Page 6 of Emperor of Havoc

Tap out. Tap the fuck out.

His palm slaps the mat, over and over.

Yes.

I’m obviously notactuallyhere to try and join the Mori-kai. But still. There's a smug smile on my face behind my mask as I let go of him and stand, victorious.

“Fuck that,” the man on the ground wheezes, sucking in ragged breaths. “I want another?—”

“You’re done.”

My blood feels like it runs slower and colder when I hear his voice behind me, his black, malevolent presence swirling around me like toxic smoke.

I’m still frozen as he moves past me, his powerful bare arm brushing my shoulder as he looms over the man on the ground.

“You,” he grunts, pointing his bat at the guy. “You’re done. Leave.”

“But—”

“OrIcan fight you, and I promise, I won’t stop when you tap out like a pussy.”

In seconds, my opponent is scrambling to his feet, bowing at the man in the mask, then hurrying toward the stairs.

The tall, built guy with the terrifying mask and the bat doesn’t move. I stand there, a shudder creeping up my spine as the other fights play out around us. I watch his back muscles flex as he lifts his arm, resting the bat on one muscled, tattooed shoulder.

Then slowly, he turns.

Jesus.

Even masked, making me unable to see his eyes, the sheer violence and brutal coldness in him lances right into my soul as he turns to level his blank gaze at me. His head tips slowly to the side, sending another cold, vicious shiver rippling through my body.

The seconds tick by. The sound of grunts and fists hitting flesh around us recede, until it’s just he and I.

“Come.”

The word hits me like a slap, shaking me out of my stupor. He turns and I follow, my pulse roaring in my ears as we slip past scrabbling, fighting duos and men lying groaning on the ground. The man with the bat opens a door set into the wall, near the stage. He doesn’t hold it for me or usher me in first. He just steps through into pitch blackness, his pure, venomous power drawing me after him. There’s no other option but to follow.

Or else.

The door is already slowly swinging shut when I step forward, pushing it open again and stepping after him.

Then the door closes with a heavy click and pure darkness engulfs us, like the deepest part of the ocean, crushing me under its weight.

Silence pulses in the air.

“You’re not an initiate.”

His voice is low and cold with a dark, sultry tone. And he’s speaking English, with a cultured, upper-class British accent.

My throat bobs.

“I’ll take your silence as an admission of fact,” he growls.

I shudder as I feel him move slowly around behind me. Something touches me in the darkness, making me flinch—his bat, lightly running across the small of my back.

“And you’re awoman.”

My breath catches.

---