ll be MINE.

Part of me wants to make my move right now. Fuck trying to catch her mid-theft of an item that isn’t even in the country. I could do it right here. Scene or not, Cillian and I have old business together. I’m sure he wouldn’t begrudge me doing what’s necessary to punish someone who’s wronged me the way Annika has.

But just as I’m putting the pieces together of what happens after I wrap my fingers around Annika’s pretty little throat, I feel a presence at my back.

Frowning, I start to turn. Then I go rigid.

“Sota-san,” I mutter quietly, bowing in confusion before my eyes lock on those of my mentor. He waves away the two personal guards standing beside him, and I stare at him incredulously.

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