Emperor of Rage: Chapter 8

The ocean is the only place I can really think.

It’s the only place where the screaming in my head quiets, where the constant pull of rage and the hunger for vengeance and violence fades into something manageable.

Holding the board, I dive through the waves, paddling further out, the icy water slicing over my bare skin like a blade. It’s definitely wetsuit season now, especially in the northeastern US. I don’t care.

The cold burns, numbing everything but the steady, rhythmic pull of the tide. My muscles strain as I paddle the surfboard out to wait for a bigger wave. But there’s a peace in the struggle, a calm that only comes when I’m pushing my body to its limits.

Finally satisfied that I’m in the right spot I angle back toward the shore, waiting and bobbing in the inky black Long Island surf. For a few blessed moments, it’s just me and the ocean.

No past. No future. Just the dark, swirling abyss below and the endless stretch of water ahead.

I turn and scan the horizon. The moon is a mere sliver in the sky, casting pale light over the churning waves. There’s no one out here. There never is. That’s why I come at night—the world is quiet, and the beach is deserted, and I can lose myself in the raw, untamed fury of the ocean.

But even out here in the cold embrace of the water, I can’t stop thinking about her.

Freya.

Her name is embedded in my mind, a dark whispered curse that refuses to leave. I close my eyes, bobbing in the waves, trying to send the thoughts down to the bottom of the sea. But they always resurface, emerging stronger, more insistent.

I should have killed her that night in the office. I should have ended it before she became a problem—before she started burrowing into my flesh like a splinter I can’t remove.

Before I knew who she fucking was.

But I didn’t. And now she’s stuck in my head like a cancer I can’t cut out.

I should be furious with myself for allowing her to occupy so much of my mind. But instead all I feel is that same dark pull, that sick attraction that makes my blood run hot.

She’s…different. I saw it in her eyes back at that office the night I caught her—and then again tonight. Fear, yes, but also something else. Something dark. Something that matches the shadows inside me.

And now I know why.

Freya Holm doesn’t exist. She’s a mask she’s been wearing for years, hiding from the world and herself. But I see her for who she really is.

Freya Lindqvist.

The surname alone stirs something dark and vicious inside me.

Lindqvist.

The family that destroyed mine. The jackals that came in the night and killed everything I’d ever loved.

My mother. My sister. My uncle—all of them dead because of that family.

And now, here she is, the last of them. The daughter of the man who brought it all crashing down.

I feel the surge in the water behind me. I allow my mind to go blank, feeling only me, the board, and the wave as it hits me. The force of it slams me forward, pumping adrenaline through my system as I catch the break and spring to my feet.

The cold autumn air whips at my wet skin. But the pain is good. It grounds me, keeps me tethered to something real. The wave roars under me, slamming me back toward shore as I angle the board and make the force of nature beneath me mine as I ride it to its inevitable end.

When I reach the beach, I pull myself and the surfboard onto the sand, collapsing on my back and letting the waves lap at my feet. My chest heaves as I stare up at the sky. The stars are hidden behind a layer of clouds, the moon barely visible. The world itself feels heavy, oppressive, like it’s closing in on me.

But even here in the dark, amid the solitude of the ocean, I can’t escape her.

Freya. Fucking. Lindqvist.

Logic would tell me to walk the fuck away from this. To let the ghosts of the past lie, and to acknowledge that Freya was still a child when her family destroyed mine.

That said?

I don’t give a fuck.

I don’t care if she’s a fucking canonized saint, or curing cancer.

She’s a Lindqvist.

I sit up, the sand clinging to my skin as I stare out at the endless stretch of water. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore is soothing, but it doesn’t quiet the storm inside me.

The thing is, it’s not just violent vengeance I crave when I look at her.

There are…other urges that come bubbling to the surface that I’ve swallowed back over the years alongside my rage.

Desires I keep bottled up, because I don’t trust myself to set them free.

I can’t. That’s not who I am anymore. I’m a weapon. A tool. Here to do a job, and nothing more.

But Freya…

I can’t help but wonder if the venomous, black thoughts that come swirling through my head at the very thought of her are because of who she is, or because of what I want.

Do I want to break her because she’s a Lindqvist, and I’ve spent my entire life haunted by what her family did to mine? Or is it something else—something darker and more twisted?

I stand, brushing the sand from my skin as I grab my board. The cold wind whips against my face, but I barely feel it. I can only focus on the gnawing feeling in my gut that everything is spiraling out of control and I’m too far gone to stop it.

My phone is buzzing on the front seat of my truck when I get back to it. I lean the board against the tailgate before glancing at the screen.

Hana.

I almost ignore it, but something makes me answer.

“What?” I mutter.

There’s a brief pause on the other end, and I can hear the faint sound of jazz in the background. She’s at her usual spot.

“I figured you’d be out there,” she says, her voice soft and teasing.

“Out where?” I grunt.

“I can hear the waves, dummy. Plus I know surfing at night is your go-to when you’re brooding.”

I snort as I glance back at the ocean. “I’m not brooding.”

“Sure,” Hana replies, her tone dry.

There’s another pause, and her tone shifts.

“For real, though. Are you okay?”

It’s a simple question, but it grates on me. I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay since I was nine years old and my family got torn apart. And I certainly wasn’t okay during the two years after that, before I came to live with Kenzo, Tak, and Hana.

But that’s not something I’m ever going to talk about, not even with them.

Some things are too broken to fix.

“I’m fine,” I lie, my voice sharp. Too sharp.

Hana doesn’t push. She never does. But I can hear the concern in her voice. “Whatever it is, you know you don’t have to do it alone, right?”

A smile touches my lips. Hana is one in a million, and I know I’m beyond lucky to call her family. But just the same, alone is what I do best. Alone is where I’m safe. Where no one else can get hurt because of me.

“So how’s the jazz tonight?”

She snorts. “Changing the subject?”

“Obviously.”

She laughs lightly, and I can practically see her rolling her eyes. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

I don’t respond.

“The band is good tonight. I do miss the Monkey, though.”

She means The Golden Monkey, her favorite jazz spot back in Kyoto.

“Tell you what. Help me lean on Kenzo to get us the fuck out of this godforsaken city, and I’ll buy your drinks for a month at the Monkey.”

She laughs lightly. “Deal.” She exhales. “Seriously… Take care of yourself, Mal. You’ve got people who care about you.”

Before I can say anything else, she hangs up, the weight of her words settling heavy in my chest.

I toss the surfboard into the back, slam the gate shut and lean against the side of the truck. I close my eyes, letting the sound of the waves fill the silence. But the memories are already there, clawing their way to the surface.

The night my family died.

I can still see it. The flames licking the edges of the house, the sound of gunfire shattering the air, muffled through the ten feet of water above my head.

The metallic taste of the garden hose. The smoke in the air I breathed through it, hiding deep in the pool with the hose shoved in my mouth, listening as everything I loved was torn apart.

The blood everywhere when everything went quiet and I finally came up.

And then there was Kir.

I hadn’t known who he was back then. I was too young, too scared. But years later, I realized it was him I saw when I clawed my way out of the pool that night, watching the flames destroy my world.

I force the memories back down, locking them away where they belong.

Kir is one key to all of this.

Freya is another.

I’m going to figure out how it all connects.

I have to.