Page 8 of Emperor of Havoc

More like damnation.

“Well?” Kaiju growls into my ear, his voice moving as he prowls around me. “While I do have questions about why and how the fuck you’re here, given thatIdon’t havemylocation shared, you’re obviously notreallyhere to try and get a job with the Yakuza.” He says it in a mocking tone which grates on me a little.

Why is that "obvious"? I want to ask.Because I’m a woman?

Joke's on him if he knew who my father is, whoIam. But even if I could somehow tell him, I wouldn’t. That’s not what I’m here for.

So what ARE you here for, if you’re not going to run?

The masked monster stops mid-prowl around me. He sighs heavily.

“Now you’re just wasting my fucking time,” he growls. “So let’s do this. You either run—now—or I take you back into that other room and fuck you on stage in front of all of them. I can’t promise what might happen to you after I’m done, but who knows, maybe you’re into group play.”

My spine snaps to attention, my pulse throbbing like liquid fire.

“So for thevery last fucking time, little prey,” Kaiju murmurs darkly. I feel his hot breath against my cheek as he leans in from the side. “Time. To fucking. RUN.”

This time, I do.

The first step is instinctive, raw survival taking over as I bolt through the darkness, my feet pounding on the concrete floor. The blackness stretches out in every direction, oppressive, endlessly suffocating. My hood falls back as I sprint, my coppery blonde hair whipping around me.

There's a dark, malevolent laugh somewhere in the emptiness around me. His footsteps follow, deliberate and steady, the sound of them thundering in my ears. He’s not rushing; he doesn’t have to. Each step feels calculated, predatory, designed to remind me that no matter how fast I run, hewillcatch me.

In the almost pitch-black gloom a door suddenly looms ahead, dimly outlined by the faintest sliver of light. I find the handle, my pulse roaring as I twist it open and slam through.

Outside, the neon glow of the city lights hit me like a slap. The cool night air envelops my lungs as I sprint through the Mori estate.

It’s a huge compound with manicured gardens, winding paths, and towering stone walls. Shadows stretch across the grass like dark fingers reaching for me, and every rustle of a leaf or snap of a twig feels like his presence closing in.

I zigzag through the garden, trying to lose him in the maze of hedges and trees. My body screams for rest, my legs burning, but I can’t stop. Not when I hear him growing closer, each footfall reminding me just how small the gap between us is becoming.

I vault over a low stone wall, landing heavily on the other side. The impact jars me, pain shooting up to my knees, but I push forward. My breathing is ragged, my vision tunneling, but I don’t look back. Looking back means seeing him. It means seeing how close he is. I can’t afford that.

“How about a little faster?” his voice taunts from the shadows to my right, dark amusement lacing every syllable. “You’re doing so well,Snowflake.”

A shudder wracks my body. The idea that he knows exactly who I am—that he’s known from the moment I stepped into the place—sends fresh terror pulsing through my veins.

I’m not just being hunted. I’m beingtoyed with.

I dart left, then right, weaving through the labyrinthine garden until I come to a sudden halt.

Dead end.

A towering hedge blocks my path, and the footsteps behind me grow louder, closing in with unnerving, unwavering precision.

I turn slowly, my back pressed against the hedge. He emerges from the shadows, hisonimask glinting in the moonlight. Shirtless, his ink-covered body radiates menace, every muscle taut with restrained power. The baseball bat rests casually on his shoulder, the weapon almost making a mockery of the situation. He doesn’t need it to subdue me.

He’s already won.

“Caught you,” he says, his voice a dark purr that sends shivers rippling down my spine.

I’m trembling, my chest heaving as I try to summon a defense, anything to hold him at bay. But he steps closer, the space between us vanishing, his presence swallowing me whole.

Japan isn’t exactly known for its tall population, but Kaijutowersover me, easily six-foot-four, maybe even more. His bare, tattooed shoulders are broad and muscular, his arms powerful and sculpted. His abs look to be carved from stone, disappearing in a V-shape into his black jeans.

Suddenly he surges right into me, shoving me back against the hedge-covered wall. My eyes bulge as the smooth wood of the baseball bat presses on my wrists, pinning them high over my head against the rough twigs behind me.

His strength is effortless, the bat held in one hand as if my resistance is laughable, his body caging mine with predatory heat. The coarse leaves of the hedge bite into my back, but the sharp sensation is nothing compared to the searing awareness of the man himself—his bare chest so close I can feel the warmth radiating off his ink-covered skin.

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