Page 1 of Emperor of Havoc

1

KATARINA

Kaiju

You’re already mine, sweetheart. You just don’t know it yet.

Mercifully,the mask covers the blush that stains my cheeks as I reread the words.

Kaiju

Once we begin, there’ll be no escaping me. I’m the monster you can’t outrun. And when I catch you, I’m going to fucking ruin you.

The message from the appropriately named “Kaiju” glares up at me from my phone, sharp and menacing like the edge of a blade, making my heart hammer in my chest.

It’s not as though I’ve never heard crude talk from a man before…not when in most cases, my father is both his boss and worst nightmare. Men in our world—the underworld, that is—have ahabitof speaking crudely. So it’s not like my eyes and ears are so pure and virginal that reading Kaiju’s messages should throw me into a tizzy or anything.

And yet…it does.

Not “a tizzy”,per se. I’m not sure anyone’s been in “a tizzy” since the forties. But still, every time I reread the line, my face throbs a little hotter. My pulse skips a little faster.

Darkness wraps its clawed hands around my neck and squeezes a little more dangerously.

Temptingly.

Outside the Sensoji Temple at the Hagoita-Ichi Fair, the crowd bustles around me, coming and going with waves of laughter and chatter. Lanterns cast their golden glow over the streets and the holiday stalls, and the air is thick with the aroma of grilled fish and sweet azuki bean paste. I should be blending in, just another reveler in atengu,oni, orkitsunemask.

But I’m not here for the traditional year-end holiday festivities.

So what exactly ARE you here for?

My face throbs again as some shred of whatever sanity I have left demands to be heard. Once again, I’m thankful for thekabuki-style mask I’m wearing, hiding the heat in my cheeks as my eyes furtively dip back to the Club Venom app open on my phone.

Just like the first time I visited, it’s like lifting the lid of Pandora’s box.

Even though it’s half a world away, in New York, I’ve heard whispers about it here in Tokyo: a notorious club that caters to the rich, powerful, dark, and insanely deviant. When Nina told me about it months ago, it was in hushed tones, her eyes wide and face close to mine, as if she was sharing some scandalous gossip with me.

“It’s a SEX CLUB, Kat. Like, a kink club for mafia types. Apparently, it caters to people withsuperkinky tastes, too.”

I swear I can still taste the shame on my tongue when I’d asked her “what type of kinks”.

“Dunno,” she’d shrugged. “My cousin Mara was telling me about it. But, like, real kinky shit. Bondage, S&M, even non-con stuff.”

For the eleventy millionth time tonight, I’m grateful for the mask covering my face as I replay that first conversation that led me here, to the very brink of my sanity.

I shouldn’t like what I like.

I shouldn’t want the things I want.

I shouldn’t have these sorts of urges.

But I do.

And at times, keeping them bottled up so tightly, buried so deep inside, is almost too much to take. Like I’m sitting on a live grenade about to go off and blast my dirty secrets all over the fucking room.

So that’s why I finally…did it.

While physically located in New York, Club Venom offers an online matching service, sort of like Tinder on steroids, for like-minded, kinky fucks like—well,me, I guess. I chickened out midway through the application process seven times in a row before I finally took their guarantee of confidentiality to heart, powered through my shame, and hit the submit button.

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