Page 3 of Emperor of Lust

But there’s another word for Damian that in my opinion isn’t mentioned nearly enough:psychopath.

The man is a fuckingpsychopath. My twin brother, Takeshi, has his own darkness inside him and his own…neurodivergent tendencies. But Damian is something else altogether.

He’s malice incarnate. “Unhinged” personified. A black hole where goodness and sunlight go to die.

If those were the only reasons to be nervous about Damian Nikolayev, this would all still be fine. Unfortunately, there’s one more thing Damian is:

My competition.

He doesn’t know this, because he, just like everyone else who knows me, has no idea that I’ve been moonlighting as The Kitsune—elusive and effective money launderer for the rich and dangerous. He doesn’t know that I, Hana Mori, have been stealing some of his most lucrative clients by slashing my commission rates.

I have to remind myself that he can’t see who I am with this mask on as his eyes settle on me with a look that can only be described as malicious satisfaction, a smirk twisting his lips as he takes in the scene before him.

He steps forward, his movements deliberate, as if he has all the time in the world. I feel the three Koreans stiffen. Their nervousness is palpable but they don’t move, caught between the instinct to run and the fatal mistake of hesitating. Damian’s gaze drifts over me, lingering on the ropes binding my wrists, the torn clothes, the disarray.

My tits, which are on full display right now.

“Well, well.” His voice is smooth, almost lazy, but there’s a dark edge to it that settles over me like a shroud. “What do we have here?”

“We have a dumb motherfucker walking into places he doesn’t belong,” Johnny spits, pulling a gun from his jacket.

He struts toward Damian, grinning savagely as he raises his weapon.

“This is a party you weren’t invited to, you stupid fucking?—”

It happens so fast that I can barely register it. One second, Johnny is standing perhaps ten feet away from Damian. The next, the man with the silver hair, purplish eyes, and psychoticenergy has slammed into him and is jamming a blade into his stomach.

Johnny howls, clutching his bleeding abdomen and sinking to the floor as Damian yanks the blade out. The two others lunge toward him, pulling their own guns out. But instantly Damian’s knife flings, catching Ji Ahn in the throat.

Damian’s on his prey in a second, slamming into him and yanking the blade free with an arc of crimson. My eyes bulge wide, my throat tight and my pulse roaring as he whirls, spins the blade around, and drives it to the hilt into Won Kyung’s chest. The Korean’s eyes start from their sockets and his mouth falls open. Damian removes the blade, watching with almost a bored expression as the man drops to the ground in a heap next to his buddy.

The silence that follows is deafening, the air still and thick with death. Time feels slowed as Damian casually turns to glance behind him.

“Hmm.”

My throat works as I follow his gaze to the bloody puddle where Johnny was lying on the ground, which has turned into bloody footprints leading out the side door.

“I don’t envy you in your current position.”

I flinch, ripping my gaze back to Damian and taking in the slow, predatory smile curling his lips as he looks at me.

I stare at him, every nerve flickering with a mix of terror and defiance. He steps slowly and methodically over the men he’s just killed, as if admiring his own violence. His gaze sweeps over me with a dark satisfaction, taking in the mask, the ropes, theruined state of my clothes. The dim light glints in his violet eyes, giving him an otherworldly look.

“So… The Kitsune is awoman.” His voice, low and smooth, slips through the darkness, each syllable laced with dark amusement. “You’ve been making quite the mess of things…Kitsune.” He circles me, the bloody knife in his hand.

I keep my gaze steady, refusing to let him see the panic clawing at the edges of my control. “I don’t know who you think you’ve found,” I say, forcing steel into my voice and hoping to God he doesn’t recognize me, “but I assure you, my business is none of your concern.”

A quiet laugh escapes him, as cold as the look in his eyes. “On the contrary,” he murmurs, stepping close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him, a stark contrast to his icy expression. “You’ve been meddling in my affairs.Stealingmy clients.” His gaze sharpens and his tone dips, becomes more lethal. “And that,” he says softly, “isvery muchmy concern.”

He moves closer, reaching out, his fingers grazing the edge of my leather mask along my cheek. It’s just the lightest touch, yet it sends a shiver down my spine, an icy jolt that freezes me in place.

If he takes the mask off, it all explodes in my face.

No oneknows I’ve been doing this.

Kenzo’s been so focused on building the Mori-kai into a dominant empire and allying with the Nikolayev Bratva, not to mention expanding into Tokyo, that he hasn’t been paying attention to the state of our finances.

Nobody has, exceptme.

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