Page 71 of Emperor of Wrath

“Drink?” I grunt to Mal.

He nods as I walk over to the bar cart and pour us both a splash of Yamazaki 18.

“At the risk getting my head bitten off for merely mentioning her name,” he smirks, “how’s Annika? I mean with what happened earlier.”

I hand him the glass. “She’s fine. She’s sleeping now.”

“That was fucked, Kenzo,” he growls quietly. “And I know we both know what this marriage is, but still. I’m sorry that it happened at your own fucking wedding.”

“Hey, it beats having to stand there afterward and shake everyone’s hand while they all pretend I’m actually in love with my new bride.”

He chuckles, and when he takes a sip of the Japanese whiskey, his eyes close for a second.

“Fuck, tastes like home.”

I smile wryly. “Missing Kyoto?”

He nods. “I don’t mind New York. It’s not the same, though.”

“I sometimes feel like that too—” My brow furrows as Mal turns into the light a little more, and I see a dark mark on the side of his neck, like he got hit by a chain or something. I scowl. “Is that from the explosion?”

“What?”

I nod my chin. “Your neck.”

He frowns and his hand comes up to touch the spot. Something flashes across his face I can’t quite place. Before I can dwell on it any longer, the look fades and he shakes it away.

“No idea. Probably.” He clears his throat.

I nod to the bandage on his forehead. “And how’s the noggin?”

“I’ll live, Kenzo,” he sighs. “Anyway, I’ve been flipping over stones to see if anything crawls out regarding that fucking bomb.”

“And?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Whoever it was, the attack wasn’t specifically on us or Sota. Not directly. I even went looking for trouble myself and met up with Nam Dae-Hyun.”

My brow raises sharply. “Are you fucking serious?”

Dae-Hyun runs a mid-level kkangpae—a Korean crime syndicate—here in New York. I wouldn’t say we’re exactly “at war” with them. But let’s just say Nam wouldn’t brake very fast if he saw me or a family member crossing the street in front of his car.

Mal grins. “I interrupted him while he was trying to cop a happy ending at a massage parlor. He wasn’t thrilled.”

I shake my head. “That was reckless.”

“But hilarious,” he snickers. “Anyway, I pressed him pretty hard about what happened. Like, gave him every opportunity to take ownership of the attack, or even just lie about it. That guy would walk over nails or sell his own mother just to claim he drew blood from us.”

“Nothing?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t anyone he even knows. Which crosses the last names off my list of potentials.” He takes a heavy drink from his glass. “Whoever that was, they weren’t gunning for us.”

“You’re sure?”

Mal clears his throat. “You want to double-check my math? Nam decided to be an idiot and tried to jump me as I was leaving his interrupted hand-job session.”

I scowl. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” he shrugs. “But if you want to ask him yourself about his involvement in tonight, I could make that happen. Quickly.”

---