Beautiful Dragons: A Thriller

by Matthew James

  She sighed, knowing their secrets didn’t matter anymore. “I’m not the first Violet Dragon.”

  “How many have there been?” he asked.

  “Many,” she replied. “Whenever one retires or falls, she is replaced by another, and the work seamlessly continues.”

  Violet closed her eyes and again thought of the others.

  “Look,” his voice sounded sincere, “why don’t you just tell me why you and your lady friends were there last night. Let’s see if we can help each other out.” She looked at him. “I’d really love to hurt that son of a bitch for double crossin’ me.”

  Blinking away a wave of emotional memories, Violet nodded. Her eyes fell as she thought of what to say. She sighed when she saw the state of her body.

  Looking back up to Roman, she smiled sarcastically, perfectly impersonating his southern accent. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a shirt ’round here?” To her surprise, his eyes never once looked at her naked chest.

  “Don’t worry, Ms. Violet,” he said in a smooth drawl, motioning to the empty room around them. “I’m the only one allowed in this buildin’ at the moment.” He walked over to her. “I honestly didn’t know what to make of you and thought it safer to wait until you woke. Tryin’ to clean you up while you were in la-la land didn’t seem like a good idea.” He procured a small knife and cut her wrists free. “We can’t have you tryin’ to kill me again.”

  She shrugged, truthfully uncaring. She would’ve done the same if their roles were reversed. “Force of habit.” She rubbed the sore skin, flexing her hands until the feeling came back. “Normally, when someone is that close to me when I have no clothes on, they’re trying to kill me, or I’m trying to kill them.”

  He knelt and cut her ankles free. “Believe me… I know the feelin’.”

  Standing tall, he helped Violet to her feet, having to hold her steady for a moment. His hands were strong but gentle as he gripped just beneath her shoulders. His touch gave her goosebumps, but his motives were altruistic and his intentions pure. Roman wouldn’t be taking advantage of her in her current state.

  Violet was weak and wouldn’t have put up much of a fight if he did. She was literally wearing only a thong and nothing else. He was a rare, good guy from what she could already tell. Reading people was an art, and she was a master at it.

  But she couldn’t show him any weakness. She was taught to be strong even when you weren’t. The enemy, or in Roman’s case, the unknown, could never see you falter.

  “I'm all right,” she said, pushing away from him, almost falling over as her legs gave out. Her head was pounding. She laughed. “…light-headed and cold, but fine.”

  “No need to put on such a front, Vi. Mind if I call you, Vi?”

  “I do mind, actually,” she said.

  “Anyway, Vi…let me help you over here.”

  He led her to a makeshift ‘bedroom,’ but not before grabbing a bottle of dark brown liquid. He handed it to her. “Drink.”

  Opening the top, she smelled it and smiled. “Iced coffee?”

  “Triple shot espresso-style. It’ll help clear the ole noodle.”

  She guzzled down the beverage as they moved to the middle of the space. The bedroom was complete with a pillow-top mattress, a wheeled clothes rack, and freestanding wardrobe, as well as a folding table. The latter was covered in a variety of underwear and bras.

  She glanced up at the taller Roman when they stopped in front of the table. He was blushing. “I, um, didn’t know what size you wear. I had one of my lady-agents pick you up a few things.”

  Rolling her eyes, Violet quickly discarded her current underwear for a clean pair, laughing when Roman turned away. “Really?” she asked. “Now you’re going to give me some privacy?”

  “Look, ma’am, I—”

  “Stop calling me that—ma’am. It makes me feel old.”

  Still looking away, Roman shrugged. “Sorry ’bout that, ma--Violet. My mama and grams raised me right, I guess.”

  Now, safely in a complete set of undergarments, Violet felt much more comfortable. Her bare feet slapped against the cold floor as she limped over to the wheeled clothes rack, getting Roman’s attention. He turned and audibly sighed in relief. Violet smiled at the chivalry the man showed.

  A good guy.

  He truly was “devilishly handsome” too. He had a five o’clock shadow that was speckled with some gray, showing his age a little. Late thirties—early forties, maybe. He had a Bradley Cooper thing going for him but not to that extreme. Still, he was attractive but with an edge to him. He could turn it on and off on a whim. It was a talent she knew all too well.

  “Roman, huh?” She wanted to know more about him. Most of the people she trusted were now dead. Ms. Cho was all she had left and getting in contact with her was impossible. There was no phone at their residence. It was a security precaution. No TV or internet either. They lived entirely off the grid, relying on solar technology for power.

  “My grams was a devout Catholic, and my mother liked the name regardless.”

  “What’s your last name?”

  “Shepard—like the good Lord himself. Spelled a little different, though.”

  Smiling in amusement, she found a pair of jeans that fit and pulled them on, wincing in agony as she lifted her legs and bent her aching back. “Your name is Roman Shepard?”

  “What’s so funny ’bout that, Vi-o-let.” He laid the sarcasm on thick. “Grams thought I could use some good fortune and doublin’ up on the church names was her way of protectin’ my eternal soul before I did somethin’ stupid.”

  Does he ever pronounce a “G?”

  “Like killing people,” she said, turning as she slipped on a plain black t-shirt. A matching black leather jacket was next. Both fit perfectly.

  He shrugged again. “Only the bad ones—and only when I have to do it. Sometimes, I’m just asked to investigate and report back. Recon is as essential as action. Last night was supposed to be a watch-and-learn job.”

  Now it was her turn to smile. “I’m the same, except I normally have people who do the investigating for me…like Yao.” The traitor’s name made her frown. “Personally, I like to move quickly, but I know that patience is the key to any good…operative.”

  They stood there and looked at one another. Violet wiggled her toes with nervous energy. She hadn’t been this exposed, both physically and mentally, to someone not trying to kill her in a long time. The Dragons would gladly use their bodies without hesitation if it meant getting the job done but real relationships were out of the question. Affairs of the heart tended to muck things up.

  “Now what?” she asked, unsure of what to do next. “What are you going to do with me?”

  “Besides getting’ you a decent pair of shoes…”

  She looked down and combed a hand through her hair…her short hair. Grabbing at it, Violet began to panic. It felt like a short bob, the same as Ms. Cho wore. It was longer in the front and on the sides than in the back. At its current length, the purple highlights were guaranteed to be gone.

  “Mirror!” she yelled, startling Roman.

  “In there,” he said, pointing at the wardrobe. “We, huh, had to cut it…”

  Not listening to his explanation, she rushed to the closet and yanked it open, uncaring what it actually held. The inside of the left-hand door had what she was looking for, a full-length variety to boot.

  “What…” She had no words. Her identity for the last nineteen years was in that hair color. It shouldn’t have meant so much, but it did. She had only ever trimmed it, keeping the tips freshly dyed. Violet would never dare cut it all off.

  “Sorry, but we had to chop it. The fire singed it up pretty good, and we figured you’d need it done anyway. Plus, it stunk like, well, burnt hair. The agent that got your clothes, her name’s Willy, by the way… She apparently studied as a hairdresser in another life. She did what she could while you were unconscious.”

  “It’s…it’s okay.” She
looked at his reflection. “Thank you for taking care of me the way you did.” She knew she was fortunate. “Someone else would’ve just let me burn with my sisters.”

  “Nothin’ I wouldn’t do for any other damsel in distress,” he replied with a shit-eating grin. “Either way, you could’ve just been an innocent bystander that needed savin’ or…”

  “Or what?” she asked, looking back into the wardrobe. It was stockpiled with weapons and ammo. She glanced back to him.

  He continued. “Or, I thought, with the way you held that gun and knife, that maybe you’d like to help us out, maybe even be my partner and get back at the people that did this.” He tilted his chin to the armaments. “Some good ole fashioned revenge.”

  Violet didn’t need to answer. The broad smile on her face said enough. She was definitely in.

  “Besides a shower,” she said, “I need one more thing from you—from your female agent, actually.”

  Roman’s right eyebrow raised. “And what’s that?”

  6

  Instead of seeking the help of his current employers, Yao Himachi ran for his life. He had just betrayed two of the deadliest organizations in Japan and would most certainly be at the top of each’s hit list. Honor was important—even among killers. With most, if not all, of the Dragons dead or missing, they’d still be a formidable force. Their handler, a woman he’d never met, but heard many rumors about, was said to be just as deadly as the others.

  Not to mention my American friend.

  In reality, Yao betrayed three separate groups in one night with the hopes of each of them killing the other off. He wanted his freedom from their collective stranglehold. A single phone call from any of them would be enough to put Yao behind bars for years. He was wanted on many charges.

  Yao had guaranteed a lot of things to all of them, and sometimes he came back empty-handed. His debt owed was astronomical, one he would never be able to work off.

  His only chance was to kill them all.

  Explosives were his passion—his true love. There was a beauty in their ability to destroy, the purity of it was intoxicating. Then, the fire that raged afterward, it was just as cleansing as the blast. Both would also do him the favor of erasing his presence at the scene.

  When he initially bolted from the burning building, Yao smiled. The results were even better than he could’ve hoped. The only Dragon that could’ve possibly survived was Violet. Being the most-seasoned of the seven killers, Yao was praying that she did, in fact, die with the others.

  Dammit! He cursed himself for not killing her then and there. He panicked upon seeing her in the redhead's room, though. She was supposed to be in hers, like the others. His explosives always did their job but, unfortunately, his targets were unpredictable.

  If she survived, she knows it was me.

  The thought caused him to shiver on the spot. She would be like a runaway locomotive in her want for retribution. While undeniably beautiful, the Dragon clan was unrelenting. A vengeful assassin would be the worst-case scenario for Yao.

  Worse than the Gilded Blade.

  Even worse than the CIA.

  Unfortunately, he may have still had Roman to worry about too, recalling the helicopter that showed up shortly after. There was no way of knowing whether his American contact was on board or not, however. Luckily for Yao, Roman’s ties to the underworld were thin at best. His only reliable source was Yao himself. If the agent went to anyone else for information, they might just kill the man themselves and save Yao some trouble.

  But, Violet… She will be the trickiest of them all.

  The Beautiful Dragons had eyes and ears everywhere. Yao was one of many throughout the country. If Violet was still alive, she’d eventually find him.

  Even the Gilded Blade wouldn’t be as hell-bent on finding him as she would be. The ladies did their job, killing off a large number of the gang’s heads. That he was sure of. The only other people he’d need to worry about was Madame and her watchdog, a man he genuinely feared. Thankfully, Madame never got her hands dirty, and Yao would most likely hear of another arm mobilizing within the next days’ time. If, and inevitably when, they did, he’d already be out of the country.

  He currently sat beneath the window of an empty apartment two miles to the South of the incident. Yao took refuge in a safe house he purchased a year ago, off-the-books, of course. He had only ever visited the place once before, buying it as an investment and not a traditional home. It was completely unfurnished and had no running water or electricity. No paper trail whatsoever. Even the identity he used to purchase the small flat with was a fake.

  Cash can move mountains.

  It was dark and quiet inside. Yao would remain there for the time being and move only when he was sure there was no one looking for him. Even if Roman was out of the picture, he knew the CIA would continue to look for him. They always did. It’s why he needed to leave the country. He wasn’t aware of how many contacts Roman had outside of Japan. He assumed they were minimal in number since he’d been in Japan for as long as he had been.

  Yao also knew that proper communication between the American’s successor and their headquarters in the U.S. would take longer than a day. Chaos would ensue within Roman’s team, and nothing productive would get done.

  Like a dog chasing its tail.

  The analogy made Yao smile. When something in the shadows needed to get done, it did. There were no calls to make. There were no clearance problems. There were no laws to abide by. You just acted and then, like he was doing now, reacted. But this situation would call for him to abandon the country of his birth. He now knew that. It was always an option, but he never thought things would get so out of hand in the first place.

  Good fortune found him when he heard the Gilded Blade would be visiting the Third Floor, a place he frequented the last few months. He instantly left a message for the Dragons and was content on letting them kill the murderous gang heads. But the opportunity to take out the women himself was too juicy.

  If Roman’s team was taken out too, it would be all the merrier. He’d be okay even if the agent ended up surviving. Without any witnesses to alert Roman of his treachery, Yao knew he could talk his way out of it and stay in the American’s good graces. Staying alive was the key. He would look for another way to get rid of them in the future.

  Roman may even praise me for my efforts.

  He did warn the man of a possible conflict after all. He just neglected to tell him that it was his plan that was set into motion.

  With only a few hours until sunrise, Yao quietly stood and turned, carefully peeking between the blinds for any sign of trouble. He caught his reflection in the window and sneered. Well, most of his face sneered. The scarred flesh that made up his left cheek gave him the appearance of the infamous comic book character, the Joker.

  Half of him, anyway.

  The pain of the injury was something he never wanted to endure again. It happened years ago, but he recalled the killer holding him down and slashing his cheek, starting from the inside of his mouth. Yao promised a delivery of firearms to him, and when local police discovered the shipment, he pleaded for his life. He had no control over what happened. The seller was sloppy and talked too much.

  Unfortunately, Shang, the buyer, didn’t see it that way.

  Yao failed him, and he needed to suffer because of it. It was only because of Yao’s track record of past successes that he was allowed to live. It was also Shang’s reliance on Yao that did him in in the end. The car bombing was blamed on a rival gang, and Yao walked away unscathed.

  Except for the hideous scar, of course.

  He was startled when his cell phone vibrated across the tile floor. Frozen in place, he gazed at its glowing screen. Slowly, he approached and read the name; rather he read the initials: MW. It was the head of the Gilded Blade—the only one of the bosses who wasn’t inside the Third Floor brothel during the incident. The man led a strict life and never dabbled in what most all of his underlings did
.

  Yao let it go to voicemail. If he had it his way, he’d never hear the man’s grating voice again. He would hopefully be long gone by the time Makkino Wu found him. Yao had never met “Mako” face-to-face, but his reputation was that of his nickname. He was a shark, and when there was blood in the water, he struck hard and was ruthless in his methods.

  The phone rang again.

  Yao dove for his phone and held down the power button, silencing it forever. He needed to tread softly from now on. One slip up and he’d be dead.

  7

  “We think we found him!” Willy called out, removing the headset. “His phone was traced to an apartment complex not far from the explosion.” She cringed when she said the last part, but Violet nodded to her, telling her it was all right.

  Turning back to the mirror, Violet brushed her fingers through the short, recently re-dyed tips of her hair. Willy had done an excellent job with the short amount of time she was given. The female agent was good at more than just her professional job, for sure.

  “Willy, huh?” Violet asked when she was formally introduced.

  “You can thank Roman for that,” Willy replied, rolling her eyes at the man. “My real name is Willamina Flores, and everyone used to just call me Flores…until I was assigned to Roman’s team, that is.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Going on five years, give or take” she explained, “and once he was given a permanent role here, he requested I stay with him as his number two.”

  “Really?” Violet asked. Her eyes closed as she felt the plain, yet undeniably attractive, Hispanic woman’s fingers comb through her hair. It did wonders for her nerves and calmed her some.

  “I was just as surprised and asked him as much. We worked well together on various missions in the past, but we were far from close.”

  “What was his reason then?”

  Willy smiled in the mirror. “He said that because I’m not attracted to men, he’d have a harder time falling for me when we were alone together. He said I was ‘just one of the guys’ to him. Flattering, huh?” Violet wasn’t sure if she was supposed to laugh or not. “Roman has a way with words.”