Victor: Her Ruthless Crush

by Theodora Taylor

  My eyes adjusted after a few moments. Then I immediately wish they hadn't.

  Men. Men in dark SWAT uniforms surrounded us.

  One of them was yelling at Victor in rapid Japanese. I only understood it because my mom's favorite show, CSI, was fully dubbed over here. He was saying we were under arrest.

  “What's going on?” I asked Victor, instinctively reaching for him.

  But he didn’t have access to his hands, and the uniforms pulled him away before I could touch him. They smashed him to the ground beside the bed, snapped handcuffs over his wrists, and then yanked him to his feet.

  “Victor!” I screamed as they dragged him away from me.

  “It's okay. You can stop acting now, Dawn,” one of the figures said in English, his voice loud and authoritative. “We got what we needed.”

  “Dad?” I recognized the voice. It was my father. But what was he talking about?

  “Yeah, it’s me, Dawn. Thank you for your service. I know that must've been scary, having to spend the whole night with him. But we’re here now. And thanks to you, we got everything we need to arrest Raymond Zhang and the other Red Diamond gang members. Victor Zhang will never bother you again.”

  At first, I didn't get it. I was so confused.

  But then I did, with a sickening thud.

  My father wasn't what I thought he was. He wasn't a criminal. Just the opposite, in fact. He was involved in some kind of international law enforcement effort. And now he was talking to me like I'd been privy to his plan all along.

  “Victor…” I whispered, trying to turn around. I needed to go to him. I had to let him know that what my dad had said wasn't true.

  But Dad grabbed onto me even tighter when I tried to get out of his hold, hugging me to him like I’d been gone years, not hours. “It's okay, honey. It's okay. Just let it out. I'm so sorry it got so far. I wish I had been here to protect you from that prick.”

  “Dad, no!” I cried. I struggled against him with all my might. But in the end, it didn’t matter. By the time I broke free, Victor was gone. Dragged out of his own bedroom by my dad’s Japanese cohorts.

  Maybe I could catch up to him. Explain that it wasn’t what it looked like. That I hadn’t known anything about this.

  I tried to run after them. But Dad caught me by the arm before I could leave.

  “Dawn! Dawn! Listen to me!” he said, his voice low and urgent. “We need your school jacket. Where is it?”

  I tried to get away again, but Dad wouldn’t let me go. He held me there and ordered one of the men to throw him a blanket in his near-perfect Japanese.

  I didn’t realize I was still naked until he wrapped it around me.

  Out loud, he proclaimed to anyone who might be listening that I had been traumatized. But in between all those booming proclamations, he whispered threats to handcuff me if I didn’t play along. He told me I was acting crazy. That I had been brainwashed. Victor’s father was a bad, bad guy. Protecting him would doom hundreds of girls my age to a terrible fate. I had to give him my school jacket for some reason.

  In the end, his words broke through. Sobbing and guilt-ridden, I fetched my school blazer from where Victor had shoved it along with my shirt underneath the couch in the front room.

  I’d later find out that the blazer had a spy camera implanted in the lapel. That’s what my father had really been doing when he took my jacket “to the cleaners” last September.

  Looking back, I’m sure they would have found what they wanted with or without me.

  But my dad needed everyone else to see me cooperating. That was the only way to prove his story was real.

  I later found out that his job as Mr. Nakamura’s guard had been part of a deep, international undercover sting. The kind of thing they wrote about in movies. When Victor’s father had asked him about the daughter who knew ASL, Dad had seen it as the perfect opportunity to gather some possible intel on another crime ring.

  I hadn’t gotten away with anything.

  He knew. He knew the entire time I was with Victor. But if anything, my footage had been a disappointment at first. Other than the beatdown of Jake Nakamura’s two friends, I’d captured nothing of interest.

  But then I had watched them kill the Boston snakehead. The camera in my jacket had recorded everything that happened in that garage. That meant when the time came to arrest his real target, Dad managed to net the head of the Red Diamond gang as well.

  My father didn’t share much with me about the case after hauling me out of Victor’s apartment in nothing but a bedsheet. But as often happened with criminal organizations, the Red Diamond members who were caught up in the sting were willing to snitch in exchange for lighter sentences. That intel led to successful raids across all of Red Diamond’s Asian territories and even a few in the States.

  The case was still ongoing by the time I left for Mount Holyoke, but the damage was everlasting.

  Victor and his family had been taken down. Because of me. He’d spared my life, and his gang had paid the price.

  In the end, I had to side with my father.

  Yes, I loved Victor. But there were things in this world that were more important than our young love. And my dad did share with me that the raids had broken up several trafficking rings—both the human and drug kind.

  Still, I would never forgive myself.

  And neither would Victor.

  22

  VICTOR

  4 Years Later

  “No, no! Don't do this!” the gang leader begged as soon as Han removed the duct tape from his mouth. “I’ll make a deal with you, okay? Any deal you want. Just don’t kill me! Please!”

  Victor exchanged an annoyed look with his chosen brother. He’d had a feeling this was how things would go as soon as Han and two of their men arrived at their Chinatown warehouse with the prisoner crazily thrashing about underneath a black hood. The head of the so-called Murder Crew wore a neon green tank top accessorized with several gold chains. And he was crying like a baby—not exactly the image of a fearless leader, whatever his many tattoos might proclaim.

  It became obvious right away to Victor that he didn’t have the professionalism or the stomach for the job.

  Not that his job satisfaction would matter much longer. It was just that Victor had been hoping for better behavior from the leader of the Vietnamese gang that had decided to encroach on territories long held by the 24K, a triad that had relocated to America shortly before the handover of Hong Kong back to the Chinese mainland.

  Victor's first kill had been over four years ago. Since then, he'd thought that at least one of the people whose lives he was about to end would meet their fate bravely. But here this man was, crying and begging and trying to strike last-minute deals just like all the others.

  All the others, except for Dawn, a small voice inside his head reminded him.

  Victor hated that small voice. It popped up at the most inconvenient times. Along with that memory of her raising her chin and demanding a weapon so that she could go out fighting, not on her knees.

  He had admired her so much that night. He’d been so struck by her bravery and honored that she would choose him, even after what she had witnessed him do. But that bravery of hers had been a lie, hadn’t it? A tactic meant to stall him until her father's arrival.

  “What do you want? Money? Girls? Guns?” The desperate gang leader interrupted Victor’s ill-advised trip down memory lane. “I got all of them. Whatever you want! Just let me go, okay?”

  Forget about Dawn. He’d been giving himself this same instruction for four years.

  He turned his full attention back to the matter at hand. Victor had been working harder than most men his age to make a name for himself and his fledgling triad in the global underworld. But not enough time had passed for his reputation to quite sink in beyond the other Chinese gangs.

  This man was woefully unaware that Victor never talked. Nor did he negotiate with men he’d already decided to kill.

  But w
ho needed words when actions spoke so much louder?

  He nodded toward the vintage surgical table, still covered with the blood of the last person who died on it.

  Cue more screaming as Victor’s men dragged the gang leader over and strapped him down. This table, Victor had been told by the collector who had sold it to him, had been used by a private surgeon who operated in a time before anesthesia became widely available. So there were several straps, including one that belted around the patient's head.

  Han gave their men instructions in Cantonese to tie that one as tightly as possible.

  While they did that, Victor walked over to the wall directly to the table's left. Several of his tools hung on it, including a machete, his father’s original ax from before he rose up the Red Diamond ranks, and even an actual scalpel, graded for surgery.

  This was the hard part. Trying to decide how he should end his victim’s life. Of course, the Red Diamond had dozens of ritual killing styles from which to draw.

  But that triad was no more. His father was dead. And that meant there was no longer anyone to mentor Victor on how to handle this particular kind of killing. Decisions, decisions….

  No need to bring out the machete, he decided. The gang leader was covered in bold tattoos but fairly scrawny underneath. So there would be no muscle to cut through. Victor hovered his hand over the scalpel, but no…that blade was too tiny, even for the weakling on the table.

  “Why are you doing this?” The gang leader demanded.

  If the man had been scared before, his upset took on a new level as he watched Victor consider all the life-ending weapons on the wall. He seemed to be…how did the Americans term it? Oh, yes, freaking out.

  “Just tell me why!” he yelled at Victor.

  Why indeed?

  Victor highly doubted the gang leader would've liked his answer. Who wanted to hear that their life was being sacrificed purely as a meeting gift? When one thought about it, the gang leader was rather lucky that Victor couldn't answer him out loud.

  In any case, Victor ignored the question and gave his full attention to deciding which weapon he should use to kill him.

  “We’re due to meet the 24K Dragon at five-thirty,” Han reminded him. “Not much time.”

  No, not much time at all.

  Victor would have to make a strong decision. His gaze fell on his father's ax, with its well-worn handle and gleaming blade. Guilt had kept him from using it before, but he had a feeling Raymond would approve of his original weapon’s part in this killing.

  He picked up the ax, and the gang leader predictably lost it. A new foul stench filled the air, letting them know he had shit himself in fear. Now that was a first. He hadn’t seen anyone lose control of their bodily functions since the Nakamura boy’s friend pissed himself in that locker room.

  “Did Kuang send you?" the gang leader asked, tears rolling down his face as Victor approached. "How much is he paying you? I’ll pay you double!”

  So he thought this was about money. Fool…he never should have dared to put down chips for a game he didn’t remotely understand.

  The 24K Dragon had something this little weasel of a gang leader could never have. Power. Influence. Territory that needed defending from upstarts like the Vietnamese.

  Territory that he might be willing to share. With the right partner.

  Victor already had plenty of money. When The Silent Triad stepped into the vacuum Red Diamond had left behind, accumulating wealth had been the easiest part. They had the connections of old-school triad members and the savvy of a modern mafia.

  So while other triads fell to the same type of sting operations that had ensnared his father and the Nakamura-gumi, The Silent Triad moved deftly, achieving their goals with ruthless precision.

  Often the authorities did not even know they were in the country. Not until a body surfaced with their signature calling card: the fingers of both hands removed, and the tongue cut out. Most often, by the time they found the body, it was too late. The Silent Triad had moved on to a new deal in another country. Often on another continent.

  However, now it was time to, how would one put it in the language of the English-speaking country they had decided to adopt for a much longer assignment? He supposed the term would be “settle down.”

  Yes, it was time to settle down.

  With that thought in mind, Victor raised the ax over his head and then ended all the gang leader’s protests with a single swing.

  23

  Other than all the crying and begging beforehand, it was a fairly straightforward killing.

  Kuang, the 24K Dragon, was pleased that night when Victor presented the gang leader’s tongueless head, literally on a silver platter.

  They were in the backroom of one of the 24K’s clubs in Chelsea. The front of the venue was modern and upscale. Beautiful young people would soon fill it up with their louder than necessary conversation and posing for selfies. And, as for their less rich and attractive counterparts? They would stand in line for hours for the privilege of paying too much for drinks, playing spot-the-celebrity, and dancing to music spun by one-name DJs.

  But the back of the club was the complete opposite. Only a select few were allowed in this space, and it was nothing less than an homage to old Hong Kong. Dark wood walls, red silk-covered furniture, and doors with stain-glassed windows graced the large space with some ancient Chinese opera playing overhead. A Cantonese proverb was written across one wall. There was even an altar to Emperor Guan. Victor would bet money its placement followed the rules of feng shui.

  "I met your father once," the Kuang told Victor over cigars and whiskey. “He would've been proud to see the man you've become."

  Perhaps.

  Victor remained undecided about that. He had taken his reformed triad even further than his father had envisioned in a mere four years. But Raymond had died in a jail cell. A victim of aggressive cancer that had gone undetected until he started coughing up blood.

  It meant that he'd never have to serve the time for the charges brought against him, unlike Jake's grandfather. But he’d only been in there as part of a guilty plea deal. His father had agreed to plead guilty in exchange for them dropping the charges against his son, who hadn’t managed to elude capture like Phantom and Han. Otherwise, Victor would be rotting in a Japanese jail cell himself.

  Victor was free. But forgiven? His father's old associates might think so. But Victor would never forgive himself.

  Fortunately, he didn't have to give the 24K dragon an answer. In the Chinese mafia underworld, The Silent Triad was more than a name. They were a reputation.

  So not expecting any reply from Victor, the 24K dragon moved on to the next subject.

  “About your proposal to share our New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut territories. I agree this might be a good idea. We have accumulated so many blessings that our many territories have become a bit unwieldy for us. It might be helpful to have a partner. Someone to move on our behalf when we get in…disagreements with the Irish and the Italians who believe the neighborhoods we wish to occupy belong to them. At least the ones who refuse to make deals with us.”

  Kuang chose his words carefully. Victor approved. It meant that unlike many of the old Hong Kong triads, the 24K might survive the changes that would keep on coming with the 21st-century.

  The old triads were steeped in rituals and xenophobia. But the new triads had to be smarter, more adaptable than that. For the new triads, business was business, and they were open to deals with anyone good at making money.

  “It is rare to find a triad dragon as future-minded as you,” Kuang observed as if echoing back Victor’s thoughts. “But it is also rare to meet such a young dragon. I would like you to be a bit older before we come to a formal agreement. I have a daughter the same age as you, maybe eight years younger.”

  Han and Phantom flanked Victor, standing on his chair's right and left sides. It wouldn’t have been polite to exchange looks with them. But he didn’t have to
see their expressions to know what they were thinking. Eight years was a lot younger than Victor, not the same age at all.

  “I can't even trust her to drive,” Kuang continued, apparently not seeing the discrepancy. “She wrapped my Rolls-Royce around a tree just a few months ago—with five of her friends inside.”

  Kuang slapped his knee and let out a barking laugh. “It was a costly nightmare. She's out of control, that one. I wish I could trust her.”

  He let a significant beat go by before adding, “Perhaps when she is married to a man with a firm hand, I can.”

  This might've sounded like the words of a typical rich Chinese father with typical rich Chinese daughter laments to an outsider. There were more Chinese millionaires than ever these days, and their children often landed on the front pages of tabloids for their outlandish escapades.

  But Victor was not so modern that he did not understand where Kuang was going with this.

  This time he did exchange a look with Han. Just the look. He found absolute silence suited him in negotiations, and he never signed. Fortunately, he never had to with Han nearby.

  “Perhaps these problems with your daughter might be something Victor could help you with,” Han suggested with a slight bow of his head. “After we have proven ourselves to you in the States, of course.”

  “Of course,” Kuang agreed, bowing his own head. Slightly.

  He raised his glass. “Now, we shall toast to our alliance. Gon bui!”

  Victor couldn't repeat the words as Han and Phantom did, but he raised his glass all the same.

  Later, as Victor, Han, and Phantom settled into the club’s VIP area to celebrate with the rest of their men, the colorful lights streaming overhead seemed to tell their story.

  Their future was looking very bright indeed.

  “Is that who the fuck I think it is?” Phantom asked, disrupting their celebration.