Page 41 of Emperor of Wrath

He turns and walks away. My body curls in on itself, my heart thudding loudly and my skin crawling. I whirl, breathless, my vision swimming, and stagger back to the bar.

“Shot,” I whisper to the bartender, throwing the card aside.

His brow furrows. “What sort of?—”

“Literally anything. Now, please.”

It turns out to be vodka.

I slam it back, hissing as I tap the bar with the empty glass. “Another,” I croak. “A double this time.”

“Miss—”

“Please and thank you,” I blurt, staring at him haggardly.

The guy nods, looking worried as he pours a huge splash of vodka into the glass. I lift it, nod to him and knock the full contents down my throat at once, my brain still screaming and my skin still crawling.

Fire burns in my gut as I slam the glass back to the bar and turn wildly. My eyes land on Valon’s back and shoulders as he walks away through the crowd toward the door.

Then my gaze lurches to the buffet.

…And the catering staff member cutting wagyu steak into little strips with a razor-sharp chef’s knife.

My eyes rip back to Valon.

I’m going to kill him.

I have to.

Fuck the consequences.

I only make it one step to the buffet table before a powerful hand is suddenly grabbing my wrist. I gasp as Kenzo shoves my arm behind my back, yanking me against his hard, unyielding chest, glaring maliciously down into my eyes. His black hair hang and fans around his face as if he’s a dark avenging angel of death.

Or the prince of Hell.

“What the fuck was that?” he snarls coldly.

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

“Answer me,” he snaps viciously. “Who the fuck was that?”

The room starts to spin. “I—no one,” I mumble.

Kenzo’s lips curl as he leans closer. “I don’t give a fuck how much you hate this, Annika,” he growls. “I don’t even give a fuck if you hate me. But we are getting married. And as my wife, you will play the role.”

He looms closer.

“Which means no other man talks to you like that, or touches you, or gets close to you like that motherfucker just did.” His snarling tone is so serious and heated that it startles me. “Is. That. Fucking. Clear.”

I could answer rationally. Or even just nod. But the walls I’ve worked so hard to erect to block out certain parts of myself are beginning to crumble. Memories I’ve desperately tried to purge from my system rear up, angry and vengeful at being silenced for so long.

And I do what I always do when I feel cornered or vulnerable: I lash out.

“Your jealousy is pathetic,” I spit at him.

Instantly, his hand on my wrist tightens, pinning it to the small of my back. A cold shiver ripples down my spine when his other hand grabs the back of my neck possessively, angling my face up to his.

“This is politics, Annika,” he growls. “This needs to be sold. And it doesn’t get sold if you’re schmoozing with some other fucking guy, letting him touch you, getting cozy with him?—”

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