Page 17 of Emperor of Wrath

Bigger. Stronger. Darker. More sinister and far more dangerous. Like a lord of wrath, savaging me with his piercing gaze.

I pull away from Kir and Freya and I turn to look back at Damian as Frey walks over and sits in the chair next to his bed.

“Aoki shot first, if that’s important,” Kir says bitterly.

The shooting took place at a nightclub that hadn’t even opened for the night yet. It’s still unclear how it happened, but Damian and some of Kir’s men were sitting around talking business when Aoki and four of his men walked right in.

“Words were said, and Aoki pulled his gun,” Kir grunts. “Damian was defending himself and his men.”

Word is that in addition to Aoki Jura, three of the other Jura-kai men were killed, along with two of Kir’s.

I turn to look at Kir, and start to open my mouth, but he shakes his head.

“There’s no other way, Anni,” he mutters. “I don’t like it, and I know you fucking hate it. But we’re past anything else,” he says coldly, pulling his hand from mine to rub both of his up over his tired-looking face. He lets his gaze settle on his nephew, and his jaw tightens as he turns to me. “It isn’t up for discussion.”

“Kir—”

He holds up a hand, silencing Freya when she tries to come to my rescue.

“I’m truly sorry, but this is done, settled. It’s happening.”

He looks at Damian, then at Freya. Then his eyes slide over to lock with mine.

“You’re marrying Kenzo Mori, Annika. And that’s final.”

4

ANNIKA

I need to get the fuck outside and away from all of this right now.

It’s all of it: seeing Damian so helpless. Freya subdued. Kir insisting that I’m marrying the monster who’s been chasing me for five fucking years and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I storm out through the front doors of the hospital in a fury, wanting to scream until my throat is bloody. Instead, I jam my hand into my clutch and yank out the e-cig I keep there for emergencies.

Yes, it’s a shitty habit. A lousy coping mechanism. But there are worse ones, trust me.

I haven’t smoked actual cigarettes in almost ten years. I barely even use this stupid thing. But when I feel like I do right now, it’s one of the few things that’ll bring me back from the edge.

I suck on the nicotine and exhale vapor. It calms my nerves a little, but the pure rage and anger is still there, throbbing beneath my skin and trying to claw free.

I hate this.

I’ve outrun every monster. Every hardship. Every darkness that tried to swallow me whole. And now I’m being gifted to one.

The one.

A stupid fucking necklace.

That’s what I took from Kenzo that night in Kyoto five years ago. A stupid. Fucking. Not-even-very-expensive. Necklace.

Okay, there was the watch, too. But that was like five grand. Throw in the money in his wallet and we’re up to six thousand, tops. I took the necklace because it looked expensive. In the end, all I got for it was four thousand from a reputable appraiser.

Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money for a lot of people. But not for a Yakuza waka gashira like Kenzo. Certainly not an amount that would warrant chasing someone down for years.

So it’s not about the money at all.

Sentimentality isn’t something I have in spades, because I had to lose that along the way as dead weight that would have slowed me down. But other people have it, and that makes them dangerous.

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