Page 72 of Emperor of Havoc

“A what,” Takeshi growls.

“Nothing. Forget it.” I push against him, to get off of his lap and away from him. But his hands grip my waist tightly, unyieldingly.

“Notwhat,” he murmurs again.

I stare blankly at him.

“Not a monster?” Takeshi finishes for me, his tone mocking.

I look away, my jaw tightening.

“A monster like…what…” he growls, his voice low.

I hesitate, my mind racing for an answer that won’t set him off further. I can't think of one.

His hands drop, releasing me. Shivering, I stand on shaky legs, moving from his lap to sit on the rug again. My back is to him as I pull the scraps of my clothing around me, hiding my nudity.

“Like me?” His voice rumbles behind me, his tone prying and accusatory.

I say nothing.

Neither does he.

The seconds tick by.

Finally, swallowing, I nod.

“Like you,” I sign quietly.

He doesn't respond. I bite my lip, turning to face him.

Takeshi is gone.

For a moment, I just sit there, stunned, unsure what to do. His sudden departure stings, and I’m left with a hollow ache that feels far too familiar. Finally, I pull myself to my feet, wrapping my arms around me and quickly walking out of the room.

Sounds guide me through the creepy abandoned mansion until I finally find him standing dressed at the front door.

I’m about to sign something when he drops a small backpack at my feet.

“There are clothes in there. Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

I don't move.

“I said get the fuck dressed,” he mutters.

“Takeshi,” I sign. “I didn’t mean?—”

He ignores me, stepping out the front door and back into the night, leaving me to dress as he starts his bike outside.

The mansion feels colder now, the silence pressing in around me.

20

KATARINA

The days blur into an endless,monotonous rhythm of meetings, phone calls, and whispered conversations in corners.

Papa has been in and out of the hospital for tests, each absence leaving a void in the Ishida-kai that I’m expected to fill. He’s still who everyone looks to for direction, but now, more than ever, I feel the weight of his legacy pressing down on me. That and the eyes of “his" people looking at me, wondering if and when they’ll become “my" people.

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