Page 87 of Emperor of Havoc

He nods. “I appreciate it.”

“You could always thank me by helping me dig up some ghosts.”

He smiles wryly, shaking his head. “All I can do is caution you, as a man who’s dug up enough ghosts in his day, tolet it be.” His eyes lock with mine. “Nothing good ever comes from raising the dead, Takeshi.”

26

KATARINA

The clatterof my keyboard fills the otherwise quiet study. Reports, files, calendars, meeting schedules… They all blur together, but I force myself to focus.

I have to.

Frankly, this is all piling up faster than I expected it to. Papa being in and out of the hospital, the ever-evolving political landscape of the Yakuza in Tokyo, the constant need to push our organization to the next level…taken together, it’s a lot.

But I can do this.

…Probably.

I’m exhaling distractedly when the door to Papa’s office, where I’ve set up operations, swings open.

I don’t need to look up to know who it is. For a start, there’s only one person in theworldwho would walk into Kolya Ishida’s home office uninvited and without announcing himself, even if the man himself wasn’t here. And also, the air shifts in a very particular way whenever Takeshi steps into a room.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, his voice edged with challenge.

I finally glance up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Really,” I sign dryly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He smirks. Infuriatingly.

“Although if I have, could it have something to do with youfucking with my birth control?” My hands move furiously as I glare at him.

“That may have had something to do with it, yes,” he throws back nonchalantly.

I roll my eyes. “I really don’t have time for your bullshit just now, Takeshi.”

“I…” He clears his throat awkwardly, his brow furrowing before he finally gets it out. “Iapologizefor my…less-than-appropriate actions.”

That posh British accent mixed with the rough, bad-boy charm gives him a totally unfair advantage.

Infuriatinglyunfair.

“Less than appropriate,” I motion, unsmiling. “That’s…one way of putting it.”

He coughs again, shoving his fingers through his hair.

“In any case, come outside,” he says, as casually as if he were inviting me to tea.

I sit back in my chair, crossing my arms. “Is that your way of apologizing?” I sign deliberately.

He smirks. “Apologizing’s not my style, princess. I’ll let you decide if this makes up for it, though.”

My curiosity wins, and I follow him through the house and out the front door. Then I see them—two sleek black Yamaha racing bikes, gleaming in the neon light of the city around us.

“We’ll practice in the driveway first. Or, if you want, you can just ride with me.”

Takeshi picks up a helmet, tossing it to me smugly. That smugness falters when I catch the helmet easily, tossing him a look.

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