“Good morning.” She smiled, waving away the flies with a newspaper as she hobbled into the room. Although he worst of the gore had been washed down a drain in the center of the floor, Tasanee could hear the slight stick of the woman’s feet to the stained stone floor. “Time to prove to your father that you’re still alive.”
Tasanee stifled a whimper of fear as Victoria shuffled closer with the tabloid.
“Take this and hold it in front of you.” Victoria gave the paper an impatient wiggle. “I don’t have all day.”
Tasanee did as she was told, and Victoria held up her phone. “Have anything to say to your Daddy?”
She shook her head.
“Not even after what you saw last night?” Victoria prompted. “Don’t you want to tell him about all the fun we had?”
“My father knows who you are,” she replied. “So does Vincenzo Zaffini.”
“The Italian’s dead,” Victoria said and clicked, then stepped back and aimed the phone again.
Tasanee knew it was likely, but still it hurt. “The Pink Stilettos will come after you. Kannon Takahama, too.” And so would Ryota.
Victoria clicked and moved to get a different angle. “No, they won’t. They work for Montri, and unless we get everything we want, when we want it, we’re going to start mailing little bits of you back to your daddy. So, you see”—click!—“one way or another, you two are going to be reunited.”
Tasanee’s fists clenched on the newspaper to keep the tears away. Her father would not see pictures of her giving into these bastards. He would see her strong, and worthy of him.
Her silence seemed to bore Victoria, and she dropped her phone back into her purse. “I think that ought to do.”
As Victoria turned to go, Tasanee couldn’t stop herself. “Why did you do that?” she blurted. “Why did you torture him?”
The woman looked over her shoulder, her crutch pivoting on the wet grime. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about myself than a dead fisherboy.”
“But why?” Tasanee repeated. She could understand gangland violence. She grasped the concepts of threats and intimidation and the elimination of rivals. She even fathomed the necessity of torture to extract information. Even in the brutal circles her father ran in, she’d never heard of the depravity she’d witnessed.
Victoria leaned on her crutch. “From the time I was a little girl I remember wondering the same thing. Why I needed to hurt and destroy things. Why it made me feel so good to throw poisoned food to stray dogs, then watch them as they died in the gutter. I knew it wasn’t normal. I knew that everyone except my brother was afraid of me. Even my own mother used to wince at the sight of me. That’s why I went in search of answers. In search of others of my kind. And I found them. We’re rare, but we have the common instinct to find each other. And I learned the reason we do what we do. It’s because that’s what we were made for.”
Tasanee shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“How could you?” Victoria thumped her way to the door. “You’re not a rakshasi.”
The outskirts of Bangkok couldn’t have been more different from the heart of the metropolis. Here, the skyscrapers and urban sprawl thinned to small wooden houses set along the edge of the jungle, connected by narrow dirt tracks and ancient canals, each with its own orchard or rice field farmed by the same family for generations.
Pulling onto the shoulder of the muddy road, Kannon got out of the SUV, looking across the tropical farmland at a distant ruin, its crumbling brick structure overgrown with vegetation and tree roots. According to Kittyjack, it was a former Portuguese trading house, now centuries old. Right now, he was downloading all the rest of her intel.
“I see it,” he said into his phone.
“Thenhappyhuntingkiller,” Kittyjack chirped.
Above him her drone flew back towards the city, its rotors a faint hum in the still country air.
“And here I was thinking you had some kind of sixth sense,” Jarun grumbled as he, Gina, and Ryota followed him out of the vehicle. “Turns out you just cheat.”
“I do what works,” Kannon replied, as he scrolled through the drone photos of the place on his phone. “And what works allowed me to catch you twice and rescue Mr. Montri.”
He looked at Gina, who was leaning over the hood of the vehicle as she scanned the Portuguese ruin through binoculars. “What do you see?”
“Not much. Victoria’s car is parked out front, and so are a couple of Land Rovers. Your buddy Ek might even be there.”
If he was, there was about to be a rematch. Hopefully, bullets penetrated the giant. Gina lowered the binoculars, her face tight with worry. He did not need to see her like that.
“Any dogs?” Kannon slid off his mirrored sunglasses. The last thing he wanted was reflection off the lenses to give them away.
Gina checked. “Nope.”
“Then the three of us will go on foot,” Kannon instructed Jarun and Ryota, before turning to Gina. “As soon as we have her, you drive in and pick us up. Agreed?”
Gina rounded the truck to stand beside him, shielding her eyes from the sun. “And what happens if they get away with her?”
“They won’t,” he said. He wasn’t entertaining any other possibility. He’d get this job done, and he’d focus on getting Gina into his life. And not the Gina facing him right now. She wore cargo pants, a gray t-shirt and hiking boots. When The Pink Pussycat sunk so had her wardrobe, and she’d replaced it with this practical junk. Her hair was back in an utilitarian ponytail and she didn’t have a lick of makeup on. She still had a beautiful face without it, only she wore makeup for fun or when she was taking herself to a place of fun. This…this was as if he had a different woman with him. Then—and he could see how much effort it took—she tugged up the corners of her mouth into a smile.
“Wanna kiss for luck, baku?”
He glanced across at Jarun and Ryota, standing a short ways off. He figured Ryota suspected the relationship between Gina and him wasn’t entirely professional, but Jarun didn’t know anything. And he wanted it kept that way for now. The more people who knew that he cared about Gina, the more vulnerable she was.
“Don’t need luck.”
Gina’s smile wavered. The next thing, the lip would come out.
“Things go sideways in there, don’t come after us. Leave.”
The lip didn’t come out. Instead the chin came up. “To hell with that.”
“You need to be around to make another plan.”
“If I’m not willing to leave Tasanee behind, why would I leave you behind?”
“I’m not an innocent, that’s why.”
“Neither am I.”
He didn’t know what to do so he glared. That had its usual effect. Her grin was blazing. “As I see it, there’s only one solution,” she said.
He waited. She got up close so her perfect breasts made contact with the sleeve of his suit. “Don’t screw up.”
Each of the three words was said with her lips puckered and pouty. He felt his whole being contract with the need to grab her up and kiss her. More than that. Plant himself inside her and feel the soft clench of her around him, listen to her noises—
“Third date,” he said. “Then you get your kiss.”
The fact that nobody was in sight meant one of two things. The rakshasas were either sloppy, or hiding, lying in wait to ambush anyone who attempted a rescue. Seeing as they were experienced guerrilla fighters who prowled the dense jungles of their mountain homeland, Kannon’s money was on the latter, and he whispered as much to Ryota and Jarun as they observed the ruins from behind a fallen log.
It had taken them the better part of an hour to make their approach, staying low as they made their way along the bank of an irrigation canal, then creeping though a grove of jackfruit trees, to get to their present position, a few hundred feet from the crumbling brick walls of the trading house. Getting this close hadn’t been much of a challenge, but ahead of them was a flat overgrown gra
ss field.
Ryota’s eyes were fixed on the house. Where Tasanee was. Kannon had watched him closely, but so far Ryota hadn’t let his emotions interfere. Without turning from the house, Ryota said, “So how do we take it?”
Kannon studied the maps on his phone one more time to make sure he was properly oriented. He hated being unprepared. This was exactly what had happened at Triple 9 when they’d gone in too quickly. Only this time there wasn’t any choice. At any moment Ek might discover that Montri wasn’t under Wakai’s control, and Tasanee would be tossed to the rakshasas like meat to wild dogs. “I’m going to cross the field, then climb over the wall. On the other side should be a small courtyard. From there, I can get into the main building.”
Ryota’s lips thinned. He wanted in, Kannon knew. All his apprentice said was “And what about Jarun and me?”
“You two are going to circle around to the road and, very quietly, take out any guards they’ve posted. Then make your way to their vehicles and prepare an ambush. If they attempt to run, that’s where they’ll head.”
“And what if they have the girl?” asked Jarun.
“Then do whatever you have to do to keep them from driving away with her,” Kannon instructed. “It shouldn’t come to that.”
The two men nodded their understanding, and Kannon began to crawl through the field, allowing the tall, waving grass to conceal him as he inched forward.
The going was painfully slow; he constantly searched his surroundings as he advanced, and when he was halfway across he finally spotted something. There, in the shadows of a clump of bushes, was a rakshasa, all but invisible as he sat cross-legged, rifle in hand. There appeared to be only one of them.
Kannon froze, hunkered down and plotted out the field for every scrap of cover, then crept onwards. Foot by painful foot, he flanked the guard, edging out of the man’s field of vision until he was a scant twenty feet away. Carefully he leveled his silenced pistol.
Silencers themselves didn’t make a gun particularly quiet. As soon as a bullet surpassed the sound barrier it made a bang more than loud enough to raise an alarm. That’s why he made his own ammunition. The exact amount of gunpowder to bring the slug up to the threshold without breaking it. The result was a bullet that could only be used at close range, but was very, very quiet.
There was a soft pop, and the rakshasa fell backwards, a neat hole in his temple.
One last look around, and Kannon burst from his hiding place, reaching the wall in a few strides. His pistol in his belt, he scaled the wall, the missing bricks making the job easy, and poked his head over the top to survey the courtyard. Deserted.
Dropping down, he got to the nearest door. Kittyjack hadn’t been able to find any details of the interior, so from here on in he was working blind, his only advantage being that nobody knew he was there.
A gentle tug on the door. Unlocked. It creaked open and he slipped into the darkness.
Ek growled as he fucked Victoria up the ass, fingers gripping her hair as he thrust, not caring if it was too hard. She took whatever he inflicted, which pissed him off at times. He preferred them with a little more fight.
Over the sounds of her moans he sensed something. In his time, he’d been the target of numerous assassination attempts, the byproduct of the rape, robbery, and violence he inflicted as a matter of course. Only once had he ignored his instinct, having had a bit too much to drink and being distracted by the tight rear of a sexy pool shark at the time, and the result had been a fight with Kannon that had nearly done him in.
He pulled out of Victoria and yanked up his pants, his finger to his lips as she twisted around. He retrieved his submachine gun and skulked to the door to listen.
A soft pop. A rattling breath. A dull thud. Someone had come to visit.
Ek shoved open the door and stalked through the shadowed passages, keeping his steps light. Edging around a corner he saw one of his men lying face-down on the stone floor, a hole in the back of the head, which meant that the bullet had come from—
He spun and squeezed the trigger.
Kannon Takahama gripped the muzzle of Ek’s submachine gun, deflecting it away. The noise of the rapid-firing and strafed masonry was explosive in the closed space. Montri’s man jammed his pistol against Ek’s chest and fired. Heat and pain ripped through Ek.
And underneath it all, he detected the scent of his own death.
A roar broke from him, and with an almighty shove, he sent Kannon flying backwards into a wall with bone-jarring force. He’d die creating even more death. Lurching, he slammed his fist into the ribs of Montri’s number one hunter, heard the crunch.
The effort cost him, and weakness rushed through him. Iron hard knuckles mashed Ek’s throat; he sucked air on a rattling gasp. One, two, three punches to the face and then a kick to his damaged chest and he felt the sharp squeeze of a lung collapsing.
Ek fell to his knees, and snarled at Kannon like a cornered dog. Kannon picked up his pistol, leveled it at Ek, and there was a loud bang—not from Kannon.
His vision dancing with spots, Ek shook his head to clear it. It was Victoria, smoking gun in hand, smiling down at him.
Gina chewed her lip as she waited, the endless silence unnerving. Just as she checked her phone for the twentieth time in twenty seconds, it chimed with a text from Kittyjack.
prolly 2 l8 bt atachd r d plnz of d NcyD. gud luk.
“Seriously?” She mentally translated the message, then pulled up an attachment of a crude map showing the building’s interior. The place was a maze of rooms and corridors, but on its western side, she spotted a stairwell to a cellar. Gina tightened her hold on the phone. The perfect place to keep Tasanee—underground, there’d be no way any cries could be heard.
The message had already been copied to Kannon. Fat lot of good that was with his phone muted.
Automatic weapon fire echoed across the field.
“Oh, fuck.” She trained her binoculars back on the building. Nothing and nobody. Another distant bang.
Blood trickled into her mouth, she’d bit her lip so hard. She ached to go help. Except Kannon had made it very clear that she was to stay put until called. Maybe it was all going according to plan, and she needed to stick to it. Maybe she needed to have a little faith. Her gaze skittered to the phone. “Phone, baku. Phone.”
All was quiet, then the front door of the building opened to three rakshasas struggling to carry a huge, bloodied man over to the nearest Range Rover. Ek. Halfway there, more gunshots rang out, cutting all three down, and Ek collapsed to the ground.
All was still again.
The binoculars jiggled in Gina’s shaking hands and she strained to focus on the bodies. Ek was moving. Hand over hand he dragged himself towards the Range Rover, leaving behind a bloody trail. At the driver’s door he struggled to his feet, then Ryota strode up. He pressed his gun to the back of Ek’s head and pulled the trigger, dropping the rakshasa leader execution style.
Gina bit back a shout of happiness. Yes!
Ryota raced to the building door, Jarun materializing out of the underbrush to join him.
Where the hell was Kannon?
“Fuck this,” she cursed to herself, and climbing into the SUV, threw it into drive. She flew down the road. Kannon had to be okay. He had to be. “Don’t worry, baku,” she said. “I’m coming.”
But in the pit of her stomach, exactly as she had when she’d pulled the trigger on that poor boy years ago, she knew things had gone all wrong.
In fear and hate, Victoria clenched her teeth as she heard the gunshots at the front of the building—the direction the last of Ek’s men had carried her lover.
So Montri had decided to get his daughter back, had he? Well, that was a mistake. Gripping her gun, she hobbled forward, eye squinting as she tried to follow Kannon’s blood trail through the shadowy interior. Kill Kannon. Then, kill Tasanee. It was a shame she wouldn’t have the time to cut up Daddy’s little girl.
She peeked around a corner down
a corridor. A bullet instantly ricocheted off the wall beside her face.
“Duck fucker!” she cried, pulling back. She’d injured Kannon enough to make him drop his gun, but apparently he had another.
The front door banged as it was kicked open. Montri’s men. She’d no time left. She had one advantage—she knew the layout of the ruin, knew exactly where Tasanee was, and they didn’t. Switch the order. First the girl, and then if Kannon didn’t bleed out from the bullet in his gut, him second.
She angled through the place fast, and limped down the worn stairs to the cellar. She slid back the bolt and opened the door. The girl was huddled in the corner, flies buzzing all around. Pathetic spawn.
Victoria aimed her gun, lips twitching with rage. “This one’s for Ek,” she hissed. Her finger began to squeeze the trigger.
“Victoria!”
It was Jarun.
“Victoria! Where are you?”
Had her brother sent him? If so, how had he found the place?
“Victoria!” he called again, his voice closer, urgent. “We have to get Ek to the hospital or he’s going to die! Where the hell are you?”
Ek was alive? Then, what were those gunshots she’d heard?
She stepped back, turning to look up the stairwell. “What are you doing here?” she called out
“We have to get the girl and get out of here. Come on!”
No, something wasn’t right. Her brother didn’t know where this place was. And that meant that Jarun couldn’t have either, unless he was in league with Montri.
“Duck fucker.” After all John had done for that worthless street rat, this was how he was repaying them? Well, she’d show him. She’d show all of them. She was a rakshasi, a daughter of the Nirriti, dark void of the underworld, and she’d make them suffer like—
All at once a heavy chain slipped over Victoria’s head, yanking tight against her throat. Tasanee screeched in anger as she braced her foot between Victoria’s shoulder blades, pulling for all she was worth.
Gina Takes Bangkok (The Femme Vendettas) Page 24
