Page 114 of Emperor of Lust

There’ssomething viciously hollow about walking into an empty home.

Standing in the dark silence, the penthouse that once felt like a fortress for me and her now feels like anything but.

No note. No explanation. Just a quiet that needles at me, twisting the knife even deeper.

There’s some jazz playing softly from the speakers, a haunting reminder of her presence even after she’s gone. My teeth clench, the sharp taste of betrayal settling bitter on my tongue. My eyes latch onto something across the room: two origami cranes sitting on the kitchen island.

They’re perfectly folded, red thread binding them together in delicate knots, a taunting reminder of everything I thought we were, each fold and crease mocking me.

Guess she left those, too.

I need to get the fuck out of here.

An hour later, I’m tearing through the streets of Tokyo on the back of a motorcycle, as if the roar of the engine might drown out my thoughts. The city blurs, neon lights streaking like blood smears against a dark sky.

I don’t ride often, but when I do, it’s for this—to dance on the razor’s edge and see how close I can get without tipping over.

Tonight, maybe I’ll finally see what’s on the other side of the line.

I gun the throttle, pushing faster. My focus is a singular burn: the street ahead, the rushing asphalt underneath me. The fury eating me alive.

Suddenly, another engine revs behind me. I glance in the mirror and see a bike tailing me dangerously close. The rider veers toward me like he’s trying to force me off the road. I dodge him, but he’s right there, pressing closer, relentless. He gets up alongside me, aiming a hard kick at my bike’s engine. I zigzag to avoid it, pulse thudding.

This isn’t just some shitty driver.

This motherfucker’s trying to kill me.

The bike swerves close again, a dark shape cutting through the neon streaks. I turn sharply down a side street, then wrench the bike back onto a busier road. I gun the throttle, hoping I’ve dodged the psychopath.

But there’s the loud rev of his bike again. I glance in my mirror, my teeth gritting.

He’s on my ass again.

I weave through traffic. But he’s stuck to me like glue. He roars up next to me, and suddenly, he’s pulling a baseball bat out of the side harness and swinging it at me.

Fuck.

I try to swerve, but the bat smashes my mirror and shatters my headlight. He strikes again, hard, making the handlebars wrench in my grip.

The bike wobbles.

Suddenly, the wheels skid sideways. I fight for control, but the bike tips and I go flying, hurling myself away from it like you’re taught to do. I hit the road hard, pain blazing through me even though I’m wearing riding gear.

The world spins as I go skidding across the road and into a guardrail before the bike slams into it right next to me.

The other bike screeches to a stop nearby. The rider dismounts, dropping the bat, and glinting steel catches my eye as he pulls akatanafrom the sheath on his back.

Oh fuck.

I yank off my cracked, splintered helmet, trying to push to my feet, muscles screaming. But before I can get up, he’s on top of me. I grunt as he kicks me in the chest, slamming me back down, his blade pressing to my neck. He yanks off his helmet, and a streetlight catches the fury in his eyes.

Takeshi.

He looks like the god of fucking vengeance as he looms over me, his blade glinting wickedly under the streetlights, a breath from my jugular,.

“Youmotherfucker.” His voice is lethal, rage in every syllable. “You’re a fucking dead man.”

I meet his glare, forcing myself to stay calm despite my thundering pulse. “This doesn’t concern you.”

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