Page 27 of Emperor of Wrath

The machines surrounding Damian beep and whir in tempo.

“Squeeze my hand once for scary clown; twice for slutty nurse.”

I glare at him.

“Well for fucks sake, dude. You gotta pick one.”

With a sigh, I smile, lean down and hug him.

“I love you, jackass. Seriously, get better.” I bite my lip as I squeeze his hand again. “I don’t know if I can do this without you.”

I give him a kiss on the forehead before brushing the tiniest bit of moisture away from my eyes and standing. No. Fuck that. I don’t cry, ever. And I’m definitely not giving Damian the satisfaction or the ammo by doing it over him.

Turning, I march across the room, fling the door open, and stride out?—

“Shit!”

Right into someone.

I stumble back, an apology on my lips until both of our brows shoot up in surprise as Hana Mori and I regard each other in stunned silence.

“Uh…hi,” I blurt awkwardly.

Her brow clears as she recognizes me too. “Hey.”

Again, I know Kenzo’s whole family and his inner circle because that’s what a smart person does if they’re being hunted.

Kenzo has three siblings. Four I guess, if you count Fumi Yamaguchi, aka the First Lady of New York these days. But on the Yakuza side, there are three Mori siblings. Sort of. Mal Ulstad is actually Kenzo’s cousin via his mother. But he’s been living as their sibling since he was like twelve or something.

After that, there are the twins: Takeshi and Hana. And it’s Hana who’s standing in front of me now.

Like her brothers, Hana has this gorgeous blend of both Northern European and Japanese features. She’s taller than average, with long, freakishly straight and perfectly bleached blonde hair, beautiful dark eyes, and soft lips. She almost looks like she could fit into Freya’s brand of techno-goth-punk, just more… I don’t know, fashionable? Professional?

No offense, Frey.

She’s dressed all in black, super sleek and stylish, like she’s the CFO of a moon-mining corporation in a sci-fi movie. There’s not a single wrinkle. Not a single—and I do mean single—bleached white-blonde hair out of place. And her ever-so-slightly goth makeup is…unff…chef’s kiss.

“So, uh…”

“Sister-in-law-to-be, huh?” she says dryly, arching a brow.

“Guess so,” I answer awkwardly. “So, um… Who’re you here to see?”

Jesus Christ. The assignment was to be less socially awkward, self.

She nods down the hall with her chin. “Okada. He’s one of Aoki’s men.”

I wince.

The only one of Aoki’s men to have survived the shootout in the nightclub with Damian and his men.

I suppose I should hate Hana for being on “the other side”. But there are no winners or losers in a scenario this stupid and senseless.

Everyone loses.

“How’s he doing?” I ask hopefully.

Her lips curl a bit, giving me a hint of a smile. “He’s…improving, thanks. He’s getting out tomorrow.”

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