The Dragon (G.O.N.Y. - Double Dragon) Read online

  Lifting his brow, Ramsey asked, “And how would you know?”

  He seemed to contemplate answering, and Ramsey was just about to give Vince the order when he rushed out, reverting to broken Korean, “It has to go through me. Stuff like that goes through me.”

  “Is that so?”

  Lee nodded.

  “All of them?”

  He nodded again.

  “And what about the ones that don’t go through you?”

  When he remained mute for longer than Ramsey wanted, Vince hit him again. A whimper tore from his lips.

  “Okay…okay…” He pulled his head up. “If I tell you, you’ll release me?”

  Ramsey nodded. “If you’re honest.”

  Lee licked at his cracked, bloodied lips, before sighing and nodding once. He swallowed loudly and released a deep breath. “Kim…Hyun-Bin.”

  “Yes?” Ramsey prodded.

  “The ones that don’t go through me…they go through Kim.”

  “Your boss?” Kim Hyun-Bin was a key player in the H.S.S. Mob. Some said he was Chang’s right hand and it wasn’t quite a stretch since they were joined through marriage. Kim had married one of Chang’s daughters if Ramsey remembered correctly.

  Lee nodded.

  “That would mean whoever ordered the hit has friends in high places.” More and more, he was convinced that Chang Chul-Moo had played a part in his niece’s death. Chang hadn’t wanted their recent deal, and this could easily be his way of retaliating.

  “Where’s Kim right now?”

  The man shrugged and shook his head. “He could be anywhere…”

  “I need you to be more specific than that, Lee.”

  With a nod, he began, “He was here a few weeks ago but he doesn’t stay longer than a month.”

  “When was he here?”

  “Mid-August…the 15th.”

  It was the first week in September. If he hadn’t already left, they had a week to find him. If they didn’t, Ramsey would have to go to South Korea. For specific reasons, he wouldn’t do that just yet.

  Relaxing against the fold-up chair, he asked, “And where does Kim stay when he’s in New York?” Lee was already shaking his head when Ramsey added, “And don’t tell me you don’t know, Lee. People talk about you.”

  Lee’s eyes widened before narrowing in anger.

  “You know what they say, don’t you?” The man’s jaw clenched and he shook his head. “You don’t know they say the only reason Kim comes here at all is because he prefers men?”

  “Rumors,” Lee muttered dismissively.

  “Is it also a rumor that you’re his lover?”

  “I’m married.”

  Vince chuckled.

  Ramsey smiled. “And?”

  “They’re lies.”

  “Well,” Ramsey began, standing for the first time since he’d taken a seat almost half an hour ago, and approached Lee. “Maybe you two are just close friends. Close friends know things about each other, don’t they? Like where they stay when they come to New York, where they eat, where they drink…” He trailed off and gripped the man’s face. “…where they fuck.” In Lee’s eyes, Ramsey saw anger and fear. He knew the fear was that he’d be exposed. “Your group doesn’t know how close you are, do they? They’d probably lose respect for a man so close to another.” He released his face and smiled. “Is that how you were promoted above your brothers, your cousins? Your close relationship with Kim?”

  “What do you want?” Lee snarled.

  “I want to know where I can find Kim, preferably before he leaves the country.” Ramsey smiled again. “He’s still here, isn’t he?”

  Lee stared at him for long moments.

  “I think we should just kill him,” Vince muttered in a bored voice. “He’s not going to talk, and I’m hungry.”

  “Yes,” Lee murmured, looking down.

  “Yes?”

  “He’s still here, I think.”

  “When did you last see him?”

  “Two days ago.”

  “Where?”

  “The Wales Hotel.”

  Ramsey lifted a brow. Vince snorted. Lee chose not to elaborate.

  He turned to Vince. “Cut him down. Give him something to drink.”

  Lee’s sigh filled the room. He returned his attention to the man. “You’re going to create a list with all of your boyfriend’s favorite places, and if we find him, you’re free to walk.”

  ***

  “Put that back! Nobody wants the generic peanut butter! Jif and Skippy are still in business for a reason, you know.”

  “When you’re paying, you can decide which peanut butter to get—”

  “Excuse yourself, but my tax dollars pay you so technically I am paying for this Skippy peanut butter…”

  Standing just a few paces behind in her Yankees baseball cap and bubble jacket, Jezebel shook her head at the antics that had become both normal and entertaining, before returning her attention to the large jar of dill pickles she currently held. She’d spied them the moment they entered the grocery store aisle. Although she’d had Brandon purchase a jar just days ago, she’d finished it, along with the peanut butter. Hence, Brandon and Delilah were having it out over which brand would replace the set currently digesting in Jezebel’s stomach.

  If someone had asked her months ago what she’d be doing for Halloween, Jezebel would have probably laughed and asked them to ask her a serious question. Halloween was for children. Still, she’d never imagined she’d be spending Halloween doing midnight shopping in a grocery store under “Witness Protection.” After staying weeks in Maryland, she’d been relocated to Georgia, and weeks later, was now in upstate New York. She’d changed names as well, and was now Samira Michelson, housewife and expectant mother.

  After she’d told Dr. Hassad she was ready, Jezebel had steeled herself for the inevitable, but when the anesthesiologist walked in, and began prepping her to go under, she’d stopped them. She couldn’t. Even with every reason as to why she should swirling in her mind, Jezebel just…couldn’t. Yes, her life was unstable, and less than ideal, but women gave birth to healthy, happy babies in worse conditions daily. The child had done nothing wrong, and though she wasn’t the most maternal, Jezebel realized she wanted him. It had nothing to do with Ramsey, and everything to do with her. This was her baby, an innocent child created unexpectedly, and while she considered herself Pro-Choice and a die-hard feminist, she couldn’t go through with it.

  She’d gone to the clinic to remove a fetus; she’d left with a prescription for prenatal vitamins.

  “Look, why don’t we just ask Samira since technically, she’s going to be eating most of it?” Jezebel’s head whipped up at her most recent name, and she saw Brandon look from her face to her hands and sigh. He put the container of peanut butter back and grabbed two of the largest ones. “Jif or store brand?”

  “Or Skippy?” With a smirk, Delilah held up a large container of her favorite peanut butter.

  “Skippy.”

  “Told you,” Delilah murmured, tossing the peanut butter into their shopping cart. “And did you just call my sister fat?” She hissed it so loudly Jezebel was certain the other late-night grocery shoppers several aisles over heard her.

  “I never said anything about fat,” Brandon retorted with a scowl. For a mostly even-tempered male, Brandon lost it in seconds when dealing with Delilah. “We should get your hearing checked. Obviously, you’re going prematurely deaf.”

  Shaking her head, Jezebel returned her attention to the pickles. She’d always heard people complaining about strange, borderline disgusting, pregnancy cravings, and she’d never understood it until now. Pickles were delicious. Dill pickles dipped in peanut butter or even ketchup and mustard, made her happy. There had been days, bad days, when she’d sat in her armchair, a throw across her body, staring into dying embers at her fireplace and thinking back on just how much she’d given up. She’d lost so much for a man who didn’t love her, had never loved her. Despi
te the sadness, and slight depression, having a pickle dipped in peanut butter would instantly make her feel better.

  It probably had more to do with the baby’s wants than hers, Jezebel thought with a little smile. She’d never really contemplated having children before learning she was pregnant, but whenever Jezebel thought about the child in her belly, she felt love, pure, unconditional love, and it made her fiercely protective. Delilah liked to tease that she still had an entire four months to go, and already, she acted like the child was here.

  “Everything okay?”

  Jezebel blinked and looked up to find Brandon peering down at her, concern clear in the bold blue of his gaze. While Jezebel didn’t fully trust Raquel or Brandon due to their initial duping, she could admit that Brandon wasn’t so bad once you got to know him. He operated by a strict code of right and wrong, and in his eyes, the government was always right.

  Giving him a slight smile, she nodded.

  Looking over his shoulder at their stacked cart, he smirked, “Do you need anything else?”

  Once, sometimes twice a week, Jezebel and Delilah were allowed out of the mostly self-contained cabin in the Catskills. It was usually for a few hours of late night grocery shopping, or a few hours driving along the trails, but Jezebel enjoyed it. Being cooped up had its benefits and downsides, and although she liked to think she was making up for years of untaken vacation and sick days, she could only read and watch television so much before it all became boring and she craved social interaction.

  Handing him the jar of pickles, she nodded. “I think I’m good.”

  “Sure?”

  She handed him another jar, just in case.

  “Right.” With a smirk, he placed the jar in the cart just in time to see Delilah place a box of pads into it. Jezebel willed him not to comment, but she should have known better.

  “Well, that explains a lot,” he murmured, loud enough for Delilah to hear.

  Her sister, sporting a curly brown wig under her dark gray beret beanie, smiled with ease and nodded, “I’m sorry, I forgot to get you a pack Eric, but you can always find them in Aisle 8.” She walked closer to him and patted his jacket in an understanding way. “I’d recommend the maxis for your heavy flow.”

  ***

  “Jesus Christ!” Delilah exclaimed as the car took a sharp left, turning down an unfamiliar street. “Doesn’t the FBI require their agents know how to drive?”

  “Quiet,” Brandon hissed.

  “Brandon? Is everything okay?” Jezebel asked, righting herself and brushing the pickle juice from her jacket. She’d grabbed a jar from the grocery bags for an early, or late depending on how one looked at it, snack.

  “Get down, Jezebel.” When she only stared at the back of his head in confusion, he added, “Now!”

  She instantly scooted down in the backseat, placing her legs onto the empty seat and huddling protectively into a ball.

  “You too, Delilah.”

  For once, her sister didn’t protest. She just slid down the front seat until she was practically sitting on the floor.

  She heard him fumble with something and then he was speaking, “We’re being followed…dark sedan, I can’t tell the exact color but is possibly black, tinted windows…we’re fifteen minutes away…I’m following Alpha-Lock 2…understood.”

  He tossed the phone into the cup holder compartment.

  “Brandon?” Jezebel was terrified. Was this it? Had Ramsey’s enemies found her? “What’s going on?”

  “We’re being followed.”

  “Are you sure?” Delilah asked softly.

  “Positive.”

  Jezebel heard what sounded like a gun being cocked. “How sure?”

  “This car’s been tailing us for the last ten minutes despite the dead end routes I’m taking.”

  Jezebel’s heart hammered. “Oh.”

  “Just relax,” he said in a calm voice. “No one’s going to hurt you.” The car turned sharply again. “Not on my watch.”

  She didn’t know how much time passed but Jezebel soon heard the sound of a garage opening. The car eased forward, and then she heard the whirring sound as it closed. Before she could ask what to do next, her door opened and she was being pulled from the car. She released a shriek, but halted upon realizing that Ryder held her. He was one of the US Marshalls assigned to her case, the gentle, scarred giant.

  “Ryder?”

  “Follow me,” he whispered.

  “My sister...”

  “Brandon has her.”

  She nodded and did as told, following Ryder into the dark house. He turned on a flashlight and she was glad for the light as they moved up the stairs to the second floor. Finally, when they came to the little office she used to read books or check the laptop to see if the interim CEO had run her company into the ground yet, he halted. Opening the door, he ushered her inside and handed her the flashlight.

  “Can you use a gun?” he whispered.

  She shook her head. “Shine the flashlight on my hand.”

  Jezebel did. He was holding a small, black gun. As she watched, he pulled the sleeve back, and it made a clicking sound.

  “This is a cocked and loaded gun, Jezebel,” Ryder said softly, calmly. He placed it on the chair behind the table. “If anyone comes through that door without announcing himself, point it in that direction and pull the trigger.”

  When she only stared at the gun, fingers caught her chin and he repeated himself. “No questions. Just pull the trigger.”

  As she nodded, Ryder murmured, “Now get under the desk and turn the flashlight off.”

  Once she’d done as he’d told her, Jezebel heard the sound of another gun cocking, and then Ryder moved back to the door. It opened with barely a sound, and closed just the same.

  Maybe Brandon was wrong, she thought nervously. Maybe they weren’t being followed. The Catskills were confusing. How many people had stopped to ask for directions before? More than a few. Maybe someone was lost and had been trying to ask for directions.

  Gunfire erupted below her and Jezebel screeched before covering her mouth with her hands. The loud bangs continued, some rapid fire as if someone had a machine gun, and she quickly reached for the gun Ryder had left. Clutching it against her breast, she struggled to even her breaths, nodded and waited. The loud noises had stopped, and as she listened, ear attuned to every sound, she could hear footsteps approaching. The footsteps stopped suddenly, and someone jiggled the doorknob.

  She heard a curse and then someone fiddled with the knob again. Carefully moving out from under the desk, Jezebel lay on her side, just beside the desk, and aimed the gun.

  No questions.

  Chapter 4

  "A mother's love for her child is like nothing else...It knows no law, no pity.”

  ―Agatha Christie

  Bang!

  Jezebel shrieked and almost dropped the gun as her ears rang from the loud sound. For the span of seconds, there was silence, and then she heard shuffling, and what sounded like someone walking on debris. Someone had kicked open the door, and broken it in the process. A man spoke, his tone harsh and commanding, but she couldn’t understand what he said, beyond his curses. Though he spoke in a foreign language, his curses were all in English.

  Gripping the gun steadily, she closed her eyes—it was dark anyway and she couldn’t see him—and allowed her ears to guide her. He spoke again, this time an angry mutter of words, and she aimed, and pulled the trigger.

  She heard him grunt in pain moments before gunfire erupted around her. When one whizzed by her ear, Jezebel crawled back under the desk, hoping she’d wounded him sufficiently to kill or knock him out. She’d never endorse violence, but it was clear that the people in this house were here to hurt or kill her.

  Another voice, this one deeper and more commanding than the previous, yelled something in the same foreign language, and the gunfire halted. The light went on, blinding her briefly and she froze. Without the added protection of the darkness, she’d soo
n be discovered. Hugging the gun close, Jezebel placed a hand to her belly and gave it a soft stroke.

  She wasn’t dying today. No. Her child wasn’t dying like this. Jezebel hadn’t chosen this life. She’d fallen in love with an illusion, and now, she had to do what was necessary to protect herself and the baby depending on her.

  The man with the deep voice spoke again. He sounded closer.

  A knock on the desk made her jump, but she managed to keep her shrieks in.

  “Jezebel?”

  It shouldn’t surprise her that he knew her name considering they’d attacked her safe house, but it did. Even as terror washed over her, she managed to keep her aim steady.

  “Come out. I just want to talk.”

  If she could have scoffed without making noise, she would have. If he’d just wanted to talk, he wouldn’t have just treated her house like it was a war-zone. She’d never been stupid. She wouldn’t start now.

  He spoke low and in his foreign language again. Moments later, someone kicked the chair facing her away. Before she could even process that, an Asian man was kneeling there, reaching for her. She didn’t think. She just reacted.

  A look of shock came over his features moments before the small hole in the middle of his forehead began to leak blood. A faint burning smell wafted up to her nose. As he keeled over, his sightless eyes opened, Jezebel swallowed and willed her stomach to behave. She could throw up later.

  The man spoke again. He sounded angry this time.

  “You’re making me angry, Jezebel.” He banged on the desk, and although she whimpered slightly, she kept her eyes ahead, looking for any others. “I’ve been patient with you and you shoot two of my men! Fine, I’ll give you one more chance before I have my men open fire on this desk. You’ll die, your baby will die. Is that what you want?”

  How did he know about her baby? Was that why they were here? Her baby? Ramsey’s baby?

  “What do you want?” she demanded.

  “I want to talk.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I could have killed you by now, but you’re still alive.” He paused and Jezebel thought of his words. He knew she was under the desk. He could open fire and one of the bullets would likely catch her. “Come out and talk to me.”