Page 65 of Emperor of Havoc

The guard’s brow cocks. He glances at the other man.

“I’ll need to check with Kolya-sama…”

He trails off when I snatch the phone back and hammer out a quick response.

“I am neither seven years old, nor a prisoner of this house. I’m essentially your boss. Let me rephrase: move the fuck out of my way, because I’m going out. The end.”

The two guards instantly straighten and bow stiffly.

“Apologies, Katarina-san,” the first one mumbles. “We’re simply on high alert after the wedding?—”

I step out the front doors and trot down the steps. As if on cue, like he was waiting for me in the shadows, a sleek, matte-black and chrome motorcycle rumbles up the drive from the direction of the front gates and pulls up, the engine a low, purring growl.

My heart thuds with a mix of curiosity and unease as Takeshi kills the engine and sets his feet down, his black boots crunching on the gravel drive. He swings a leg over, turning toward me as he yanks off his black helmet. He’s in black jeans, a black leather riding jacket, and a white t-shirt.

He doesn’t speak right away, just leans against the bike, his expression a calculated mask of arrogance and something darker. Finally, he tilts his head toward me.

“Get on,” he says smoothly.

I hesitate. “Where are we going?” I sign.

“Does it matter?”

I narrow my eyes at him, but he doesn’t flinch. It’s a silent battle of wills that ends when I let out a slow breath and walk toward the bike. He smirks as he pulls a helmet out of the side bag and hands it to me.

“I still don’t know what your text meant,” I sign.

“You'll see.”

He takes my hand and helps up onto the bike, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“Chivalry isn’t dead, after all,” I sign sarcastically as he gets on in front of me.

“I wouldn’t get used to it, princess,” he murmurs before revving the engine again.

The drive is silent but tense as the neon city streaks by us. It’s weird to be holding on to him so tightly as he roars through Tokyo and feel so at peace, given howun-peaceful a man he is.

But I do.

Takeshi doesn’t offer any hints about our destination, and I’ve learned better than to press him when he’s in this mood. Besides, I don’t dare pull even one hand away from him to ask any questions right now, not the way he's driving.

I watch the cityscape fade into quieter, more remote streets, the buildings growing farther apart until we’re surrounded by nothing but the trees of Denenchofu, in Ota Ward—awildlyexpensive, exclusive area of Tokyo known for its lavish homes.

He pulls up to a wrought iron gate with a long, winding driveway behind it, and I frown as the structure at the end comes into view.

The mansion is massive, looming dark and almost abandoned against the gray sky, like something out of a gothic horror novel. The windows are dark, some of them boarded up, and the plants, shrubs, and trees all around the exterior are overgrown and wild. But the gates at the entrance are new—gleaming, reinforced steel, outfitted with cameras.

My questions only multiply when Takeshi punches in a code at the gates and they instantly part. He drives through, winding up the long driveway past the overgrown trees and snarled branches. We come to a stop at the massive steps up to the front door, and he kills the engine, kicks down the stand, and swings his leg over to dismount.

“What is this place?” I sign after he helps me off.

Takeshi glances at me briefly. “Home.”

My stomach twists. “Home?”

He turns to look up at the house for a minute before turning back to me, his eyes gleaming.

“Come on,” he growls quietly.

---