Page 116 of Emperor of Havoc

My mind glitches. Iswear, his face was so familiar…one I should remember. It made me feel like I was staring at someone I knew. But now, the memory is distorted and the familiarity has melted back to dark terror in my head.

Whoever he is, he jumped me, drugged me, and—I assume—brought me here. And whereverhereis, I need to get out.

I dart toward the nearest door, my pulse thundering in my ears. I try the brass doorknob, but it doesn’t budge. I jiggle it harder, panic rising in my chest.

Locked.

I whirl, my eyes darting to another door on the opposite side of the room. I stumble toward it, my legs still wobbly, and try again.

Also locked.

No, no, no, I think urgently, my hands trembling as I move to the tall, arched windows framed by heavy, moth-eaten drapes. The glass panes overlook an overgrown garden, dark and shapeless in the night. I push on the window, but it doesn’t give. My fingers scrape at the edges, looking for a latch, anything.

My chest heaves as frustration and fear swell inside me. My reflection in the glass stares back at me, pale and frantic, my hair a tangled mess.

Yeah, fuck this.

I turn, scanning the room for something I can use to smash the window. Just then, a sound behind me freezes me in place. My head snaps around as the first door I tried slowly creaks open.

Holy fuck.

Raw, naked fear stabs into me ashesteps into the room, his presence filling it like night swallowing the last light of day. His movements are slow and deliberate, and the soft glow from the one lamp glints across the surface of his mask.

A grotesque, grinningoniface stares back at me, its features twisted and monstrous. His eyes are hidden by it, but I can feel his gaze on me, heavy and unwavering.

And again, even though I can’t see his face, there’s that nagging familiarity…as if that brief memory of his face when he first surprised me is returning.

Then it disappears again, swirling back into the black fog.

“Finally,” he rasps, his voice rough and uneven, dragged over gravel. “I have you back.”

My heart stops. The room tilts, and I stumble back a step until I hit the edge of the draped couch I woke up on. My muscles coil, preparing to bolt, although I know there’s nowhere to run.

He shuts the door behind him and advances on me slowly, like a predator savoring the chase. His head tilts as he studies me, a gloved hand trailing along the back of a sheet-covered chair. He sighs, the sound eerily content. “You’re just as I remember, Marianna.”

The name slams into me like a punch, stealing the air from my lungs.

That was my mother’s name.

He takes another step closer, his voice soft but determined. “This time, Marianna,” he murmurs, his tone filled with unhinged reverence, “they’ll never take you from me.”

37

TAKESHI

The airin the room is cold, biting against my bare skin.

The sizzling wrought iron poker in Kolya’s hand is another thing altogether.

I watch grimly as he twists the poker, letting it turn white-hot as he holds it to the flame of the blowtorch. The room smells of rust and disinfectant. A single bulb swings above us, casting shifting shadows over the concrete walls.

I’m chained to a chair, my wrists and ankles bound, rivulets of sweat running down my shirtless back despite the chill.

Seemingly satisfied with how hot the poker is now, Kolya turns to stand before me, calm and composed. His eyes burn with the cold fury that only a father knows when his child is in danger.

Four of his men are in here, too. But they stand to the side, watching.

This is Kolya’s show.

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