Emperor of Lust: Chapter 14

“Christ, what a fucking shit-show,” Kir growls on the laptop screen, shaking his head. We’re all back at the Conrad Tokyo—Hana up in our suite, and Isaak and I in his room, the weight of everything that just went down hanging over us as we speak with Kir via video call.

My uncle’s expression is as cool as ever, ice-blue eyes flicking between Isaak’s blood-streaked shoulder and my own tense demeanor as I tell him everything that happened. He’s outwardly calm, but I can still see the fierce intensity behind his gaze, coiled rage barely contained as I detail the ambush.

Kir’s always like this: total poker face on the surface while on the inside his mind forms plans, and backup plans, and backup-backup plans.

“And Miyamoto?” Kir’s quiet voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

“He’s good,” I confirm. “I think he’s better aware of the stakes now.”

“That could go either way,” Kir grunts.

I nod. “I think that this just cemented Miyamoto to us and the Mori-kai, actually. He breaks ranks now and he’s truly fucked, he knows that. They knew we were together. I mean, they came right at Hana,” I growl, my hands tightening to fists as my mind replays the blur of that first attacker lunging for her. “If he leaves us, the Ishida-kai will burn his empire to the fucking ground. No, it’s us or death now for Miyamoto.”

Kir nods slowly. “And how is Hana?”

The mention of her name brings back the memory of her fainting in my arms back at Miyamoto’s house. I remember how frighteningly gray her skin was as I carried her back to the car, then held her in the back seat as we drove back to the hotel.

That woman always presents herself to the world as tough as nails. Unbreakable. Unflappable. Completely put-together.

But tonight, I saw her vulnerability. I saw that she’s strong but not invincible.

And fuck, it got to me, more than I’d have ever imagined.

“She’s…fine,” I grunt, though my voice loses its edge. I know Kir especially has a soft spot for Hana, after the two of them and Freya were held for days in that dark hell where my uncle almost succumbed to sepsis after a bad infection. “Shaken, but unharmed.”

Kir’s gaze flickers with concern. “We knew the Ishida-kai wouldn’t take our expansion into Tokyo lying down. But this is a pretty fucking strong shot across the bow.”

“More like a shot into the bow,” Isaak grunts next to me.

Kir nods. “I think we need to consider things escalated. Tread carefully, Damian.”

After the call ends I turn to Isaak, nodding at the wound on his shoulder covered by a bandage he applied himself.

“Gonna live?”

Isaak smirks and shrugs nonchalantly. “To remind you, I was Special Forces for years before your uncle found me. This is just a scratch.”

I nod, then my brow furrows when my gaze moves from the bandage on his shoulder to the bruising on his neck.

“The fuck happened there?”

Isaak frowns, his hand coming up to his neck momentarily. Something flickers in his eyes but he quickly shrugs.

“Took a hit, I guess.”

I nod. “Well, be sure to thank your hero later.”

“Hmm?”

“Kai,” I clarify. “That motherfucker sure came to your aid pretty fast. That was lucky.”

A weird expression clouds Isaak’s face, then he looks away.

“Yes, very lucky he was there.”

I stand. “I’m going to head up to the suite. You good?”

“Da, all good…malen’kiy prints.”

I roll my eyes and flip him off. “You know I fucking hate when you call me that.”

Little prince. It’s what he used to call me when I was a boy, even though Isaak is all of like seven years older than me.

“Da, I do know.”

I snort. “Hope your cut itches like fuck under the bandage, jackass.”

I leave his room and make my way up to Hana’s and my suite. Various Nikolayev and Mori-kai men are watching over this entire hotel, even more so after what happened tonight.

But it’s Kai himself that I find standing guard outside our door, his posture keenly alert. He turns when he hears me approach, stiffening slightly.

Our exchanges have always been…well…short-tempered. But tonight, he nods at me.

“Thank you,” he grunts. “For protecting her.” He bows stiffly. “You fought well, Damian-san.”

I nod. “Well, so did you. I think you were Isaak’s knight in shining armor tonight.”

An odd expression crosses Kai’s face, and he shifts uncomfortably before he nods again.

“It’s my job,” he says curtly. He glances to the hotel suite door. “You’ll watch her tonight?”

I nod.

“Good. Arigato gosaimatsu, Damian-san.”

I watch Hana’s oddly quiet, reserved security guard stalk back toward the elevators before I step into the suite.

Inside, the whole place is cloaked in darkness save for a thin beam of light spilling from the bathroom. Humid warmth fills the air, and steam swirls lazily from the partly closed door. I frown, walking toward the muted sound of running water and pushing the door open.

Shit.

Hana is still in her gown, pacing back and forth under the scalding spray, her hands scrubbing at her skin frantically. Her movements are restless, her eyes wide and unfocused. The adrenaline and trauma are still coursing through her.

She’s in shock.

Without hesitation, I step into the shower fully clothed. The water drenches me immediately, but I barely notice. My focus is solely on Hana. She’s still scrubbing, as if trying to erase every trace of blood and violence. Her hands shake as they glide over her arms, her breath shallow and ragged.

“Hana…” I say, my voice firm but calm.

She flinches, turning to face me with wide, panicked eyes. “Don’t touch me,” she chokes, her voice laced with fear, her eyes wild and disoriented.

I grip her shoulders tightly, holding her still. “Stop moving,” I command, my tone full of authority. “It’s just the adrenaline. You need to breathe.”

For a second, she continues to fight, her hands pressing against me. But I hold my ground, refusing to let go. Her breaths are still short, panicked, her gaze darting around as if she’s still trapped in the chaos. “Just breathe,” I murmur, my steady voice anchoring her against the storm raging inside.

Slowly, her resistance falters. She’s still trembling, but her fight is fading, her breathing becoming deeper and more controlled. My hands slide down her arms, guiding her back to reality. Her forehead rests on my chest, and the rapid jackhammering of her pulse against my hand slows.

She lifts her gaze to mine, her eyes vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen before. Water streams down her face, mingling with the remnants of blood and soap, and for a moment all I see is raw, unfiltered emotion—a chink in her usually impenetrable walls.

Something inside me shifts.

Breaks.

Before I know it, I’m reaching for her, my thumb brushing away a water droplet on her cheek as I cup her face.

“What are you doing,” she whispers hoarsely.

“This.”

My mouth slams to hers, my lips capturing hers in a fierce and brutal kiss, like a hurricane making landfall.

An unstoppable force hitting an immovable object.

And when I kiss her—for the first time, I realize, despite everything else that’s occurred between us—the ground crumbles beneath my feet.

The world stops turning.

Her fingers clutch at my soaked shirt, kissing me back, a soft, desperate whimper on her lips.

It’s a release. A catharsis.

Something I never, ever expected.

And now?

There’s no going back.