Path of the Tiger

by J M Hemmings

  The man, however, seemed to understand neither language, so he shouted in Japanese again and slapped her hard across her face. His friends observed this violence with pitiless eyes and chuckled darkly. As Adriana stumbled back from the force of the blow the obese man lunged forward, grabbed her by her throat and threw her roughly to the ground. One of his friends stepped up to Roxana and gripped one of her breasts in his hand, squeezing it hard enough to make her squeal with pain.

  The leader laughed maliciously and then grabbed a handful of Adriana’s hair, yanking her face up to his nether regions and forcing her into an intimate communion with his sweaty crotch, where his malevolent excitement was already beginning to swell through his trousers. Roxana, meanwhile, bit her lip, her eyes bulging with fear as the man gripping her breast slid his other hand down the front of her panties.

  Before the men’s combined sexual assault could proceed in earnest, however, the door burst open, and there stood Tippawan, looking uncharacteristically nervous and apprehensive. He was accompanied by Hrothgar, who the girls had not seen since that fateful day upon which they had first been brought to this hell. The huge, tattooed warrior wore a strange expression on his long face, an look that rapidly morphed into one of tempestuous fury as he took in the scene before him.

  ‘What the fuck is going on here?!’ he roared, the vociferousness of his bellow shaking the walls. ‘Who the fuck said you could get a blowjob out of this bitch?! She’s off limits! And you, you ugly shitbag, get your hand out of the girl’s panties or you’ll have nothing but a fucking stump left on that arm!’

  The obese man turned and glared at Hrothgar; he was not intimidated, not with his contingent of burly bodyguards with him. He tightened his grip on Adriana’s hair and pulled her face more forcefully into his crotch, and muttered an order in Japanese to his subordinates. In a flash blades appeared in each man’s hand; tantos, all three wickedly sharp. Hrothgar stared calmly at each blade for a second or two, acknowledging the razor-edged twelve-inch lengths of steel as if each was a living entity.

  ‘You just made a very, very big mistake,’ he growled at the men, his hard gaze engaging each of them in turn.

  Without a word, the three of them attacked him simultaneously. Tippawan shrieked with fright and bolted the moment the fracas erupted, but Hrothgar simply howled like a wolf, a berserker’s madness blazing with abrupt ferocity in his eyes as the howl morphed into a maniacal, ear-splitting cackle.

  The two men closest to him lunged for his torso, the one on his left aiming to slip his tanto through Hrothgar’s ribs, and the one on his right trying to stab his blade into the hulking Northman’s chest. The third assailant charged him head-on, his tanto raised above his head for a downward strike. Hrothgar’s lanky build and lumbering gait belied the speed and finesse with which he could move when necessary, and neither of his attackers expected him to react nearly as fast as he did. Indeed, his beastwalker powers enhanced his physical capabilities so effectively that his movements were a blur of barely perceptible speed. He jerked his left knee up, crashing it in a perfectly timed uppercut into his assailant’s wrist, sending the tanto flying before it made contact with his ribs, and in the same motion he swivelled his leg, turning the move into a question mark kick, and slugged his shin across the man’s face with the force of a heftily swung baseball bat, knocking him out cold. He simultaneously caught the other man’s wrist, twisting it sharply with elephantine strength. With a wet crack the man’s wrist broke, and the tanto clattered to the floor, but Hrothgar did not stop there; he yanked his unwitting foe right across his chest, dropping down to smash a headbutt into his face as the man careened into him. This also had the convenient effect of providing Hrothgar with a human shield, just as the third gangster plunged his dagger downward in a stab that would have penetrated the fleshy hollow between his throat and his collarbone. Instead, because of the giant’s rapidity of movement and expert positioning, the stabbing tanto slammed with a dull thud into the upper back of the man Hrothgar was gripping against his chest.

  The man howled with pain, but Hrothgar showed neither restraint nor mercy. With his free hand he rocketed out a vicious right hook, decking the man who had just stabbed his own comrade, and then, as the stunned thug dropped to the ground, his jaw broken, Hrothgar spun the screaming man in front of him around, plucked the tanto out of his back, and then sliced one of his ears off – which he tossed into the air, giggling crazily like a possessed schoolgirl, and caught in his mouth as if it was a casually tossed peanut. Blood gushed in a crimson wash down the now-earless side of the howling gangster’s face, and Hrothgar chewed on the severed appendage, laughing as he crunched the cartilage and macerated the soft flesh between his teeth.

  While the screaming man clutched at the gaping wound where his ear had just been, Hrothgar spat out the chewed-up ear and shoved the man away from him. As the unfortunate thug stumbled forward, Hrothgar spun around in a perfectly executed tornado kick – which he did more for effect and his own amusement than for its effectiveness – that caught the fellow on the side of his head and rocketed him into a wall, which he hit with a percussive thump. He, like his comrades, fell unconscious, and his limp body slithered down the wall towards the floor, leaving a fat vertical smear of blood on it as it did.

  Only the Yakuza boss was still standing. The whites of his eyes glistened with fear, his gaze locked on the tanto that Hrothgar was twirling his hand with menacing skill. There was neither time for fear nor pleading, though: with a speedy lunge Hrothgar darted forward and slammed his fingers around the man’s flabby throat, and then lifted him inch by inch off the ground with one hand. He dangled the choking man in the air for a few moments, locking a stare of withering aggression into his eyes all the while, and then he slammed him up against a wall.

  ‘Listen, scum,’ he growled in English, not caring whether the man understood or not, ‘you and your stupid lackeys will get the fuck out of my club now, and you will never, ever show your face here again, or I will gouge out your eyeballs, slice off your ears and nose and cut your fucking tongue out of your ugly mouth, and then force you to eat them while I put your dick and balls through a meat mincer! Do you fucking understand me?!’

  Not bothering to wait for an answer, he threw the man to the ground and planted a heavy kick in his ribs. The gangster grunted and groaned with pain, but after a few moments he struggled to his feet and hobbled away, staring all the while at the hulking figure of Hrothgar – and his tanto – with trauma-wide eyes. One of the guards outside grabbed him and hauled him away, while more came in to drag the unconscious gangsters out of the room.

  Adriana, caught in the grips of a fear and panic that was debilitating in intensity, crept back against the wall, her eyes fixed on Hrothgar. Roxana too was staring at the huge man with her mouth hanging open with shock and her eyes protruding from their sockets with fright.

  ‘I’m sorry sir, it wasn’t me,’ Adrian blurted out, her voice shaky. ‘He was trying to force me, I swear sir—’

  ‘Shut up Storm,’ Hrothgar growled. ‘I don’t give a fuck. There are more important things to worry about right now.’

  He tucked the tanto into his belt as two more men, who were much smaller than the Nordic giant, entered the room. Both were Chinese, and both were extremely well-dressed, attired in subtly coloured, expertly tailored suits. One looked to be in his eighties at least, and he walked on frail limbs with the aid of an ornately carved cane. He was a short and slightly built man, and what wisps remained of his thin white hair was meticulously styled in a businessman’s side parting. His much younger companion, a stocky and powerfully muscled fellow who was perhaps in his forties, sported a buzzcut and wore an earpiece in his right ear. He had the cauliflower ears, oft-broken nose and scarred eye rims of a seasoned fighter, yet he was elegantly dressed and carried himself with the air of an aristocrat, as did the older man, whose small milky eyes, nestled within thick folds of liver-spotted skin, burned with an unsettling fire that belied his age
.

  The younger man studied the room for a few moments, staring at the blood smear on the wall, the chewed-up human ear on the floor, and the splatters of blood all over the carpet. His expression did not change.

  ‘Had a little incident in this room, I see?’ he commented, his English flawless.

  ‘Nothing for you two to concern yourselves with,’ Hrothgar answered coolly. He then walked over and gripped Roxana by one of her arms. His touch was uncharacteristically gentle, but the promise of violence lingered in his fingers. ‘This is the teenage virgin we’ve been keeping for the highest bidder, but she is all yours if you care to take her, Mr Ma,’ he said in a subdued tone. ‘This other one is also a virgin, but I assume she is a bit too … old for your tastes.’

  The stocky bodyguard, Mr Wang, translated Hrothgar’s English into Mandarin Chinese for the geriatric, Mr Ma, who looked Roxana up and down with an almost reptilian gaze. He contemplated this for a while and then nodded with approval.

  ‘I will see to all the arrangements myself, immediately,’ Hrothgar said. ‘I will have the presidential suite prepared, and I will have the girl washed and perfumed and sent up there. I assure you, she will be completely compliant with any requests you may wish her to entertain.’

  The old man glared with pure venom in his eyes at Hrothgar, and then performed a few gestures in sign language. Mr Wang interpreted these and spoke to the big man in an icy, almost accusatory tone.

  ‘Where is Sigurd? Mr Ma was hoping to see him to discuss a few items of business.’

  Adriana could see that Hrothgar was forcing his politeness through a barely veiled storm of hatred and loathing, but this old man obviously commanded some sort of monumental power and influence; enough even to make this enormous brute cower before him.

  ‘I apologise for his absence, but he is away on business concerns. Procuring more flesh for this particular venture, if you understand me.’

  Mr Wang translated this for Mr Ma, who seemed unhappy about this, but nodded nonetheless, still wordless in his communication. As the old man turned to leave the room, however, Mr Wang’s phone rang. Mr Ma indicated with a wrinkled finger that he should answer it. When Mr Wang took the call, he spoke in English. Adriana pricked her ears, trying to piece together the conversation, all the while creeping surreptitiously over to Roxana, whose hand she took and gripped tightly in her own.

  ‘What were they talking about, Adriana?’ Roxana whispered in Romanian, her voice coloured with terror and desperation. ‘They’re going to do something to me, aren’t they?’

  Adriana could not find the words to comfort or reassure the girl, so she merely gripped her little hand tighter and pulled her into a close embrace while Hrothgar was distracted by Mr Wang’s phone call.

  ‘So, you say that William Gisborne is alive then?’

  Adriana’s attention was immediately drawn to Mr Wang’s conversation. The Japanese woman had told her to listen carefully for the name ‘William Gisborne’, and here it was. She listened intently as he continued speaking.

  ‘What do you mean you’re not sure?! What?! Well was there a body or not? No?! Then he is still alive, you idiots! Mr Ma will not be pleased about this latest failure, I can assure you of that. Get back on Gisborne’s trail immediately! If he escapes New York alive, we’re back to square one. I’ll have all of your heads if that happens, and you know that that is no idle threat. Now get on with it!’

  Mr Wang shoved the phone back into his pocket and then explained the situation to Mr Ma in Mandarin. As he did this, the old man registered emotion on his face for the first time since entering the room, and his wrinkles arched and contorted into an angry grimace. He communicated in agitated sign language with Mr Wang, who translated it for Hrothgar.

  ‘As you may have just heard, our men have once again failed to eliminate William Gisborne,’ he muttered sourly.

  Hrothgar grinned; a savage curling of his lips, baring alabaster teeth set in crimson gums.

  ‘You find this amusing?!’ Mr Wang snapped.

  ‘Sigurd and I knew you would fail … and we have already taken steps to fix this problem for you,’ he answered cryptically.

  Mr Wang raised an eyebrow.

  ‘What? You have been stalking the Tiger yourselves? But all this time you have led us to believe that in the century since our great victory, you have been evading him.’

  Hrothgar shrugged, wearing an expression that was part smile and part sneer.

  ‘We have, in a sense. His personal vendetta against us has been a sword hanging over our heads for a very long time. Look, it’s not as if he was the first to want Sigurd and me dead – there have been thousands over the years. But none of them have had Gisborne’s grasp of the power of the Ancients. And indeed, few have been so wily and slippery as he. Believe me, Sigurd has tried many times to end Gisborne’s miserable existence, but always he would evade him, and then launch his own counterattacks. It got to the point where our entire business empire was being threatened because of him and his Rebels. You know the story: we had to retreat from the West and expand our empire out here … where we have been most privileged to be able to operate under your protection.’

  ‘Which we trust you are suitably grateful for,’ Mr Wang remarked coldly, his countenance a mask of cool detachment.

  ‘We are indeed hopelessly indebted to you Huntsmen,’ Hrothgar said, bowing slightly, although a subtle hint of mockery was clearly evident in his tone. ‘Thanks to the umbrella of your protection, our empire has expanded beyond anything we could have dreamed of.’

  The stare in Mr Wang’s eyes was as cold and sharp as flint as he responded.

  ‘So why on earth have you gone after Gisborne without informing us? We have provided most generously for you in exchange for your obedience and assistance. Yet now you pursue such things behind our backs? The board of directors will be most displeased with this, Hrothgar. You know very well that you are supposed to submit all of your plans for review before undertaking any course of action. You know this!’

  Hrothgar bit his lower lip, doing his utmost to hold his simmering rage at bay. He could not stand being challenged, especially in the condescending manner in which this man was addressing him.

  ‘Let me explain myself before you judge me, Huntsman,’ he growled through gritted teeth, with barely suppressed fury glowing in his eyes. ‘Sigurd and I need William Gisborne dead as much as you do, but you’ve been going about this goal the wrong way. You send team after team of soldiers and assassins after him, yet always he manages to escape. With this last attempt, you even sent an old friend of his, Aboubakar, to capture or kill him under the pretext of trying to convince him to join the Alliance? And this, it seems, has also failed. Am I correct?’

  The man stared expressionlessly at Hrothgar, choosing not to respond.

  ‘Yes, I am correct,’ Hrothgar growled, answering his own question. ‘So, in order to circumvent these constant failings on your part, we sent one of our own operatives: Pedro Hernández.’

  Mr Wang folded his arms across his broad chest and sneered at the big man.

  ‘Hernández is dead,’ he said. ‘He failed too, in case you didn’t know.’

  ‘No, he didn’t fail at all.’

  Mr Wang looked puzzled.

  ‘Would you care to explain exactly how he succeeded then, seeing as he is dead and the Tiger remains alive?’

  Hrothgar couldn’t help but flash the Huntsmen a smug grin.

  ‘That’s the point: we didn’t need him to kill Gisborne. Of course, if he had, it would have solved our problem, but our way is better. Hernández has always been a liability to the Alliance, has he not, with his mercurial temper, his incessant lies and his unpredictable nature? Well, we’ve taken care of that little issue as well with his passing. And, you see, we made sure to leave just enough clues about our whereabouts with Hernández; frequent phone calls, emails, etcetera. We’re now the ones who are one step ahead of Gisborne. We’ve been dropping similar crumbs for the re
st of his Rebel friends to pick up over the past few months too. They think they’re onto us, that they have finally found us, and now their desire to exact vengeance upon the Alliance, and you people, will cloud their rationality and impair their judgment, making them vulnerable … and ripe for defeat.’

  ‘But all of this information that you’ve let slip into their hands, it will lead them here!’

  ‘Exactly. What better place to lay a trap for him? You see, my friend, we have planned this all along. We hope to bring you Gisborne’s head on a platter, quite literally. Yes, I actually have an antique silver tray upon which I intend to present his severed head – in human or tiger form – whatever form he happens to be in when Sigurd and I destroy him. As for the rest of them, how would you like them? Headless too, or perhaps crucified for you all to watch? Maybe drowned alive in our aquarium, and fed to our sharks? The manner of their deaths will be of your choosing. The Rebels think they have caught us unawares, and they will descend on us in what they believe is an ambush. Unfortunately for them, we’ll be waiting with bared claws and open jaws.’

  Mr Wang now allowed himself a smile, and he bowed to Hrothgar.

  ‘This is why we are so pleased to have you and Sigurd on our team,’ he said, still beaming. ‘You are nothing short of a genius! However, the devil, as always, is in the details. How will you know exactly how and when he is planning to strike?’

  ‘We have someone working on the inside: a trusted member of the Rebels’ inner circle, whose loyalty we have bought. We’ll be informed of their every move! We strongly suspect that the strike will happen at the end of the year, at our annual New Year’s Eve bash. He and the Rebels will need a few months to prepare for their “surprise” attack. It certainly won’t happen soon.’

  ‘Excellent foresight. However, are you sure this informant can be trusted? And who is the traitor, may I ask?’