Gina Takes Bangkok (The Femme Vendettas)

by S. M. Stelmack

  Losing their balance, the two of them tumbled backwards into the cell. As Victoria tried to aim her weapon over her shoulder, the chain went slack. Gasping, she staggered to her feet in time for the solid metal door to slam in her face, the bolt thrown shut.

  “Duck fucking bitch!” she screamed, blasting away at the door, her finger pumping the trigger in rage until nothing but clicks emerged.

  By the looks of it none of the bullets had penetrated the thick steel. Beyond it, she could hear Tasanee scrambling up the stairs, begging for help.

  “Fuck!” With all her might, Victoria hurled her gun at the door. It bounced off and rattled across the floor.

  Wait, someone was coming. Slow, steady steps that halted on the other side of the door.

  “Well, this is ironic,” came a woman’s voice. A woman Victoria had never heard before.

  “Let me out!” Victoria pounded her fist on the door. “Let me out right now!”

  “I’m really tempted to leave you here,” said the voice. “After all the misery you’ve caused. All the suffering you’ve inflicted on my family and me. I should leave you in there to starve in the dark.”

  Victoria stepped back, eyes wide with horror.

  “But I won’t,” the voice said softly.

  The bolt was pulled back, and Victoria sighed with relief.

  As she pulled open the door, Gina fired. Victoria clutched her chest and looked at her in shock, obviously not having any idea who’d just shot her, then slumped onto the bloodstained floor, the flies already circling.

  Slowly Gina lowered her gun. “Odds are all these gunshots were heard by someone,” she said calmly. “Couldn’t risk the police finding you here. Letting you free.”

  “You think this is over?” Victoria gurgled.

  “No, I don’t,” Gina said. “Because I’m going to make sure every last one of you sadistic bastards is hunted down. No matter how much it costs. How long it takes. I’m going to make sure every single one of you is exterminated.”

  She aimed and pulled the trigger again, then once more for good measure. She hurried up the stairs to where Tasanee was waiting, sobbing quietly beside Jarun. “Where the hell is Kannon?”

  Her answer came an instant later.

  “Gina! Jarun!” Ryota called. “I need help now!”

  Kannon’s normally sharp vision was blurry as the SUV jolted him around, Ryota driving like a madman, almost putting the vehicle on two wheels as they rounded one tight corner after another. Above him Gina pressed a blood-soaked cloth to his torso, the front of her own clothing red from him.

  He was dying.

  “Zoe has Ryota’s number,” he said, his own voice sounding distant as he tried to focus on her tear-streaked face. “When she doesn’t hear from me, she’ll call. Please look after her.”

  “She is going to hear from you,” Gina choked out, and he felt the sudden deep pressure of her on his wound. “You’re going to be okay.”

  He took her arm, his grip as weak as a child’s. She shouldn’t worry. Especially not for him. “I’m already okay,” he said. “Because all of you are safe.”

  “We’re almost there,” said Jarun, trying to focus on his phone as the SUV went airborne for a few seconds before landing with a jarring thud. “There’s a clinic less than two kilometers away.”

  “Hear that?” Gina said, her lips nearly touching his. “You’re going to make it.”

  His eyes felt so heavy. Every breath felt labored. If he could feel pain he was sure he would have died from shock by now.

  “Sure,” he said as darkness crept over him. “Can’t miss our third date.”

  GINA FELT AS if she were in some kind of alternate universe.

  She, and the leaders of the eleven major gangs that ran Bangkok, were sitting in a circle on the floor of the forgotten temple in 70 Rai. Gone were the bar and chairs where pedophiles used to lounge, painted over in sunny yellow was the bizarre script which had defaced the walls and, most importantly, restored was the statue of Buddha, symbolizing the triumph of wisdom, ethics and action. The temple even had a new name—Wat Namchai.

  Namchai was an ancient Buddhist virtue, encompassing spontaneous warmth and compassion, the making of sacrifices for friends and family, and the courage to extend hospitality to strangers—and enemies. It was a bizarre name for a den of thieves and cutthroats; a perfect one for the new peace and stability she was determined to introduce to the Bangkok underworld. And, as it was, the first meeting of the newly formed Namchai Circle had gone along as smooth as a meditation pool. Only one more piece of business to conclude.

  Dr. Chaiboonma, the meeting chair, nodded to Ryota, who stood by the temple doors. Opening them, he admitted Alak Montri into the chamber, along with the cool rush of rain-swept air. “Please join us, Alak,” said Dr. Chaiboonma, gesturing across from him to a place deliberately left open in the circle.

  Montri strode over to the group, regarding the assembled as if they all stunk. And from the look he gave her, she reeked to high heaven. “I see you’ve formed a new organization.”

  Dr. Chaiboonma replied as if he was channeling Buddha himself. “Alak, you have long been a respected member of this community, but you are neither cooperative nor inclusive. Though you are a great warrior, violence is not the only way. We are here to offer you a place in something much larger than any one of us.”

  Montri snorted. “Is this meant to appease me?”

  “Don’t mistake kindness for weakness,” Dr. Chaiboonma replied, still sounding divinely inspired. “If you do not accept your place among us, you’ll suffer the same united wrath that drove the rakshasa from Bangkok these past two months.”

  “So join or die? Is that it?” Alak scoffed. “Hardly a choice.”

  And still Dr. Chai spoke from on high. “A vote was held as to whether to offer you a position among us. A motion put forth by Gina, the woman responsible for rescuing you, beheading the rakshasa leadership, capturing John Wakai, and saving your daughter’s life. The vote was even until Gina decided to sway it to give you the opportunity before you. I suggest you demonstrate some humility and take it.”

  Montri looked about the circle, and he couldn’t have liked what he saw. The most inviting response was Lwin’s poker face, so when his gaze shifted to Gina, she gave a little friendly wave.

  “I accept your offer,” he said through clenched jaw.

  Dr. Chaiboonma smiled and bowed. “That makes you the thirteenth member of the Namchai Circle. I will now update you on two important orders of business that have already been addressed. The first is concerning John Wakai.”

  “I’m amazed he’s still alive,” replied Montri.

  “And he’ll remain so,” Gina added.

  She couldn’t tell if Montri was more angry or astonished, but he was certainly a good amount of both. “Why?”

  “Because Jarun was instrumental in the defeat of the rakshasas,” she expanded. “In return for his service, both he and Wakai will be exiled from the city. Come the end of this meeting, they’ll be driven to the airport and put on the first plane to anywhere else.”

  “Wakai’s a dangerous traitor!” Montri protested. “Let him live and he’ll only stir up trouble.”

  Oh, the irony. “Wakai’s broken in body and spirit, and he’s friendless save for Jarun. He’s of no danger to anyone anymore.”

  “Well, isn’t that forgiving?” Montri sneered. “I suppose it doesn’t matter that he contributed to the murder of your father.”

  Gina straightened her back and locked eyes with the father of her god-sister. “It’s not an issue of forgiveness, Alak. A deal was made with Jarun, and we Zaffini keep our word.”

  “You mean you Zaffini. You’re the only one left.”

  He’d omitted Darae. “I am one yet many.” There, she could Buddha-talk, too.

  “And who are you to hold a position in this circle?” he countered. “You think that just because your father was a friend to Bangkok that makes you some kind of princess
?”

  There was divine intervention from Dr. Chai. “That’s the other item you should be apprised of. Gina has been elected as the first head of the Namchai Circle. For the next year she’ll be the chair of our monthly meetings, and be in charge of determining our agendas, mediating between our members and speaking on our behalf when dealing with other syndicates.”

  “And what, may I ask, did she do to deserve such an honor?” Montri demanded.

  “She sacrificed,” came Lwin, her ancient voice fierce. “A man she loved died in the effort to defeat the enemies you let past our gates. What more would you ask of her, Alak? What more should she give us to prove her loyalty?”

  The memory still seared her. The blood. The pain. Saying goodbye. She gritted her teeth, and forced herself to focus on the present. All she could do now was to be strong. To honor him.

  “Come next year we’ll have another election,” Dr. Chai said. “If you think she’s done a poor job, vote against her then, Alak. In the meantime, I believe we’ve covered our agenda for this first meeting. Thank you, everyone for attending. If there’re no objections, we’ll adjourn.”

  Quietly the group stood, each bowing in respect to the Buddha, and one by one they filed out of the temple until only Gina, Lwin and Ryota were left. Gina plunked down on the Buddha’s foot. Lwin edged to her side and took Gina’s hand into her own.

  “Would you like to come for tea?” she asked.

  Gina shook her head. “I’m sorry, Lwin. I’d love to another time, but I have something very important I need to do. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  Lwin tilted her head. “Going to see someone?”

  “Yeah,” Gina said. “You could say I’ve got a date to keep.”

  Gina kneeled before Pricha’s spirit house, her hands together in prayer, eyes shut tight. It wasn’t her first sweet love that squeezed her chest today, but a loss far more recent. The world would probably remember him as a bad guy. Some villain they were better off without. Only she’d known him. Loved him. And she knew that in his heart he’d been honorable. Decent. Kind.

  “I wish we’d had more time together,” she whispered. “Wish I could have been there sooner. I’ll look after things for you, I promise. And I’ll never, never forget you.”

  Her phone chimed.

  Third date. My place. Map attached.

  Kannon.

  What was he doing out of the hospital?

  Forget that. Where did her man of mystery live? She clicked on the map and scrolled up, down, sideways. Crap. Halfway to Malaysia from the looks of it.

  She went back to the first part of the message. Third date. Two words that felt as if she’d won the lottery.

  No one had expected him to live. Not the doctors, not Darae recovering on another floor, not Ryota, pale and tense. Not Lwin, not Dr. Chai. Nobody.

  In the beginning, every breath Kannon took, every heartbeat, was a miracle. She found herself staring at his chest, willing it to rise and fall, rise and fall, listening for the hoarse wheeze of the respirator in and out, in and out. After the surgery, he was placed in a private room. Gina knew what that meant. He wasn’t going to live, and they were giving family and friends privacy.

  Only they didn’t know Kannon, and they didn’t know her. After the first two days, the staff brought in a cot for her. After the first five days, an admin staff approached her about how his stay was going to be financed, and Gina hugged the insensitive bastard because it meant that not just she thought he was going to make it.

  While she wanted nothing more than to be by his side, she was needed elsewhere to deal with the rakshasas. Her time was soon consumed with plotting, planning, wheedling, worrying. She tried to visit Kannon when she could. For lunch or after supper. Hospital fare made him convert to street food until he nearly died again from heartburn. But damned if he was going to give up his hot and spicy.

  Once it was 2 a.m. before she could visit him. She had needed to see him, even if it was only to look at him sleeping. He anchored her.

  She’d snuck in, actually had a pair of scrubs for this sort of situation. The bodyguards posted outside Kannon’s room giving her nods of recognition as she’d come down the hallway.

  Kannon had been awake, the overhead light set on low.

  “Hey,” she whispered. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

  “At least I’m in bed. What are you doing up?”

  “Had to tuck you in, baku. Sorry I’m late.”

  “That’s not answering my question.”

  “There was a hit tonight. Ten more of the bastards sent to the morgue.”

  His hand covered hers at the same time he ground out, “You didn’t tell me. Ryota know?”

  “He led the charge. I told him not to tell you. You’d worry.”

  “Me not knowing what I’m supposed to worry about worries me.” His hold remained gentle, a counterpoint to his sharp words. “There’ll be consequences.”

  “Fewer and fewer each day. We’re killing them twice as fast as they can send reinforcements. Got the home ground advantage and the way you trained Ryota, he’s like a one-man army.”

  “I should be out there.”

  “You should be healing up,” she corrected. “You’re exactly where you need to be.”

  His hand became restless on hers, his thumb playing over her palm. His dark eyes, warm and troubled, rose to hers. “Thank you for taking care of things while I’ve been laid up here.”

  “I’m glad to do it.”

  “I’m just sorry you had to deal with Victoria. She was my responsibility. I don’t want what happened to drive a wedge between us. I’ve been worried that it has.”

  For a split second, Gina wondered what on earth he was talking about, before she realized he was referring to her confession on board The Pink Pussycat. She wiggled her butt onto his bed, stretched herself over him, her hand tucked against his hip, her exact position on the plane ride over. Except this time, seduction wasn’t on her mind.

  “Is that what’s keeping you up, baku? Truth is, I’m glad it was me. I’m the one who made the promise to Jarun, so it was right I be the one to keep it. And that’s the difference. That was always the difference. Darae pushed me to do something that I knew was wrong. Killing Victoria was anything but.”

  Kannon grunted, apparently still unhappy with himself.

  Gina bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep away a sudden smile. He could be such a grouch. She bent close, her lips hovering over his. “Well, how about you do something else for me then?”

  Their kisses in the hospital up to now had been dry taps on the mouth. This one was different. Here in the illicit quiet, they came together in a long and thorough and tender kiss. By its sweet end, she had melted into him, warm and damp, one leg cramped up on the bed, her heart pounding.

  “One kiss from you,” she said, “is like a round of hot sex with anyone else.”

  “I don’t think so.” He took her hand and guided it down the sheets. “Don’t think we should be feeling this after a round.”

  Okay, seduction was back on her mind.

  “I could take care of that for you.” She began to edge the sheet down but he pulled it back up. “Not until the third date.”

  That was the first time since the shooting he’d mentioned the third date, the first time he’d indicated that they had any kind of future beyond the hospital. “Still got big plans for us?”

  “I do.”

  “Tell me.”

  He skimmed his hand over her ass, up the bend of her spine till his fingers nestled in her hair. “You’ll find out soon enough. For now, you’ve got a city to save, and I’ve got wounds to heal.”

  She’d left that night, in love. Of course, she had loved the infuriating man for a while now. She loved him and wanted to be with him forever. And she hadn’t even had sex with him. Not that she needed to; they’d be way compatible. It was that the Gina from L.A. wouldn’t ever have considered going long-term with anyone unless a solid foundation of good
sex had been laid. The Gina from Bangkok was good with a promise.

  Or so the Gina of the 2 a.m. kiss thought. Then Kannon started to really recover. He got hold of a phone.

  “Where are you at?” he’d say and she’d fill him in. He gave advice when it came to her dealings with the gangs. When it came to her personal life, it was nothing but orders.

  “You wearing that bulletproof vest Darae got you?”

  “Ryota’s on his way over with motion detectors for your balcony.”

  “You eating right?”

  “Go home.”

  “Go to sleep.”

  Third date. My place. Map attached.

  Sheesh. Was this what it was like to be in love? Putting up with a bossy, grumpy, secretive man who deliberately withheld sex? Given that one part of her brain was already calculating how long it would take to get to his place, it was.

  She rose up on her knees and took down a square of laminated paper propped up against the vixen figurine. It turned out her father had written her a poem that she’d discovered in a safety deposit box along with his will.

  Her father was no poet. The rhythm jolted, the phrasing was awkward, but it spoke of their love of small things. Their walks through the markets, her face tucked to his side, the fruity smell of her hair, the shared iced mango. And her laughter that made him feel that he’d done at least one right thing in his life.

  She returned the paper to its rightful place. She stood, blew a kiss to her father, another to Pricha, then typed a message: Coming, baku.

  Kannon’s home was a clearing in the jungle. A narrow twisting track brought her to an opening where his SUV faced out for a quick getaway. She parked nose-to-nose in front of it. The house itself was a white stucco bungalow surrounded by a modest orchard of orange trees. As she rang the doorbell, a giant dog loped across the yard, lifted his leg on her back wheel, then joined her on the welcome mat.

  They weren’t kept long. Kannon swung open the door and the dog stepped in. Gina stared. Her date wasn’t wearing a suit. He wasn’t even going for semi-formal. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, light brown cargo shorts, and sandals. His good clothes. He gave her a huge smile, and his eyes were on her in a way that made her feel she’d drunk a glass of wine. Or two.