Beautiful Dragons

by Matthew James

Doesn’t make sense… Huh?

  “What about Ms. Cho?” Roman asked, hoping Violet wouldn’t throw him out of the moving vehicle. They were approaching the rear of the property and had another imposing wooden gate standing in their way.

  “The phone call,” she said, knowing where he was going. “It’s possible that it was intercepted. If Madame’s group had an aircraft in the area, they could easily find us from the above.”

  Roman, unfortunately, wasn’t thinking about the call being traced. He was contemplating something far more sinister. He would keep it to himself for now until he felt that Violet completely on his side. The two of them cooperating was the only way they were going to survive the night.

  14

  As they approached the rear gate, Violet reached up and pressed the garage door opener again. Roman was shocked to see that it worked there too. Then again, the tech on display was remarkable, even slicker than some of the toys he was given.

  Violet must’ve seen the curiosity on his face.

  “When we near another entrance, or in our case,” they blew through the still opening gate, “an exit, the button syncs to the next closest signal.”

  “A type of universal remote.”

  “Correct.”

  They pulled onto a tight, two-lane road and Roman held on as she floored the eight-hundred horses. As they furthered themselves from the devastation, Roman allowed himself to relax.

  It only lasted a second, however. Tracer-led streams of automatic gunfire rained down on them from above. Keeping the headlights off, Violet drove by moonlight, making the flat-black, nonreflective car that much harder to see. Roman wasn’t surprised that she knew the streets surrounding her home so well. She obviously drove them enough in the past to make the dangerous trek doable.

  Flinching, he leaned in, nudging Violet’s arm when a round obliterated his side mirror. The car swerved and fishtailed slightly but, being the seasoned driver she was, Violet kept the Ferrari under control and straightened it out a split-second later. He pulled his gun and was about to put down his window but was stopped.

  “Don’t,” Violet said. “The car is armored where it counts and the windows are solid. We should be fine.”

  “Should?” he asked, gripping his seat harder as she swerved again.

  “As long as they don’t hit the tires or…”

  “Or?”

  She glanced at him as the trees to his right exploded.

  “Right…” he said, sighing. “Rockets.”

  He leaned forward and looked up through the sunroof, seeing the helicopter above and behind them. A man sat in the open cargo hold with his feet planted on the right skids. There, the aircraft flew somewhat sideways, giving the guy wielding the RPG a better angle. They needed to take him out before he got off a lucky shot. All it would take to flip them would be a glancing blow.

  “I’ve got an idea, but we’ll need to act fast,” Roman said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

  “What are you doing!” she hissed.

  He smiled. “Trust me… When I say so, open the sunroof and throw us into a one-eighty.” He looked at her and pulled a second handgun from the still open glove compartment. “You do know how to do that without flipping us, right?”

  She didn’t answer, shaking her head in annoyance.

  Reaching up, she floated her finger over the corresponding button, still banking the Ferrari back and forth with her left hand. Meeting Roman’s confident eyes, she nodded and depressed the corresponding button. Her hands and feet reacted an instant later, breaking and shifting. She yanked hard on the wheel and spun the car just as Roman stood, bracing him against the frame of the sunroof.

  Leveling both weapons at the aircraft, he emptied both magazines into the cargo hold and the men inside. His plan worked a little too well. The person holding the RPG was knocked backward, falling deeper into the aircraft’s cargo hold.

  Roman watched the helicopter explode from the inside out right as he was yanked back into his seat. The only thing he could figure is that the shooter accidentally pulled the trigger.

  Violet spun the vehicle back in its original direction and closed the sunroof, jamming her foot down on the pedal as hard as she could. They pushed forward, watching the remains of the aircraft fall from the sky behind them.

  They rode in silence for a minute before speaking to one another again, and when they did, they both said the same thing.

  “Good work.”

  “Good work.”

  The duplicate compliment made both of them smile.

  “Where to now?” Roman asked. “Don’t suppose you have anywhere to hang low for the night?”

  A smirk formed on her face.

  “You do,” he said, sitting back, “don’t you?”

  Her eyes flicked to his. “Buckle up. It’s the law, you know.”

  He shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

  The peace between them was something they both needed, and it stayed that way for as long as it took to get back to Tokyo. Roman wasn’t sure why she was going back into the fray, but he had learned to trust Violet and her instincts. Plus, he also knew that if they were spotted back in town, they’d be able to let the enemy come to them.

  How many men can they have?

  “We’re almost there,” she said, speaking for the first time in over an hour.

  “Almost to where?”

  She tipped her chin to the building on their right. “There.”

  He looked away from her, and his mouth opened. “We’re stayin’ here?”

  “Yes, we are…”

  She turned the car into the Shangri-La Hotel, one of the most luxurious resorts in all of Tokyo. Roman was surprised when she pulled underneath the front carport. Before opening her door, she pulled one of the glove compartment’s guns free and tucked it into the front of her jeans, zipping the clothing up. Roman snagged as many magazines as he could and handed half of them to her. Filling their pockets, Violet closed the glove box and pressed her thumb onto a small, flat square in the top left-hand corner.

  “Fingerprint lock,” he said, fixing his hair in his seat’s vanity mirror, “nice touch.”

  She shrugged and popped her door. “Can’t have one of the valets opening it, can we?”

  They got out and looked at one another over the car’s roof. “And the state of the car?” he asked, motioning to the slight impact marks on the roof and the missing side mirror.

  One of the valets ran over to them and happily accepted Violet’s key. He handed her a ticket and quickly climbed in and drove off.

  Roman was confused.

  “When you stay in a place like this,” she said, walking towards the front door, “they tend not to ask too many questions.” She leaned into him. “Put your arm around me like we’re lovers. We need to act the part.”

  Doing as he was told, Roman wrapped his bad arm around her and groaned in pain. But once the limb was elevated, if only a little, the discomfort subsided.

  “What about us?” he asked, hearing his still wet shoes squeak.

  “Leave that to me,” she replied, laughing like he just told her the funniest joke she ever heard.

  “Ah, Ms. Liu,” someone said, “it’s good to see you again!”

  “Ms. Liu?” Roman whispered, translating the Japanese, trying not to smile. “As in Lucy Liu?”

  Violet ignored him and turned on her acting skills again. Roman did the same. “Come on, babe,” he said, acting drunk, stumbling alongside her. “I want some sake sake.” He leaned on the counter and winked at the short Asian man on the other side. “Sake sake…know what I mean, Jackie?” He looked back to Violet and winked. “He knows what I mean…”

  Violet playfully laughed, rolling her eyes. “I think you’ve had enough for one night.” She stepped back and motioned to their clothes. “You already opened the sunroof in the rain. We’re soaked because of your sake sake.”

  “Jackie” looked Roman over and frowned, turning back to Violet. “Your usual room, Ms. Liu?
The ‘Deluxe Imperial Garden View.’”

  “Yes, please,” she replied. “And please excuse my American friend here. He can be a little brash when he drinks too much.”

  He nodded and handed them a set of key cards without so much as asking them for a credit card or ID.

  “Oh, and also—”

  “Yes, Ms. Liu?”

  “We were in a rush and didn’t bring any bags. Can you send up the hotel tailor? We need a fresh set of clothes by morning.”

  “There’s an overnight charge,” Jackie said.

  “Of course, there is. Thank you, Koji.”

  “Later, Jackie,” Roman said, waving.

  And with that, Violet led the heavily intoxicated Roman away, taking him around the centrally located front desk and into the rear of the immaculate lobby. Pressing the “up” button, Violet whispered. “Nice job back there.”

  He squeezed her shoulder harder, making her smile. “You too, Lucy.”

  “By the way, you know Jackie Chan is Chinese and not Japanese, right?”

  Roman shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  They got in the elevator thirty seconds later but kept up the charade for the cameras. Roman would occasionally lean into Violet and try to coax a kiss out of her. Every so often, she’d comply and melt some of his anxiety away. It wasn’t as romantic as their first kiss, but it was still an incredible feeling nonetheless.

  “Don’t get used to this,” she said after another quick peck.

  “Why not?”

  “We still have people trying to kill us, remember?”

  He scratched the moist stubble covering his chin. “So? That doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other’s company too.”

  As she squeezed him back, the elevator dinged. They stepped off on the fifteenth floor and moved down the equally exquisite hallway, stopping at the eighth door on the right. Violet held her key card up to the magnetic reader, getting the desired green light in return. Pushing out of Violet’s arms, Roman drew one of his pistols and entered, weapon up. He cleared the unbelievable room as Violet slowly closed the front door, looking for any sign of trouble down the hall.

  Seeing nothing unusual, he relaxed, hearing the deadbolt engage. Feeling secure, he holstered his gun and removed his jacket, taking care not to move his injured shoulder too much.

  “Let me help.”

  Violet gently pressed down on the top of the joint, slightly compressing the muscle. The jacket slipped free and fell to the floor. Roman’s shirt was bloodied around the wound, with some of it flowing down as far as his elbow and under into his armpit. He rotated the joint and could tell that he still had most of his natural motion.

  “Help me with my shirt, will ya?”

  Her response was a single raised eyebrow, but she relented and did as asked. After the long sleeve dress shirt was removed and put in the garbage, they had a better look at the wound.

  “See,” he said, inspecting it in the bathroom mirror, “not so bad.”

  “Needs stitches,” she said, standing next to him.

  “Gonna have to wait.” He turned to the shower and moaned, opening the glass door. He set the temperature as hot as it would get, looking satisfied. Facing Violet, he caught her staring at him. “Wanna join m—?”

  She was on him before he could finish the question. They tore at each other’s clothes, aggressively ripping at them like unrestrained beasts. Not waiting for Violet to finish undressing, Roman lifted her off the ground and carried her into the steam-filled shower. He growled when the water touched his back, causing him to blindly grab for the knob to turn it down.

  Just below “boiling” temperature, he and Violet settled underneath the waterfall of water, sensually caressing one another. It was as passionate a moment as he ever experienced. Most of his prior relationships were just flings or mission related.

  This felt different. There was emotion involved here.

  They had been through a lot in their short time together, and their connection to one another was undeniable. He was a good judge of character, and he felt that Violet was sincere in her feelings for him.

  They made love until the telephone rang. The interruption was because the hotel’s absurdly overpriced, on-call tailor was on his way up. Roman didn’t have another shirt to change into so, instead, like Violet, he donned one of the offered bathrobes. The only thing he did put back on was his sopping-wet boxer-briefs. Violet followed him and slipped back into her wet bra and panties.

  The tailor was quick and professional. The only time he spoke was to ask what material to use and if they had any preferences. Knowing his suit size by heart, and not wanting the tailor to see his shoulder wound, Roman rambled off the measurements while he sat.

  Violet ordered jeans, much to the tailor’s disappointment. He suggested a form-fitting dress, but the assassin quickly replied with a firm, “Not a chance.” She did, however, get a custom-made leather jacket and button up blouse. The tailor bowed to them both when he finished.

  “I will have your wares available by morning as ordered, thank you.”

  He was gone a couple of seconds later, leaving Roman and Violet to themselves. The view outside was incredible as was the room itself but neither one of them cared. They moved straight to the bed, undressed, and climbed in.

  They were asleep in each other’s arms within minutes.

  15

  The House of Dragons

  The helicopter was a complete loss, as were the people inside. Four more of his men died in the wreck—two pilots and two door gunners. Mako was starting to think that the individuals he sought were indestructible, or at the very least, blessed by God.

  The estate itself, like the aircraft, was a disaster, a majority of it burned to the ground. If anything survived, it would be a miracle.

  Just like their escape.

  He knew of the purple-haired assassin, Violet, but the man’s identity was still unknown. No one within his organization knew who he was. He was an enigma, an agent of some kind, or maybe retired military. The American’s resilience and abilities were too honed to be that of an average person.

  It meant that Mako now had two professionals to worry about instead of one. She was already a handful. The American’s presence made him sweat in the cool night air.

  It had been only two hours since the attack on the grounds. A light but steady rainfall quickly moved in over the area, causing the air to fill with low-hanging, billowing smoke. Mako walked up to the front of the home with a wet rag on his face, using it as a makeshift filter.

  Akeno was waiting for him, giving everyone the all clear to enter. The fire department had just finished their inspection a few minutes earlier, just as Mako pulled in. He was, once again, posing as a police inspector.

  Unfortunately, with the fire department involved, he wouldn’t be able to hide anything this time. The local news stations were already broadcasting the attack and subsequent explosion to the masses. It was a risk he had to take. Ridding themselves of the two pests was priority number one.

  Mako quietly entered the estate and did his best to put the place back together mentally. It wasn’t easy either. The living room at the front of the home was a wet pile of ash. The furniture in the living room was the same. His phone rang, as expected, and he answered it, plugging in a set of earbuds as he did.

  The caller, Madame Kyoko, was using the video call feature, FaceTime. Looking at the screen, the only part of the woman he could see was her mouth and chin. She purposely held the camera that way just in case someone saw Mako’s screen and attempted to identify her.

  The reception was less-than-perfect and with the property’s jamming array destroyed, he was happy to get any signal at all. The helicopter’s pilot was sent word to destroy the array before entering the airspace above the compound. Their first target was the futuristic looking satellite dish mounted to the rear of the home.

  As well as most the roof.

  The second rocket appeared to have detonated somewhere betwee
n the kitchen and the foyer.

  “Report,” Madame said.

  “The estate is gone—as are its occupants.”

  Her lips curled into a smile. “I think not. You underestimate the old woman, Mr. Wu.”

  Knowing to take Kyoko’s words wisely, Mako drew his pistol from beneath his coat and continued forward, holding his phone out in front of him. Everywhere he looked, he made sure the phone pointed in the same direction. It was an annoyance to have to pay attention to the screen while also looking for survivors.

  The fire chief already cleared the building, stating that there were, in fact, no bodies of any kind. Mako knew better, though. From what Kyoko told him, the women housed here had ways to hide in plain sight.

  “You need to find a way to the basement,” she said.

  “The fire chief didn’t say anything about a basement,” Mako replied. He was curious about something. “How do you know so much about this place?”

  “Never mind that, Mr. Wu. Just do it.”

  I guess there really is a basement then?

  “Where should I start?” he asked, moving to the ruined kitchen.

  The rear wall of the house was mostly intact, but the roof was completely missing. That entire side of the house was missing its roof actually. The only portion of the home that was still covered was the half holding the bedrooms.

  “Checking the back,” he announced, getting a grumble from his boss.

  The back doors were totally gone, blown outward into the broken and empty swimming pool. Only a trace amount of water was left in the square-shaped bowl. One of the sides had split and crumbled, spilling its contents all over the yard.

  Lounge chairs were strewn about everywhere too.

  One of them was splattered with blood.

  Interesting…

  “What have you found?” Kyoko asked.

  He knelt next to the crimson-stained chair and searched the area around it. What he found disturbed him. Starting from where he was now, a faint blood trail moved off into the shrubs lining one side of the deck.

  “Possible survivor…or maybe what’s left of one.” Grunting in disapproval at holding his phone in one hand and a gun in the other he paused. “I’ll call you back.” Before Kyoko could argue, he ended the call and pulled his earbuds free, tucking both into his pocket.