Emperor of Lust: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance
Emperor of Lust: Chapter 17

Anger still simmers under my skin as I stride out of the meeting, heels clicking on the marble floor.

That fucker Damian.

The man is everywhere, prowling into every corner of my mind like ink spreading across a page. An infuriating shadow I can’t shake.

I glance back at the offices of Yuma Solutions, a financial analytics firm that I’d like to buy via Mori Holdings to expand our legitimate footprint in Tokyo.

The meeting went well; the team I’d be buying out and then working with were polite and very receptive to my initial offer. I should feel proud.

Instead, all I can think of is that fucker. All I was able to think about the whole meeting was him. How he infiltrates every thought, even when he’s nowhere in sight.

How he fucks me and makes me scream when he’s very much in sight.

I have to put some space between us. Yes, the sex is outrageously good. Psychopathic narcissist or not, the man certainly knows every single way to make my breath hitch, my toes curl, and my body come apart for him.

But we’re blurring lines. The whole point of this charade is so Miyamoto can sell us to the patriarchal, old-school leaders of lesser Yakuza families that report to him. It’s clear to me now, especially after having dinner with him, that Miyamoto himself doesn’t give a shit if I’m “spoken for” or not. But he understands that Yakuza culture, in Tokyo especially, will give a shit. Several shits, actually.

Damian and I pretending that we’re engaged is one thing. Us hopping into bed together—okay, a padded bench and the wall of an elevator—is another. Entirely.

It has to stop. No matter how mind-blowingly good it is.

I shove open the glass doors to the street and step out, frustration billowing behind me like smoke. The second I get outside I stop abruptly, and an incredulous smile splits my face, instantly breaking my foul mood.

Takeshi grins back, leaning against a sleek, matte-finish dark red Yamaha with black and gold accents.

“Tak!” I shriek, bolting toward him. He chuckles as I throw my arms around him, hugging him fiercely.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt, pulling back to look him over, searching for any sign of trouble. He just shrugs nonchalantly, like he’s here on vacation.

“Just making sure everything’s going smoothly.”

I scowl, arching a brow at him. “You honestly think I need checking on?”

He grins. “Nah. That’s not really why I’m here. I may or may not have some…other business to deal with,” he shrugs.

“Would this be part of whatever you and Mal were whispering about involving Kolya Ishida?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tak says, grinning innocently. “But I will say that I’m also here because I don’t trust that psychopath you’re fake engaged to. Not one fucking bit.”

I laugh mirthlessly. “Yeah, well, fuck him.”

Takeshi’s frown deepens. “Trouble in paradise?”

I smile. “Nah, everything’s fine.”

“Hana…” His jaw tightens, ever the protective brother. “Is he…trying anything with you?”

Trying. Succeeding. Repeatedly.

I shake my head, patting his chest. “Tak, I’m not a kid anymore. I can handle myself. Even around psychos like Damian.”

He doesn’t exactly look convinced. But before he can prod, I clear my throat.

“So—where are you staying here?”

He grins. “Right down the hall from you at the Conrad. I snagged the other suite. Charged it to Mori Holdings.”

I roll my eyes. “You are such a dick.”

He chuckles, tossing me his spare helmet. “Hop on. I’ll give you a ride. There’s another surprise waiting for you, too.”

As soon as Takeshi opens the door to his suite I shriek, laughter bubbling out the second I spot her. Annika screams back, running over and pulling me into a bear hug.

Okay, Tak, best surprise ever.

Over takeout dinner, Anni fills me in. Kenzo had to head to Osaka for a ton of meetings, so she decided to come here to make sure Tak didn’t get into too much trouble in Tokyo.

“And obviously to see you. I miss your face around the house.”

I grin. “Freya not doing it for you?”

She rolls her eyes. “I never fucking see her! I mean, I can match her nocturnal schedule if need be. But she and Mal never leave his damn guest house. I mean, what are they doing in there?”

“Well, Annika,” Takeshi sighs. “When a boy and girl love each other very much, and they want to express those feelings in a physical⁠—”

He laughs, dodging the half-eaten gyoza that Annika chucks at him.

As the conversation—and the wine—flows, I can’t help but grin. I needed this. I’ve only been away from Kyoto for two days, but still.

Just as Takeshi starts to get to the best part of a seriously hilarious story involving a street race, my phone dings, pulling me out of the conversation. I glance down, and whatever grin I had on my face sours.

I ignore the irritation that knots in my stomach as I reply.

Heat rises to my face, my pulse quickening despite myself.

My fingers hesitate over the keys, pulse hammering, before I reply.

I clench my jaw, forcing back a grin as I type.

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Annika laughs, and I realize too late my face has betrayed me.

“Nothing,” I mutter, trying to keep my expression neutral.

Another text from Damian dings, and I can almost hear his tone turning darker.

The next message is a photo. Of him. Or, at least, a very swollen, veined, thick, and…fuck me, mouthwatering…part of him.

My eyes bulge as the high-def photo of Damian’s giant cock fills my screen. I quickly swipe away from the image.

I roll my eyes.

Damian doesn’t reply immediately, but Annika’s phone dings with a text.

“Shit,” she giggles, glancing down. “I totally forget to tell Damian I was coming to town.” She types away, then looks up at me. “How’s that whole charade going?”

“Just great…” I say dryly.

My phone dings with a new text from Damian.

I huff, my fingers tapping a quick, defiant reply.

I drop the phone onto the table, satisfied. My triumph doesn’t last. A few minutes later there’s a call from the front desk, telling me there’s a package for me. Tak offers, but I shake my head.

I’m sure it’s Damian. It’s probably a “package” of images of his dick, or something worse.

I head downstairs, waving to four Mori-kai guards I recognize on duty in the lobby. I collect the padded manila envelope from the concierge and then step back into the elevator to go upstairs.

I tear open the envelope as soon as the doors close, expecting a pile of dick pics. My brow knits when I reach inside and pull out an iPad, a post-it note stuck to it that reads “Play Me.”

Confusion and apprehension coil in my stomach, but I can’t stop myself. I power on the iPad and press play on the only thing on the home screen: a video with a black thumbnail.

Instantly, the air goes cold.

My whole body stiffens, and it feels like razors are being dragged across my skin.

There, on the screen, is me.

I’m eighteen years old, struggling as Josh laughs and ties my arms to the bedposts in the guest room at that party I never should have gone to. I see myself scream into the T-shirt stuffed into my mouth, see the tears streaming down my face, hear the jeering of his buddies in the background.

Josh gets into position between my legs, which are also bound to the bedposts. My whole reality glitches and whines as I watch him trying to do it.

Trying to stick it in me.

He can’t. I’ll never forget that he couldn’t do it.

The video cuts abruptly, and a still photo appears on the screen. It’s Josh’s senior yearbook picture, captured in that stupid suit, face smug, the banner behind him proudly saying Harvard.

He was going to go to Harvard, just like his father.

The screen shifts again, white text against a black background, and when my eyes sweep over it, my blood runs cold.

I know what you did, Hana. And you’re going to pay for it.

The elevator doors slide open, but I can’t move. I press a shaking palm to my mouth, fighting down the panic clawing up my throat. I back into the corner of the elevator, sinking to the floor as my world spins and the demons from the past claw up to pull me under.

It all rushes back. Every scream. Every scar. Every moment I thought I’d buried.

Whoever sent this—they know.