Beautiful Dragons: A Thriller

by Matthew James

  “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.

  From the inside of his jacket, Mako procured a metallic barrel-shaped object. The sound suppressor quickly screwed onto the end of his gun’s barrel. If he did find someone alive, he’d be able to act without anyone else hearing the weapon’s report echo across the wide-open lawn.

  Let’s find out who you are.

  Staying low, he continued forward, following the trail until it stopped at the row of singed shrubs encompassing the deck. Once he was upon them, he noticed a disturbance in the bottom half of the corner-most bush. A hole had been made by something—someone—shoving through them. The trace amounts of watered-down blood told him it was his survivor.

  And that’s what they were, a survivor. Whether or not the person died later was something he needed to find out. He leaned over the ruined topiary and found a drop of over ten feet. There was another set of bushes below, and they looked to have been crushed from above.

  Daring escape… Impressive.

  He was about to move off, but his phone buzzed. He just received a text. Grinding his teeth, he pulled out the device again and read the screen, finally seeing some good news. One of his contacts back in Tokyo had just spotted a car that matched the one that escaped from here. While finding Violet and the American was a top priority, so was silencing anyone who could expose them.

  First this, then the lovely purple dragon.

  He rushed around to the right side of the pool, finding a mostly intact set of concrete stairs. The ones just beyond the pool were made of stained wood and had collapsed during the attack and were now unusable. The set he was on followed the sloping grade of land in a straight shot. Towards the bottom, they stopped and gave him two directions to go.

  He could go left, under what was left of the deck, or he could go straight and continue into the manicured backyard.

  “Let’s see where you went,” he said to himself, removing his sunglasses. The yard had no working lights where he was and the added shade the tinted lenses gave off made it even harder to see. He tucked the glasses into the inside breast pocket of his jacket. Then, he removed a small waterproof flashlight from the inside-right jacket pocket and clicked it on.

  “I’ve got you,” he said, seeing no blood beneath the pool area. The only thing there was an assortment of destroyed water pumps and filters. There was plenty of blood on the lawn, though. At least, from what he could see. Whoever it was, they tried to flee the scene and hide deeper on the property.

  He wasn’t sure what information the person could have but any, and all, survivors needed to be neutralized. Mako couldn’t run the risk of being found out.

  I’ll find you, whoever you are. And when I do…

  Movement to the right of the lake caught his eye. The moonlight was as bright as he’d ever seen. Thankfully, the storm had moved further to the south. Too far away to get off a proper shot, Mako decided to get closer and took off running, shielding his flashlight’s beam as he did. He had yet to identify the person, only seeing a shadowy blur move towards what looked like a garden.

  He grinned. I got you now.

  But as he put on more speed, a bolt of lightning brought with it another band of wind and rain. Seconds later, Mako was caught in a torrential downpour. But so was his quarry. And they—she—was injured.

  One hundred yards later, he entered the garden, passing under a vein-covered archway. Inside the impressive plot was row upon row of crops, ranging in all shapes and sizes. With the solar panels and robust garden, the residents of this place would rarely need to leave.

  He stopped and listened.

  In between thunderclaps, he tried to catch something else. The ground was wet and—there—he heard it. The splashing of fast-moving feet over near the western side, the lakeside. He headed left and stopped at the hip-high fence that bordered the zone, seeing more movement a few hundred feet off. He raised his gun and fired at the person’s legs but missed, watching as they changed directions, diving back into the crops.

  Needing to be careful, Mako wasn’t sure if the person was armed or not. If he rushed into things, he might get himself killed. Gun up, aim steady, he moved off until he found where he last saw the person.

  The crops to his right held traces of blood where the survivor must’ve rubbed up against them. But just as quickly as Mako saw it, the blood vanished beneath the strengthening storm. He stopped once more and listened, only to get tackled from behind. Whoever it was, they had circled back around and attacked him instead of fleeing.

  A flash of lightning gave him a brief glimpse at his attacker as she swung at him with a hard right. It connected with his jaw, but Mako just laughed and stood tall. It would take more than a couple of solid punches to take him down.

  For a moment, the two combatants paused and sized the other up. The woman wasn’t who he expected to find. This one was much younger and Hispanic—American even. What she was doing on the grounds during the initial attack was beyond him. The Dragons seemed to have some outside help from the looks of it.

  Probably with the other American.

  “And whom, may I ask, are you?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” she replied.

  She launched another attack, but Mako was ready. He dropped his flashlight and caught the woman’s fist in his hand, squeezing it tight.

  I have you now.

  16

  The Shangri-La Hotel

  Still half-asleep, Violet moaned in frustration when someone touched her. It took her a few seconds to realize what Roman was doing. He softly kissed her naked back, making her moan in delight.

  Even though she’d only gotten a few hours’ sleep, Violet felt refreshed and relaxed. It also helped that Roman massaged every square inch of her body before finally laying down next to her. She didn’t remember anything after that.

  “Viii,” he whispered in between kisses. “Wakey-wakey… Time to get up.”

  “Why?” she asked, mumbling into her pillow.

  “Front desk just called.” He climbed on her back. “The tailor will be here in five with our clothes.”

  She moaned for a third time when he started kneading her shoulders and neck. Violet, the typically stoic killer, hadn’t let anyone treat her like this in over a decade. It was too good to be true, and with both of their complex pasts, and even more complicated presents, it probably was.

  Once the mission was over, so were they. That was pretty evident. That’s how the spy game worked.

  “Why a dragon?” he asked, tracing a finger over the tattoo’s long, curving body. She quivered from the sensation, breaking out in goosebumps.

  “In my culture, they are considered both a destructive force and a guardian for good. They are strong and fierce, yet generous and wise.” She sighed. “All of us get them when we’re accepted into the family. Another of our traditions.”

  She turned over and realized her blankets were gone. Roman had ripped them off the bed and thrown them on the nearby sofa in an attempt to rouse her. It didn’t work, so he went to Plan B.

  Physical stimulation.

  “Bastard,” she said, yawning. “I was having the nicest dream.”

  She shoved him off and looked for something to wear. Remembering that her clothes were trashed from the night before, she opted to cover her nude body with one of the hotel robes.

  “What were you dreamin’ about?”

  She had begun to really love his voice.

  She grinned. “Tahiti.”

  Roman smiled wide. “That is a nice dream.” He stood wearing an identical robe. “Maybe someday we can go there together. You know, get some much-needed rest and relaxation.”

  Sliding the robe on, she answered with a slight smile. “Do I smell coffee?”

  “Yes, m
a’am, you do,” he replied. “Just made some.”

  Violet moved into the kitchen area and for the moment was completely out of sight from Roman. She breathed in and out hard, chastising herself for getting so close to him. But she also knew that her days as a Dragon were over. The rules of the house no longer apply to her. If she wanted to be with Roman, she could go without any repercussions.

  Do I want to be with him?

  She heard a knock at the door and tensed for a moment but silently laughed at how jittery she’d become over the years. The tailor was just outside the door, and she was acting like it was a contract killer, gunning for them in one of the most luxurious hotels in all of Tokyo. The security here was top-notch too.

  “Relax,” she told herself as she poured a cup of steaming hot, black coffee. She saw an empty mug next to hers, and from the lack of sugar and creamer anywhere around her, it seemed that Roman drank it the same way she did.

  Violet smiled again. The simple things in life.

  “Mornin,’” Roman said from the other room. “Whatcha got for us?”

  That man’s demeanor is intoxicating, she thought, recalling when he sang for her. It was the most romantic moment of her entire life. He was so calm and jovial all the time. Violet also realized this was the most she had smiled in a long time. In between smiles, she nursed her drink, closing her eyes as its warmth made its way into her body.

  “Oh, my little lotus blossom, could you join us in here for a moment?”

  She rolled her eyes at the nickname and poured Roman another cup, refilling hers in the process. With two handfuls of the hot, black liquid, Violet carefully carried them out into the living room, keeping her eyes on the mugs the whole time, so she didn’t spill any. Black coffee would most definitely stain the expensive carpets.

  “Again with that name?” she laughed, handing him his cup.

  He took it but didn’t look at her. His face was like stone, and his eyebrows were pitched in anger. Without looking, she reached out to her surroundings and felt it. There was more than just she, Roman, and the tailor in the room. Slowly, she turned and saw the tailor standing at the front of a group of four other men, all armed.

  The old man’s face was one of sorrow. He was obviously just a pawn in this game and wanted nothing more than to get paid and leave. He stood with one hand on a rolling clothes rack, much like the one Roman had in his secret warehouse.

  Violet took in the men, standing silently around them. Two were on her side of the rack and two on Roman’s side. All of them had their weapons drawn but were pointing them at the ground in a non-threatening way.

  They want us alive?

  But not the tailor.

  The man closest to him leveled his gun at the older man’s back and pulled the trigger. The gunshot was silenced, but it nonetheless sparked commotion.

  Thinking as one, both she and Roman tossed their hot coffees at the nearest gunman. Together, they moved as the mugs found their marks. The two closest of the four killers screamed in agony when the near-boiling fluid kissed and then seared their skin.

  Violet’s coffee hit her man square in the face and neck, giving her enough time to get under his aim and push. Using the gunman’s thicker body as a shield, she shoved him backward, right into one of his friends.

  She assumed that Roman had done the same.

  Her instincts took over, and she lashed out with a sharp kick, aiming at the unburned man. Mid-kick, she unfurled her garrote wire, wrapped it around the screaming man’s throat, and yanked him to the floor in one violent move. But instead of letting him hit the ground, she brought her knee up as hard as she could. The combined attacks connected with one another, near the base of his skull.

  The audible snap of the broken vertebrae got her moving once again as number two tried to get his gun up.

  She released the wire’s beaded handle and slapped the retracting wire across his face, making him flinch and miss with a wild shot. Next, Violet struck his gun hand with another snap kick. She followed with a knee to the stomach and another one to his face as he kneeled over in pain.

  He stumbled back from the combination, reflexively covering his bloodied face with his empty hand. Not giving him time to recover, Violet took to him again, hitting his gun hand once more, this time with a firm palm strike. The weapon went flying into the air…and so did Violet.

  She used her more athletic figure and jumped onto his backward, falling body. It was the same move she had used when encountering the man on the staircase the day before. Leaning forward, she drove him into, and through, the glass coffee table. Then, she grabbed a large piece of broken glass and quickly slit his throat.

  Her next move was for his gun.

  17

  Roman had been in plenty of brawls in his life but very rarely were they ever with two armed men. And if he wasn’t so focused on not dying, he would’ve grinned like a proud papa at seeing Violet toss her drink at one of the gunmen too.

  Hitting his target in the eyes, Roman ducked two blind shots and shouldered into him. Instead of taking “Mr. Coffee” to the ground, he purposely kept him on his feet, turning him, and aiming for his buddy. He needed to disarm both guys quickly before he, or Violet, or both, took a bullet.

  The move worked.

  Sort of.

  He only clipped the second guy and failed to take either to the ground. Then, he was put in a downward facing headlock and choked. Thankfully, all four of the men were of a smaller build than he was and it meant that he had the physical advantage. They were barely bigger than Violet too.

  Growling a pissed off growl, he leaned back and lifted Mr. Coffee off the ground, aiming for the other guy with this one’s kicking feet. One of Mr. Coffee’s heels connected with his friend’s face and bloodied his nose, sending another wild shot through the room. Needing to get the monkey off his back, Roman quickly backpedaled with his attacker still in the air and kept moving until he drove him face first into the wall behind him.

  Mr. Coffee’s grip faltered enough for Roman to wiggle free and he dropped him like a sack of potatoes, immediately moving for the other guy. Stomping forward, Roman kicked as hard as he could and caught the even smaller adversary in the nuts with his naked size twelve. As most men did, this one took the shot to the boys, pitched forward, and grabbed himself. His unprotected face met Roman’s rage-fueled uppercut.

  Roman didn’t think it was possible, but the blow broke Ball’s nose, driving the bone back into his brain and killing him on his feet. A more efficient way to do it would’ve been with a palm strike to the face.

  He spun when he heard the first guy move and dove at him. Grabbing the woozy asshole, Roman gripped the back of his head and repeatedly slammed it into the drywall until his legs turned to jelly and he caved in on himself.

  Breathing heavy, his ears perked up at a third sound, and he rolled to one of the fallen pistols, picked it up, and aimed beneath the rack of unmolested clothes.

  His shoulders dropped at who was pointing a gun back at him. “Dammit, woman, you nearly made me shit myself!” He stood. “And I ain’t wearin’ any undies to catch it!”

  They met each other at the front of the rack and embraced, kissing one another hard. Then, like the professionals they were, they each glanced at the other’s victims and nodded in approval. But neither verbally congratulated the other on their victories. That wasn’t acceptable. Ever.

  Still, she did damn good.

  The squawk of a radio startled both of them, and they quickly searched each man, eventually finding a keycode-locked walkie-talkie in Mr. Coffee’s back pocket. The voice on the other end was furiously screaming in Japanese, asking for someone to answer. The transmission broke a few times, but in between the garbled static, they heard the deep, gravelly voice repeatedly telling the team here to stand down and not engage.

  He looked at Violet and only got a slight shoulder shrug in return. She didn’t know why they were told to fall back either. They got their answer in the next string o
f words.

  “Someone survived the blast.”

  “Shit…” Walking away, Roman rubbed the back of his neck hard. The caller didn’t say who the survivor was, Willy or Ms. Cho. Regardless of who it was, they intended to use the survivor as bait, that much was obvious.

  A voice shouted from out in the hall, and it got Roman moving. He ran for the front door and shut it, locking the deadbolt with an angry twist of his wrist. “This doesn’t make sense,” he hissed, keeping his voice down. “How are they findin’ us? They gotta have people inside the buildin’ on payroll or something’.” He looked back and saw Violet was checking the tailor’s vitals. After a couple of seconds, she closed her eyes and sighed. Nothing.

  Whoever was in the hall banged on the door and called for two different people, giving Roman and Violet a clue to who it was. The fifth member of the strike team, he thought. Probably a lookout. He confirmed as much when he looked through the peephole, seeing an Asian man with a shoulder-holstered gun peeking out of his poorly tailored jacket.

  He gritted his teeth and looked back at the dead tailor.

  Bastards.

  Still holding Mr. Coffee’s sound suppressed pistol, Roman snapped it up to the door and fired a single shot through its weakest point. All he heard was a cough and a crack as the bullet penetrated the small piece of glass and plastic. The result of the shot was much louder on the other side, however. “Number Five” was thrown back into the adjacent wall with a thud.

  Violet stood and de-robed, grabbing the first set of clothes she found. They’d need to move quickly. She tore at the clear plastic wrap that protected the high-end garbs from multiple blood splatters. “I don’t know how they’re finding us,” she replied, answering his previous question, “but Madame’s influence is the strongest within the city limits.” She looked at him as he likewise began to dress. “She has eyes and ears everywhere. The only way to truly vanish is to leave the city—which we can’t do, not if we’re going to stop her.”