The Grandmaster's Legacy (HOT Historical Suspense, Box Set)

by Taylor Lee

  “One more thing, Bai. It seems you have garnered the interest of the largest Irish gang in New York and Aldo Marcello’s biggest rival. Sean Byrne called me a couple of days ago and said their leader, Rory Calhoun, is coming out here and wants to meet you. Sean invited us to dinner on Thursday.”

  Bai grinned.

  “I always enjoy dinner with Sean. As long as we can cut though the Irish blarney and see what his friend’s after, it will be an entertaining evening. Let’s hope Calhoun hasn’t bought into that old saw about the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  “Let’s assume he’s smarter than that, Bai. If he isn’t, he sure as hell doesn’t know you. By the way, where is Elena, sleeping off the excitement of the wedding?” Wyatt asked with a fatherly smile.

  “No, actually she is with Greg Forester.”

  “Jesus, that’s interesting.” Wyatt snorted, not trying to hide his surprise.

  “Yes, it is. He came to bring her a wedding gift, or so he says,” Bai said with a grimace. “I am still convinced that son of a bitch is tied in to what is happening here. I know we’re watching the governor and now the senator, but I can’t believe that slimy bastard Greg isn’t involved in some way.”

  “For what it’s worth, Bai, three of his cohorts did ask for our protection. They specifically said that Greg had sent them. It seems like he is counting on us for something,” Nianzu said.

  “Yes, and Elena thinks he is too ‘nice’ to be involved. She thinks I’m jealous and it’s clouded my judgment.” Bai said with a snort and a roll of his eyes.

  Wyatt and Nianzu both raised a questioning eyebrow and even Bai had to agree that there was the possibility he was letting his possessiveness of Elena blind him.

  ~~~

  Greg smiled at Elena, basking in her appreciation for his gift, an original collection of a dozen of DaVinci’s most famous anatomical drawings. He pretended to make light of the astonishing gift, knowing that not everyone had the access to stolen treasures that he did. He hoped she wasn’t aware that his gift was part of a spectacular burglary of one of Italy’s most famous museums.

  “Greg, I can’t believe these. This is a priceless gift. It is too much, really it is. I can’t accept it.”

  “Nonsense, Elena. Nothing is too good for you. Obviously, being a public servant, I can’t compete with Bai’s resources, but I can give you a special heirloom that has been in my family for centuries.”

  “Greg, I’m astounded and grateful. They will be a stunning addition to the healing center Bai built for me. When I finish my studies, I plan to set up a practice here. I’m hoping at some point that Dr. Oleong will transfer his internship program to our compound. With the herb garden, the healing center, and the infirmary, we could easily rival the one at the university.”

  Greg covered his distaste with an unctuous smile. The thought of Bai’s largesse and her appreciation brought bile to his throat.

  “I’ve heard about the center, and you are correct, every one talks about its magnificence and I understand the garden has every healing herb known to man.”

  “I’m impressed, Greg, with your knowledge. Would you like to see the center? It is adjacent to the infirmary. We can visit with some of the young girls who are living in the infirmary. It will be helpful for you to meet some of these children, to better understand their hideous experience.”

  Greg bowed his head in mock despair and said in a patently sincere voice, “You will think I am a coward, Elena, but I can’t bear to see the pain on the faces of those young girls. I’m not strong, like all the men around you. Governor Sampson chides me often about my sensitivity. I don’t have to tell you how angry he was that Jim Thompson didn’t bring those girls back so they could be returned to the brothel owners. I was relieved that Jim left them here where you could care for them. I know I shouldn’t criticize the governor. He has to deal with all kinds of repercussions. As much as I hate to admit, he is tougher than I am, used to dealing with hard men. To be fair, let’s just say he has a wide range of constituents he needs to please.”

  Elena reached out and took his hand.

  “Don’t apologize, Greg. I’m touched by your compassion. I’m challenged, as well. I am training to be a healer, and I can’t bear to see the misery those young girls faced. I’m glad you understand why Bai would never return those girls. It would be criminal to do so.”

  Greg saw the sincerity in her eyes and hoped that his expression matched hers. He also hoped she accepted his reason to avoid seeing the girls. The last thing he could do was go to the infirmary. There wasn’t a chance in hell that one of those little cunts wouldn’t recognize him, remember him overseeing their delivery from the wharf in San Francisco. He thought about that night, unloading them on the dock. The memory of those terrified young girls tied and bound together made his cock swell. Looking at Elena’s beautiful face and her gorgeous body, he thought one of the things he will do is tie her down and make her watch him assault the little girls and vice versa.

  Greg had spent years working his way up to his current position. When he thought of the asses he’d kissed, the bribes he’d taken, the lies he’d told, the deaths he’d overseen, he was in a word--proud. Who would think that someone who Elena thought was “too nice, too sensitive” to see a bunch of Chink whores would be the man who was going to take down her husband? Because if he did nothing else in his lifetime, Greg intended to kill the Frenchman. And when he did, he would claim his prize--Elena.

  Greg had been consumed with Elena since he first met her. He longed to have her in his bed, to claim her. He’d wrench out that haughty demeanor, crush her flirty ways. He ached to see her cry, beg for mercy, plead to stop the pain which he would give and take at his pleasure. Over the years, he had tested his baser needs with whores. He had to kill most of them; they hadn’t held up well under his tutelage. He was sure Elena would be different; she was made of better stock. Of course, eventually she would collapse, give in, be crushed, but until then he would enjoy bringing her to heel. He would make her pay for her crime. How dare she? The most beautiful, desirable woman he ever knew had whored herself out to a Chink. He shuddered to think of her pure white body in Bai’s dirty yellow hands, his obscene cock in her innocent cunt. It was a sin against nature; one that she would pay for dearly.

  For all the years he fought for recognition of his talents, the trajectory of his fortunes shot sky high when he met Aldo Marcello. He never knew someone with as extreme penchants as his own until Aldo. The first time he heard about Marcello’s treatment of women and men, he climaxed in his pants. When they finally met in person, Greg knew that he had met his doppelganger--a living reflection of his evil. From that day forward, he became the mastermind, the nerve center at each synapse of Marcello’s enterprise. No one, not Martin, not Governor Sampson, Senator Sinclair, or most important, not that Chink fucker, the Frenchman, knew that Aldo’s partner, the mastermind of the enterprise, was none other than Greg.

  Greg left the complex, having secured Elena’s promise that she and Bai would attend the governor’s ball next month and, of course, she was welcome to invite her father and Lei. Greg had received a message while with Elena to call New York immediately. In several clandestine calls, he learned that the biggest shipment of money and jewelry that Marcello ever engineered was to take place a week from Friday. He licked his lips and stroked the bulge in his pants in anticipation. He was the genius who created Aldo’s money laundering venture. He connected Marcello with his banker contacts, who were eager to participate in the profitable undertaking. The money flowed like a whore’s cunt. Before Marcello took his third, Greg took a quarter, an amount second only to Aldo’s. After the bankers took their cut, what little was left was returned to the gangs. No one had the audacity or courage to complain.

  ~~~

  After Greg left, Elena joined Bai in the dojo. Elena was fascinated with savate, the French kickboxing that Bai had woven into his practice of kung fu She begged Bai to teach her the basics. From the t
ime they first met, kung fu was a touch point for the two of them and sparring one of their most pleasurable activities. More often than not their practice ended in lascivious holds or tortured positions no one but committed lovers would attempt. As talented a fighter as Bai was, he was generous with his teaching and spent many hours working with his men, but always had time for Elena and her young brothers. Deshi was his newest protégé and Lei and Wyatt gave their permission for Deshi to stay on at the complex to study with Bai.

  Elena lay panting and laughing after Bai threw her to the floor following a flying kick gone awry. She looked up to see Alex in the doorway, dressed in his practice gi. When he saw Bai and Elena, Alex’s handsome face hardened and his body tightened. Elena saw him turn to leave and jumped up to stop him.

  “Alex, don’t go. Come and practice with us. Come on, darling. I’ve missed sparring with you. Bai is teaching me savate. It’s French kickboxing. You will love it.”

  Alex shook his head, his eyes smoldering with unspoken emotion and turned away, ignoring Elena’s plea.

  “Alex, please come. Don’t go. Please.”

  Bai laughed, his eyes dancing.

  “What’s the matter, Alex, scared you’ll get beat by a girl?”

  “Shhh, Bai!’ Elena whispered, giving him a sharp jab with her elbow.

  “Cherie, there is nothing more sure to bring a man as proud as Alex running as calling him a coward,” Bai murmured in response.

  “Hmm. Especially if you’re the one calling him that!”

  Bai grinned and gestured to the doorway. Sure enough, Elena looked up to see Alex striding toward them.

  Bai stood up and motioned to Alex to join Elena and then stepped back to give them room. He watched Alex visibly struggle with his conflicting emotions. It was clear that he wanted to join Elena, but his dark glare at Bai confirmed his reluctance to let down his guard. Bai lit a cigarette and struck a careless pose, then spoke to Elena, knowing that the best way to reach Alex was indirectly.

  “You and Alex spar the way you usually do, then when you see an opportunity, you can try one of your savate moves.”

  Elena nodded and assumed a fighting stance across from her brother. Before he could resist her invitation, she yelled out a fierce spirit cry, signaling an attack, and drove at him with a hard kick to his ribs. Alex intuitively reacted and soon the two were sparring as they had done most of their lives. They were evenly matched. Although Alex was taller and stronger, Bai had worked with Elena to overcome her size disadvantages and her improved aerial skills had Alex whistling in appreciation.

  When Alex rolled to the ground, intending to rise with a knee slash to her hip, Bai caught her eye, signaling the opportunity for a savate move.

  To Alex’s surprise, Elena drove a smashing kick to his shoulder, stopping him in mid flight.

  “What the hell are you doing, Elena? Goddamn, that hurt!”

  “Roll to the left, Alex!” Bai shouted, but Alex ignored him and tried to stand.

  Elena came from the other side with a similar kick, keeping her body close to the ground. Again Alex shouted out his pain and disbelief at her attack.

  “I said, roll to the left, Alex.”

  Alex jumped up and faced them both, his face flushed with anger. It was clear that he would do anything to avoid listening to Bai.

  Turning to Elena, Bai shook his head in amusement and ground out his cigarette.

  “Move aside for a bit, Elena. Let me work with this stubborn colt for a minute.”

  Before Alex could respond, Bai threw himself down to the floor in much the same position Alex had been in. Pantomiming Alex’s moves, he said, “Watch what happens when I do this. See how I’m open to you when I move the way you did? Let’s try it again, but when I say roll, goddamnit, you roll! But when you roll, come up on the other side so you have a clear shot.”

  For the next while, Bai patiently demonstrated how savate fighters anticipated their opponents’ moves.

  “You rolled the way everyone does, Alex, and an accomplished savate fighter knows that and is prepared to counteract your move.”

  They worked for several moments, Bai expertly guiding his movements with a flick of his wrist or an inspired throw over his shoulder. When it seemed as though Alex was beginning to catch on, Bai motioned for Elena to come back in. He directed them move by move, the expert choreographer that he was, praising their quickness and adaptability.

  “Excellent, Alex. You are a natural. One more thing and then we can set up a practice schedule and I’ll work with you. Remember, this if you forget everything else. Unlike kung fu, there isn’t one goddamn thing honorable about savate. The savate fighter has one goal in mind and that is to kill his opponent in as dirty and painful a way as possible. Remember that and you’ll know why I occasionally call on my savate skills.”

  He added with a grin, “They’ve served me well.”

  At that moment, Nianzu called to him from the doorway and Bai stood in response. He leaned over and kissed Elena, whispering in her ear. She blushed and it wasn’t hard to imagine what he said.

  As he left the dojo, Bai called back to Elena.

  “Don’t hurt him too bad, cherie. He’s a sensitive guy.”

  Chortling with laughter, Bai and Nianzu left the dojo leaving a red-faced Alex grimacing. But even though he was angry, Alex couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Elena threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  “I’ve missed you, Alex. Please come back. I need you in my life.”

  Alex blushed, and assumed a fighting stance. He yelled a spirit cry then charged at his sister with both fists raised.

  ~~

  Chapter 23

  Rory Calhoun sat in the bar of the Palace Hotel biding his time, drinking in the magnificence of the opulent landmark hotel.

  The train ride from New York had been uneventful; in fact, it had been damn near pleasant, Rory thought. Amazing that a trip that used to take nearly a week now was less than half of that and, with the private sleeping cars, a man could arrive ready for business. He and Mike were waiting in the bar for Patrick Doyle, Rory’s head man on the West Coast. Pat’s cousin, Sean Byrne, was a major player in California financial circles and a long time friend of Wyatt McManus, the former governor of Wyoming. Pat and Sean had arranged tonight’s dinner. Rory knew he had one opportunity to make an impression on the Frenchman, and he sure as hell intended to make it a good one.

  ~~~

  Rory refilled Patrick’s glass and looked at his friend in appreciation. He was as Irish as Rory, but unlike Rory’s fiery good looks, Pat was what they called black Irish. Curly dark hair surrounded his handsome face and his emerald green eyes sparkled at the thought of their upcoming dinner.

  “I expect this to be an evening none of us will forget. Sean says it’s unusual at best that the Frenchman is willing to attend. I know you’re gonna be impressed. Christ, how could you not be?”

  Pat motioned to the older scruffy looking man he had brought with him.

  “I invited Finn to join us for a drink, Rory. He has some first hand experience with the Frenchman that I thought you’d like to hear.”

  Rory nodded to the little man, encouraging him to speak.

  “Tell me anything you can about this phenomenon we’re about to meet.”

  Finn took a long draft off his whisky and held out his glass for a refill. He began his tale slowly, then picked up speed and intensity as he threw himself into the story.

  Shaking his head with a disbelieving sigh, Finn began, “I wanna tell you. I’ve seen a lot of things in me day, some I’ll take to me grave. But if I live in Purgatory for the next million years, I’ll not forget that goddamn night.”

  Rory nodded when Finn held up his glass for a refill. Nothing like a consummate Irishman, Rory thought with an appreciative grin. It hadn’t taken Finn long to settle into the storyteller’s mode, the top spot in any Irish gathering, greasing his tale with liberal swigs of booze.

 
Rory eyed the wiry little man who looked puny at best. But Rory knew better. Patrick surrounded himself with the best and Rory was confident the unprepossessing midget man was an accomplished killer, which made the awe in his voice when he spoke of the Frenchman more compelling.

  “You know when you first see ‘im, he kinda looks like a skinny little fart of a fella. Everything about him looks, well…kinda windy, foppish. Sorta …ah, bugger me, what’s the word?”

  “You mean ‘elegant?’” Patrick offered.

  “Yeah! That’s what I mean. Like he should be wearin’ a top hat and them tails or somethin’. So these two who were ‘bout to fight meet out in the alley behind the Rusty Nail. Some of his men were standin’ back; I guess makin’ sure nobody else got in. The Frenchie stood there, them yellow eyes of his gleamin’ like jewels, sizin’ up that Dago, who was struttin’ around like a barnyard rooster eyin’ a flock of hens. Frenchie just looked at ‘im with a little smile, then he took off his boots and put them off to the side, neat as you please. Then he took off his shirt and all of a sudden that skinny body din’t look so skimpy no more. Hell, there wasn’t a piece of ‘im that weren’t made of muscle. It was like he rippled or somethin’. I ain’t never seen nuthin’ like it. That Wop, big moose that he was, din’t look so big no more. And he sure as hell din’t look so goddamn cocky neither.

  “Then Frenchie kinda grinned at ‘im and said somethin’ like ‘Time to call on your saints, asshole.’ And before the Dago could say a word, Frenchie let out a yell that woulda scared the shite outa the hounds of hell. Sure as fuck scared me.”