Chapter 13: Emperor of Wrath: Chapter 13

“Come on in.”

Mal strolls into the penthouse, closing the door behind him.

“Casual Friday?” he quips, eying me. I’m still shirtless from earlier.

“I’m sorry, should I have put on something nicer for you?”

He smirks and rolls his eyes. “Is your new bride as casually attired at the moment?”

Something heated flashes in my chest as I whirl on him. “How about you stop that imagination of yours right the fuck now,” I snarl quietly.

Mal arches a brow, but doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t need to. I’m already thinking it.

What the fuck was that?

It’s the same gut response I had to Takeshi getting in Annika’s face earlier this evening, before the wedding. This protective—one might say overly protective—instinct when it comes to her.

I understand it about as much as I understand my actions earlier, when I put my hands on her and didn’t stop putting my hands on her until I’d wrung that shattering orgasm from her body.

You could.

Something black, deviant, and monstrous roars awake inside me.

I’ve never been ashamed of anything I’ve done: killing, maiming, extorting. Ruining lives and taking countless others. I’ve lost exactly zero minutes of sleep to the vicious things I’ve done. I have to do them, in my world.

That lack of shame extends to my more…personal tastes, and sexual proclivities.

Free use.

Somnophilia.

Taking total control, perhaps when a partner is incapacitated in some way…or asleep.

Again, I categorically don’t feel ashamed for wanting to fuck like that. But a tiny part of me knows that perhaps I should.

And those words coming from her mouth, after I’d just had my fingers inside her, the taste of her skin still on my lips… After she’d just shattered for me, and was falling into an alcohol-driven oblivion…

God fucking help me, I almost did.

I stood in that bedroom for another ten minutes watching her sleep.

I took off her dress.

I may have spread her legs and stroked my cock, feasting my eyes on her little pink cunt.

But that was as far as it went. Now she’s under the bedsheets, away from my monstrous stares and desires.

“Drink?” I grunt to Mal.

He nods as I walk over to the bar cart and pour us both a splash of Yamazaki 18.

“At the risk getting my head bitten off for merely mentioning her name,” he smirks, “how’s Annika? I mean with what happened earlier.”

I hand him the glass. “She’s fine. She’s sleeping now.”

“That was fucked, Kenzo,” he growls quietly. “And I know we both know what this marriage is, but still. I’m sorry that it happened at your own fucking wedding.”

“Hey, it beats having to stand there afterward and shake everyone’s hand while they all pretend I’m actually in love with my new bride.”

He chuckles, and when he takes a sip of the Japanese whiskey, his eyes close for a second.

“Fuck, tastes like home.”

I smile wryly. “Missing Kyoto?”

He nods. “I don’t mind New York. It’s not the same, though.”

“I sometimes feel like that too—” My brow furrows as Mal turns into the light a little more, and I see a dark mark on the side of his neck, like he got hit by a chain or something. I scowl. “Is that from the explosion?”

“What?”

I nod my chin. “Your neck.”

He frowns and his hand comes up to touch the spot. Something flashes across his face I can’t quite place. Before I can dwell on it any longer, the look fades and he shakes it away.

“No idea. Probably.” He clears his throat.

I nod to the bandage on his forehead. “And how’s the noggin?”

“I’ll live, Kenzo,” he sighs. “Anyway, I’ve been flipping over stones to see if anything crawls out regarding that fucking bomb.”

“And?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Whoever it was, the attack wasn’t specifically on us or Sota. Not directly. I even went looking for trouble myself and met up with Nam Dae-Hyun.”

My brow raises sharply. “Are you fucking serious?”

Dae-Hyun runs a mid-level kkangpae—a Korean crime syndicate—here in New York. I wouldn’t say we’re exactly “at war” with them. But let’s just say Nam wouldn’t brake very fast if he saw me or a family member crossing the street in front of his car.

Mal grins. “I interrupted him while he was trying to cop a happy ending at a massage parlor. He wasn’t thrilled.”

I shake my head. “That was reckless.”

“But hilarious,” he snickers. “Anyway, I pressed him pretty hard about what happened. Like, gave him every opportunity to take ownership of the attack, or even just lie about it. That guy would walk over nails or sell his own mother just to claim he drew blood from us.”

“Nothing?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t anyone he even knows. Which crosses the last names off my list of potentials.” He takes a heavy drink from his glass. “Whoever that was, they weren’t gunning for us.”

“You’re sure?”

Mal clears his throat. “You want to double-check my math? Nam decided to be an idiot and tried to jump me as I was leaving his interrupted hand-job session.”

I scowl. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” he shrugs. “But if you want to ask him yourself about his involvement in tonight, I could make that happen. Quickly.”

Mal grins.

“He may or may not be downstairs in the trunk of my car if you want to take a little drive.”

I raise a brow. “But you don’t think he was involved.”

“No. He did, however, express a fairly strong hope that whoever it was tries again and doesn’t miss you or your new wife next time.”

That black, molten lava surges through my chest again.

I trust Mal’s judgement. If he says so, then I’ll believe that Nam didn’t have anything to do with the bombing.

He’s still an asshole, though.

Senseless violence is usually more Takeshi’s line. But what can I say? It’s been a night.

“Why don’t we go…double-check with Nam,” I growl quietly.

An hour later, I’m back in my penthouse. Mal is back at Sota’s.

Nam Dae-Hyun is at Mt. Sinai, presumably getting his jaw wired shut and his broken arm put in a cast.

Hopefully, they can inject him with some manners while he’s there.

I pad quietly back into my bedroom, shedding my shirt and pants along the way. I stand at the foot of the bed, watching Annika sleep, illuminated by the neon lights of New York.

Mal was right. We weren’t the target of tonight’s attack.

My jaw tightens as my gaze sweeps over the woman I just married.

I’m still confused why considering that she might have been the target tonight fills me with such rage.

Fury.

Wrath, and the unbreakable need to make sure that does not happen.