The Frenchman's Revenge

by Taylor Lee

  ~~~

  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 puff 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.

  “What the hell was that you were doing to me on the floor? Christ, I have never seen anything like that in my life.”

  “Something I learned as a kid in the streets of Paris getting the shit kicked out of me. It’s called savate, essentially French kickboxing. After you’ve healed up, maybe I’ll give you a lesson or two.”

  Alex nodded, then gagged again spitting a fresh mouthful of blood in the towel.

  Bai looked at him without speaking for a moment, then said, “Alex, Elena is your sister and she loves you. She will always love you. But kid, she is my woman, soon to be my wife. She belongs to me now. She is mine. Elena loves me more than anything in the world, as I do her. Nothing you can do or say will change that.”

  Alex flushed and looked down, refusing to meet Bai’s eyes.

  Bai stepped closer. With the toe of his boot, he raised Alex’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

  “Look at me, Alex. Hear me well. Stay the hell out of my way.”

  Bai took a deep drag off his cigarette and turned to walk toward the door. He hesitated for a moment in the doorway, then stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

  “One more thing, Alex. Just so you know. When I get someone down on the floor and turn it loose -- they don’t get up. The only reason you did is because you are Elena’s brother, Wyatt’s son, and Wan’s grandson.”

  ~~~

  Alex sat against the wall, unable to move for long moments after Bai left the dojo. Every part of his body ached, throbbed with pain. He knew his ribs were broken, likely the reason he kept spitting up blood. He should go to the infirmary and make sure he didn’t have serious internal injuries, but he was too embarrassed. He didn’t want anyone, especially his sister or his father, to know how badly Bai had beaten him. He knew they would say that he let his anger compromise his skill, turning him into a novice. But it was more than that. He couldn’t figure it out. He was a highly trained kung fu master. God damnit! Even angry, he knew how to fight. But he hadn’t put a single mark on Bai. Christ, to be honest, he never touched him.

  As he sat on the floor, his head thrown back against the wall, trying to get a grip on what happened, he saw Bai’s eyes and the expression on his face when he warned Alex to stay out of his way. It was the Frenchman, the man, not the myth. The reality was more frightening than the lore. Alex shuddered, knowing for the first time in his life he saw a human incarnation of an animal in the wild. A poised predatory animal primed to take down its prey. With a tremor that shook him to his core, Alex acknowledged that this was the man his beloved sister would marry.

  ~~

  Chapter 7

  Elena sat at her dressing table, taking the jeweled pins from her hair, reliving the evening. She shook out her hair and let it fall down to the middle of her back in a luminous cloud of fire red curls. She smiled at the reflection of her flushed cheeks in the mirror, remembering how Bai freed her hair as they danced. He tucked the pins in his pocket as if they were his to take, as if she was his to take. It was such an intimate thing to do that she blushed thinking about it. She wasn’t surprised that people were shocked at the way they danced. From the first throbbing beat of the music to the last whispery wail of the horn, her body responded in aroused sensual movements to Bai’s erotic s
olicitations. She thought with a guilty little grin, it was as though they were making love to one another in front of two hundred people.

  That is what he did to her, what he had always done. Just looking at her with that wicked smile made her pulse race and shivery sensations flood over her. Even now, she could feel him on her body, tweaking her nipples, trailing his lips up the length of her leg, running his hands over her thighs, her hips, pinching her bottom. She saw his teasing smile, heard his throaty whispers telling her what he intended to do to her. How he would suck her, bite her, how he would spank her ass bright red. A hard tremor shook her groin at the memory. She gripped the edge of the table, a rush of moisture pooling between her thighs.

  God, it was a wonder he hadn’t laid her on the floor and flat out fucked her. She giggled at the thought. She would have loved to see the reaction of those self important biddies with their put on airs and disapproving whispers. They would be apoplectic. But then they would have been the first to grovel for an invitation to the next party. To preen and simper for any acknowledgement from the handsome rogue they fluttered around. To fight over the crumbs of recognition he flicked their way.

  Bai was a sensation. Elena knew it and she reveled in it. Better than anyone, she understood his powerful pull. His sinful good looks and sheer animal magnetism sheathed in a barely respectable veneer attracted and frightened both men and women. Privileged people who in every other circumstance considered themselves the “cock of the walk.”

  Dear God, she loved him. More than she had thought it possible to love a man. She remembered his entrance to the ballroom and how a hush fell over the crowd. She wasn’t surprised. That’s how she felt every time she saw him. Mesmerized – and then breathless with excitement.

  She knew he would be angry that the men at the party had been ogling her, lusting after her. She saw the look on his face when he came in. She had seen that look before. She knew it well and knew what it meant. A groin clenching shiver of fear fraught with desire rushed over her at the thought of his promised reprisal.