Page 105 of Emperor of Havoc

I’msafe.

My heart still thuds erratically as I calm myself, remembering that I’m back home in bed, not in that hellish hole in Chiba.

Except…I’m alone. I wasn’t before.

I fell asleep in Takeshi's arms earlier.

My bottom lip retreats between my teeth. But as my hand slides over to his side of the bed, I smile.

The sheets are warm, and still smell like him—raw and masculine. I press my hand to the empty spot beside me, trying to reassure myself that he must have gotten up to use the bathroom or something.

I exhale, rolling my eyes at myself for panicking.

Still, my body refuses to relax. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold it together as the memories of the earlier nightmare claw their way to the surface.

The cold, metallic room. The smell of motor oil and blood. The chains biting into my skin. Sergey’s mocking voice. Rodion’shands.

Then—Takeshi.

I replay the moment the door crashed in and he roared my name like a storm ripping into the room. I remember the way he tore through them all, his presence overwhelming, terrifying, and protective all at once.

He killed them all without hesitation, an uncaged feral beast. And then instantly, that fury and violence turned to calm protectiveness as his arms went around me, shielding me from it all.

I recall the way he carried me out of that hellish room, past Rodion’s lifeless—andheadless—body. Then Sergey's.

Ryu is in the hospital now: they say he’ll be okay. Nina is shaken, but unhurt. Since I’ve got Tak, I’ve made sure Furrcules is spending the night in her room, which I think might help her sleep. My father is awake from his surgery, groggy but already asking questions. We talked on the phone earlier. Tomorrow I’ll visit him, and we’ll plan the utter and complete destruction of whatever remains of the Vorobev Bratva.

I sigh, trying to shake off the lingering panic. My gaze drifts across the room, and I realize the bathroom light is off.

Where is he?

I slide out of bed, wrapping myself in the duvet as I pad to the bathroom. It’s empty. I open the bedroom door and glance into the hallway, my pulse quickening.

The house is eerily quiet as I walk through my wing, my bare feet brushing over the cold floors. Finally I spot him in the living room—a dark silhouette against the neon glow of Tokyo beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. His broad shoulders are stiff, his head bent.

He’s on the phone.

I start to step inside, but the quiet tension in his posture and the low growl of his voice stop me, prickling over my skin, warning me to stay silent.

I linger in the shadows, watching, listening.

“The plan was always the same,” he says, his voice low and rough. “Use her to get inside the Ishida-kai.”

It feels like I just got punched in the face—the words a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. My hands tremble, clutching the duvet tighter around me as I stand frozen in place.

“I wanted revenge, Hana,” he continues, his tone filled with a venom I’ve never heard in him before. “It was Kolya who killed Akira. I used her to get close to him.”

The room tilts. My legs barely hold me up. My heart shatters, breaking into a million jagged pieces as his words sink in.

Use her.

Get inside the Ishida-kai.

Revenge.

My breathing quickens and my chest tightens, the beginnings of a sob trying to claw its way up my throat.

“It washim,” he growls, his voice sharp as his katana blade. “He has to pay for what he did to Akira.”

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