by Taylor Lee
She flushed and tried to pull away, but he dipped her lower. He reached up to her hair and pulled out the restraining pins, releasing a cloud of wild curls down her back. Tucking the pins in his pocket, he pulled her upright, his lips inches away from her breasts. As he raised her up, his fingers tweaked her nipple and she bit down on her bottom lip, holding back a whimper.
“Later, cherie, I will bite them, suck them,” he promised, his eyes alight with lust.
Pushing his hands down, with a challenging laugh, she spun away from him, her hips swaying provocatively. She whirled back to face him. As he clapped his hands in time to the pounding music, she began to strut around him, lifting her dress inch by inch. Swishing her hips from side to side, she twitched her ass in a sultry circle. When she closed in on him, he reached out for her, but with a toss of her head and an impudent glance over her shoulder she flounced away, kicking her leg up high in the air. The crowd gasped at the sight of her sheer silk stockings and the white lacy garters high on her thighs. There were more than a few groans and muttered “goddamns” and “did you fucking see that” from the men in the crowd. Many of the women sputtered a distinct disapproving titter.
Bai came from behind and caught her ankle and held it high. He leaned over top of her and kissed her ankle then ran his tongue up her leg. He grasped her thigh and holding her bent knee open to the side, he pressed her tight against his hip and spun them round and round. As they slowed, he leaned down, his tongue circling her ear, and whispered with a raspy chuckle, “Ah cherie, ma putain méchante petite, my naughty little whore, you like to show them your beautiful body? Arousing all these men even more? Tonight, my naughty petite fille. Tonight I will spank you so fucking hard your ass will burn bright, bright red and hot! Oui, cherie?” She closed her eyes, her dark lashes against her cheeks, moaning against his shoulder.
As the music throbbed a sensuous, sexy drum beat, Bai turned her back to his chest. He pulled her hips up tight against his groin, his aroused cock nestled against the crack of her ass. His strong muscular thighs supported her soft firm cheeks. They moved erotically, rhythmically, molded together, swaying as one. She threw her head back on his shoulder tossing her hair to the side and groaned as his lips found the softest, most sensitive places on her neck and throat.
When the music rose to a concluding crescendo, he lifted her high in the air. They twirled in a dizzying circle, her dress flaring in wild abandon around her. As the music whispered to a stop, he brought her down to his upturned lips and kissed her, a hard, demanding kiss.
Standing her gently on the floor, he smiled a satisfied, knowing smile. There wasn’t a person in the room who did not understand. She was his. His woman. As she leaned back with her arms around his neck, her face flushed with excitement, her eyes dark and sparkling, there was no question but that she agreed.
He pulled her hair up in a careless twist and took the jeweled pins from his pocket and pinned her glorious curls back in place.
Nianzu walked over to them and handed Bai his jacket. Bai rolled down his shirt sleeves, put on his jacket, and with a dashing smile bowed to the audience. Then he bowed low to her. Leaning down he nuzzled her neck as the audience applauded and roared its approval.
Within minutes, the ballroom was filled with excited chatter, appreciative glances mixed with disapproving scowls. Men and women whose sexual fires had extinguished long ago found themselves squirming uncomfortably at the strange sensations they felt in their dormant organs.
One woman summed up the feelings of many when she said with a sniff, “I don’t know why they stopped when they did. I assumed he would take her right there.”
Another answered with a brazen snort, “Nothing like fucking her in public.”
Her disapproving friend added in distain, “Just like the barnyard animals do.”
Her husband wiped the sweat off his forehead with his linen handkerchief and said with a groan, “Hell, that was better than any fuck I’ve ever had.”
His wife poked him hard in the ribs and said tartly, “You and me both.”
~~~
Wyatt raised an eyebrow and shook his head, an ironic grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as Bai and Elena came toward him. Before he could speak, Lei reached out and hugged Elena. Looking up at Wyatt in amusement, she said, “Well, it’s easy to see whose daughter you are, Elena.”
Wyatt chuckled and said with an appreciative grin at Bai, “Your brother didn’t do too badly either, Lei. It’s good to know that Elena will be as well-loved as you are, darlin’.”
“If I don’t eat her alive in the process, Wyatt. Your daughter makes me a very hungry man,” Bai said, bowing low to both Wyatt and Lei then winking at Elena.
An angry growl caught their attention and they all turned to see Alex rush from the room, frustrated tears streaming down his flushed, angry face.
Elena frowned and started after him, but Wyatt held her back.
“Give him a chance to get used to the idea, honey. Remember, you’ve been his best girl all his life. It’s not surprising that he is having trouble accepting the fact that you’re in love with Bai.”
~~~
As guests swarmed to congratulate them, Bai pulled Wyatt and Wan aside and said in an undertone, “I need to speak with you both. You will please come to my office after our guests leave, oui?”
Wyatt and Wan nodded. There wasn’t any doubt why he wanted to talk to them. News of the attack in San Francisco was already circulating through the ballroom.
With a shake of his head and a slight grimace, Wyatt said, “Can I assume it has to do with the incident tonight in San Francisco?”
Bai quirked an eyebrow and said with a wry smile, “That’s a good assumption, Wyatt. A good assumption, indeed.”
Chapter 6
“What do you plan to do with the girls, Bai?” Wyatt asked. “It’s not as though even you can make forty to fifty young girls disappear.”
Bai watched them closely, as Wyatt and Wan listened without comments to Nianzu describe how they burned down Madame Torrento’s brothel. He appreciated that neither man asked for additional details or a rationale for the ferocity of the attack. Rather, Wyatt moved directly to the problem at hand—what to do with the young prostitutes.
Bai responded, “At this point, Wyatt, we have them sequestered in the Sing Leon casitas. The healers are examining them now.”
Nianzu broke in with a pained expression.
“Most of them are in bad shape.”
“My plan is to keep the injured girls here until they heal. I haven’t talked with Elena yet, but I am going to have her oversee the care of the girls who are badly hurt. Unfortunately, our infirmary can handle only so many. If necessary, I hope that we can send some of them to Los Vistas, Wan,” Bai said, looking to his father for support.
Wan murmured in agreement, his face expressionless.
“Of course, Bai. We can make arrangements to transport them in the morning.”
“Look, Bai. Sheriff Thompson already warned Wan and me that this incident will not go unanswered,” Wyatt said, then continued with a grimace.
“Hell, this is not a criticism. You know that. But you know who you are dealing with. There is a one hundred percent likelihood the mob will come down hard on this. Face it, Bai, the Costa Nostra is one fuckin’ big tiger you are taunting. The Marcello gang is the most infamous of them all. They are going to want to send the loudest, clearest message they can that you don’t mess with Aldo Marcello and get away unscathed.”
Bai took one of his slender Bolivian cigars from the humidor on his desk. Clipping the end with his silver wolf’s head clipper, he took his time lighting it. After several puffs, and after the cigar was drawing steadily, he pushed the humidor across the desk, offering a cigar to the three men sitting across from him. He reached over to refill each of their glasses.
A slight smile crossed his lips and for a moment warmed the hard glint in his eyes.
“Ah, yes, Wyatt.” Bai paused to pu
ff on his cigar, then continued, “It is my expectation that our adversaries will want to respond to tonight’s ‘incident.’ It is my intent that they do. However, as they consider their response, I want both the Italian and the Irish mobs to know what happens to those who taunt the Chinese tiger they call the Frenchman. To know what happens to anyone who presumes to come to our territory and attack members of our group, in this case, young Chinese girls.”
He added with a wry grin, “I consider tonight’s ‘incident’ my first opportunity to give them a glimpse of the response they can expect from this particular tiger.”
He saw Wan and Wyatt exchange a knowing look, no doubt seeing images of themselves from years gone by reflected in the icy cold of his eyes. He also saw their love and their respect. He was humbled and grateful to have the support and understanding of these two legendary leaders, his heroes.
~~~
Alex threw one hard punch after another at the sandbag in Bai’s kung fu practice center. Sweat poured down his face, mixed with frustrated tears he couldn’t hold back. He left the ballroom too angry to speak, after watching the indignity of Elena’s dance with Bai, seeking refuge in the practice center. He forced himself to go through the regimen that had driven his life since he was a boy. Nothing he did calmed or released the fury that had been building since he first learned that his sister, his lifelong soul mate, intended to marry the man he believed was an international criminal. As much as he loved Lei and honored his father and his grandfather, nothing they said had cooled the anger he felt toward Bai. It infuriated him that they thought he was just jealous of Bai. He acknowledged that it was useless to try to convince them otherwise.
The practice center was state of the art, like everything on the compound, a fact that made Alex angrier. It was as though even kung fu had been corrupted by Bai. A place and a practice that all of his life had brought Alex peace was being challenged by this man. This man who had turned everything good in Alex’s life to shit.
He heard the door to the dojo open. The grunts and groans of the Sing Leon fighters who were sparring alongside him stopped. The room grew ominously quiet. Alex turned to see Bai in the doorway. He had changed from his formal attire and was wearing a white silk shirt and the traditional kung fu black silk gi pants. He stood for a moment at the entrance, smoking a cigarette, then walked in. He jerked his head toward the door, motioning to his men to leave. Within minutes, the other fighters had packed up their gear. Alex and Bai faced each other, just the two of them in the now silent dojo.
Alex had expected him, was waiting for him. He had thrown down the gauntlet and Bai accepted the challenge. A rush of adrenaline surged through him. He readied himself for the fight he sought, relishing the thought of crushing this arrogant, odious man. There was no question in his mind that he would beat him. His righteous anger was too intense to allow any other outcome.
Bai took a drag off his cigarette, tossed it to the floor, and ground it out with his boot. He looked at Alex through hooded eyes. Holding his gaze, he toed off his boots and kicked them off to the side. He rose up on his toes and flexed his feet in preparation. In an unusual gesture for a kung fu fighter, he took off his shirt, hung it on a hook against the wall and stood naked, except for his fitted pants. Alex frowned and squelched his surprise at the sight of Bai’s bare torso. He knew that Bai was a grandmaster and that he must be strong. But he was unprepared for the reality of Bai’s body. Clothed, he looked lean, almost slender. Without his shirt, every muscle in his arms, back, and shoulders rippled with power. His waist tapered down across his taut abdomen and his powerful stance revealed hard, muscular legs.
Momentarily caught off guard, Alex reminded himself that even though Bai was at least two inches taller, he outweighed him by fifteen pounds or more. Most important, he was twenty years old and stronger than he had ever been. He had sparred daily for the past six months in China with world renowned fighters, honing his skills to peak fighting form.
“Came to see what you learned in China, boy. I’m confident we can get this settled quickly,” Bai said, with a slight smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Alex flushed in anger and Bai’s smile widened.
“Tell you what. I’ll even avoid that pretty boy face of yours. I wouldn’t want you to have any visible marks on you when you watch Elena marry me three days from now.”
Alex tried to mimic Bai’s casual, cutting attitude, but his hatred was too intense. Gritting his teeth together, he spit out his response.
“Speaking of pretty boy, I’m sure as hell not going to avoid your face. Hell no! That’s the first thing I’m going for, old man. If there is a wedding, you are going to look like shit.”
Poking at Alex’s anger, Bai’s eyes twinkled. He taunted him further.
“Ah, oui. I see you have a temper, just like your sister does. Well, boy, I’ve learned that Elena responds to discipline. Let’s see how you do,” Bai said with a grin.
Alex shook with rage, his face flushed with heat, his fists clenched in tight knots at his sides. He knew that Bai was intentionally trying to rile him, but he was unable to quiet his fury.
“Damn you! Goddamn you, Bai. If I ever hear that you hurt my sister…”
He choked off the rest of the threat, trying desperately to control his emotions.
Bai was unruffled, calm. A sardonic grin twisted his lips.
“Ah, I guess that depends on how you define ‘hurt.’ Tell me, boy, would you consider ‘hurt’ turning her over my knee and spanking her bare ass when she misbehaves? Your sister doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she rather seems to enjoy it—at least once her bright red ass cools down.”
Alex sprang forward, both fists aimed at Bai’s face. His guttural scream filled the room. Against every rule he had ever been taught about the danger of fighting from anger, Alex was unable to leash his fury. Rather, it flared to a level of rage he had never before experienced. He wanted to do one thing and one thing only. He wanted to kill Bai, beat him to death.
Preparing to follow up his fists with a bone cracking one, two kick to the groin, Alex dove for Bai. To his shock, he met nothing but air. Unable to stop his forward momentum, he crashed against the wall. He sprung back and whirled around to see Bai standing three feet away his hands relaxed at his sides, a contemptuous smile on his face.
Alex had been trained by the best in China, but he was unprepared for Bai. It was as though he was fighting a shadow. Bai twisted, turned, flew, and slid, an elusive target. More like a flying apparition than a man. At one point, he literally danced six feet up the wall his body at a right angle then flipped over backwards. With an audible crack, he drove his knee up hard in Alex’s ribs. Alex had heard of ancient warriors the monks called “ghost fighters” who fought like flying phantoms. He had never seen one, certain they had died out long ago. Stunned, he realized that Bai was one of them.
Bai’s elusive feints and parries made him virtually untouchable. Unlike Alex’s ineffectual kicks, punches, and strikes, every one of Bai’s assaults connected. He followed up his strike to Alex’s ribs with a devastating knifelike kick to his shoulder joint that paralyzed Alex’s arm, rendering it useless. When Alex backed away, trying to recover the use of his arm, Bai rose from below and drove a roundhouse kick to the small of his back, knocking Alex face first to the floor. Unable to get to his feet, Alex rolled across the floor, his hands to his face, trying to avoid the flurry of kicks Bai aimed at his torso. True to his word, Bai avoided his face, but there wasn’t an inch of Alex’s body from his ankles to his shoulders that escaped the blistering attack. Alex had never known this level of blinding, dizzying pain, so intense that he thought he might faint. Christ, dying would be a blessing. In a few short minutes, to his horror, he put his hands up signaling “enough.”
Bai nodded and stepped back, his fists curled lightly at his sides. He watched closely as Alex writhed on the floor, rolling from side to side, blood pouring out of his nose and mouth. Groaning and gasping for air, Alex struggled
to stand, but gagged and fell back down to his hands and knees, vomiting a mix of bile and blood.
Bai left the room and returned a minute later with a wet towel and threw it to the traumatized man on the floor. He reached down, offering his hand to help him up, but Alex shook his head, knowing he couldn’t stand.
Alex used the towel to wipe off his face. With a groan, he hung his head and vomited again, this time more blood than bile. He refused to look at Bai. Continuing to spit out blood, he retched again and again, harsh heaves wracking his gut with a paroxysm of painful spasms. He held the towel against his face and, with a fierce effort, managed to push himself up to a sitting position. He sat with his back against the wall, his breath coming in excruciating wheezes. He didn’t try to hide the tears on his face.
Bai reached for his shirt and his boots. He put them on, then took his cigarette case out of the shirt pocket, removed a cigarette, and took his time lighting it. He smoked quietly, his face impassive, watching the man on the floor try to gain some semblance of control.
Finally, his face wracked with pain, Alex looked up at Bai and shook his head with a mixture of chagrin and disbelief.
“I thought ghost fighters died off five hundred years ago after Zhao Ming died,” he muttered in a raspy voice.
Bai shrugged. “I studied his journals.”
Alex stared at him. He knew that the journals of the ancient Shaolin monks were guarded like the emperor’s jewels. Moreover, they were written in a classic Chinese dialect no one had spoken or written for centuries. He shook his head again, unable to grasp what Bai was saying. After several minutes, he began to get his breath back. He glanced up to see Bai watching him, as if judging the extent of his injuries.
Alex shrugged aside the concern in Bai’s eyes and groaned, looking down in amazement at the marks emerging on his body.
