The Dragon (G.O.N.Y. - Double Dragon) (5 page)

“Release me!” she hissed, trying unsuccessfully to tug her arm away from him. Ramsey ignored her.

Was he leading her to the door? Jezebel wondered. He was leading her through dark hallways and she couldn’t tell where they were heading. Coming to his apartment had been the move of a desperate woman, but she refused to be tossed out like one.

“I only came here for answers, Ramsey!” she snapped, trying to tug her arm away again. “I want to know what happened to Lily.” She broke off when his grip tightened painfully on her arm. Almost instantly, he eased it, but kept pulling her somewhere. Finally, he stopped, and released her. The darkness gave way to light and Jezebel blinked and looked around. They were in his office.

“How did you get up here?” His voice was cool, but his eyes told her she was not welcome.

“I took the elevator and walked,” she snapped. Forcing herself to focus on why she’d come here, Jezebel asked through clenched teeth, “Am I in danger? Is my family in danger?”

“Why would you be in danger, Jezebel?”

“Because of your mob affiliations!” She inhaled deep and tried to keep calm, but it was proving difficult. Her mind kept replaying the image of Ramsey on the couch with that woman, her robe half open as if they hadn’t quite finished what they’d started or maybe they had? Of all the things he’d done, avoiding her, giving her Vince’s number, being cold to her, seeing him with another woman stung the most.

“I don’t have any mob affiliations.”

“How did Lily die? Was she run over by a drunk driver or was it because her uncle’s a gangster?”

His jaw clenched, but he only repeated himself. “I’m not a gangster.”

“You’re lying.” It came out softly because Jezebel felt defeated. This was her last attempt to speak to him, and it wasn’t going well. Staring into familiar but unfamiliar eyes, Jezebel asked the question that had been on her mind since she learned of the Double Dragon and his place in it. “Who are you?”

It caught him off guard because the cold mask slipped for a few moments before falling into place once more. “You know exactly who I am, Jezebel.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t have any idea who you are! The man I knew doesn’t exist. He never existed.” Her nose burned and she looked down and blinked hard. When her emotions were under control, she lifted her eyes back to his and demanded, “Why did you pursue me?”

His broad shoulders rippled under his crumpled dress shirt. “I was bored. You were a pretty distraction.”

Jezebel nodded. “You were never going to introduce me to your family, were you?”

Ramsey shook his head. “No.” His gaze raked her from head to foot. She wore her sleeping clothes, a t-shirt and shorts, and sandals. “My family would never accept you.”

Neither would he. It went unsaid, but Jezebel heard and saw it clearly. Bottling her emotions, she tossed them aside and forged ahead, “Raquel Daniels told me that someone was hired to run over Lily. Was she lying?”

“It’s possible. She lied about many things.”

“She told me that the only reason Lily died is because someone wanted to hurt you. She told me I could be next because you made people think that you care about me.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

Yes, they both did. “But your enemies don’t and I’m not dying for you, Ramsey!” She shook her head. “You’re not worth it.”

“I’m not,” he agreed.

“She mentioned protective custody.”

“Did she?”

“Do I need protective custody, Ramsey?”

“That’s a question you’ll have to ask yourself—”

Jezebel slapped him. Hard. The angry red handprint on his face and his look of shock gave her such pleasure, she considered doing it again. “I’m not here about us, Ramsey.” Her cool tone made her feel even better. She felt like she’d regained some of the control she lost when she’d come to his apartment and he’d shown and told her she never mattered to him. “Whatever we had is over. I’m here about my safety and that of my family, so if you would just answer the question, I’ll leave and you won’t have to worry about seeing me again.”

His jaw clenched.

“Do I need protective custody?” she repeated.

He shrugged, but answered, “If the FBI thinks you need protective custody, they probably have a good reason for it.”

She nodded and turned on her heel. She wouldn’t thank him. He’d caused her nothing but heartache.

***

“Who was that?”

Ramsey’s head snapped up and away from the door through which Jezebel had walked, and he eyed his mother with suspicion. How long had she been there? Dressed in a pink summer robe and slippers, Hannah smiled, lifted the glass of water in her hand and approached him. “I was thirsty. I heard voices.”

“No one,” he finally answered. “Go back to sleep,
omma
.”

Omma
was the Korean word for “mother” and Ramsey had referred to her as such from before he could remember.

“How does ‘no one’ get into your apartment?” His mother had always been curious and stubborn. They were characteristics that endeared her to many, and alternatively, annoyed.

“Otis and Grant are being lax with their jobs,” he replied. Ramsey still didn’t know how Jezebel had managed to get into his apartment without one of them intercepting her, but he’d find out, and then one or both of them would be gone. He didn’t pay them to experience security breaches like that.

Hannah scoffed. “Don’t blame the shadows for your mistakes, Ramsey. It’s childish and you haven’t been a child for many years.”

“
Omma...”

“She’s quite beautiful,” Hannah continued, pushing strands of dark hair from her face. His mother had always looked younger than her age, and although she was sixty years old, she barely looked forty. “Bastian said she was.”

His mouth thinned. Of course, Bastian had told their mother of Jezebel. Who hadn’t his brother told? Ramsey wondered angrily. He’d have to visit him tomorrow.

“Don’t be upset with your brother, Ramsey.” She smiled easily and took a sip of her water. “He hasn’t mastered the art of lying to his mother yet. Not like you.”

Dipping his head respectfully, Ramsey said, “I’m tired,
omma
. I’m going to sleep.”

“Will I ever meet her?” Hannah interrupted.

“No.”

“Ah, my noble son.”

Ramsey might have smirked if that wouldn’t have encouraged her further. He was many things but noble wasn’t among them. “It was never serious,
omma
.”

“Yet she somehow has unrestricted access to your apartment,” Hannah replied easily.

Leaning down, Ramsey brushed his lips across her forehead. “Goodnight,
omma
.”

“Goodnight, my son.”

In his bedroom, Ramsey stripped out of his clothes, and entered the shower. Although it was impossible to wash the day away, braced against the shower tiles with the cool water washing away dirt and grime, he could pretend. Pretend that Lily wasn’t dead and buried, and Jezebel didn’t hate him.

“We live as we die, and die as we live.”

―Edward Counsel

Whoever said death came in threes was one person away from being right when it came to his family. Less than two weeks ago, Ramsey buried his niece. Today, he buried his uncle. And though the circumstances were drastically different, Lily had been an innocent, while Pat’s actions had led to his own demise. Ramsey found himself musing on that saying.

From behind dark sunglasses, he watched as they lowered the casket containing Dae-Ho “Patrick” Seong’s body into the Earth. Even Pat would be impressed by the sleek black wood, the pure gold engraved into it that managed to glitter even in the gloomy weather, and the plush ruby interior. His aunt had chosen well.

Standing next to him, Bastian shuddered. It was a slightly chilled day, a result of autumn’s near approach, and the recent downpour. The past week had seen record-breaking rain. Still, Ramsey knew that the slight ripple had little to do with the weather.

His brother shifted again and Ramsey turned to him.

“Who’s next?” Bastian muttered, shaking his head. Like Ramsey, he was dressed in all black, down to his handkerchief, cufflinks and black sunglasses.

Ramsey returned his attention to the gravediggers operating the device.  After the priest said a final prayer for his uncle’s eternal soul and operators began to lower the casket, there had been silence. But for the machine’s whirring noises, everything was still. Peaceful. But almost as if it was just a figment of his imagination, a trick of the mind, a cry cut through the silence. It started low, soft puffs of air exhaled on moans and whimpers, but gradually turned to pitiful weeping.  Before long, it was joined by others. Soon, sniffles and coughs added to the sounds around him.

“This is fucking bullshit!” Bastian hissed. He was moving off when Ramsey gripped his arm, halting him. Standing so close, almost shoulder-to-shoulder, only someone observing them from behind would be able to tell there was any tension between the brothers. “Get off of me!”

“It’s your uncle’s funeral, Bastian,” Ramsey murmured slowly, leaning closer to his brother to ensure he heard. “Show some respect.”

Bastian growled at him. “Respect would be finding the fucker who’s targeting us and—
fuck
!” His words were cut off on a pained groan as Ramsey dug his thumb into his arm.

“We’ll talk about it later.”

His brother jerked away, causing a few of the attendees around them, mostly male family members, to turn in Bastian’s direction. Ramsey turned to face him as well.

After Lily’s death, Bastian had changed. Ramsey expected it. He’d expected sadness, depression, anger; he’d expected his brother to bury himself in the bottle, in female flesh, he’d expected many things, but Ramsey hadn’t expected sobriety. From the moment Bastian had showed up at Lily’s bedside to now, Ramsey doubted his brother had had one drink. While that was commendable, sober Bastian was unpredictable. Alcoholic, uncaring Bastian could be handled with a bit of pressure and brute force, but he could be handled. This man, Ramsey didn’t know. He was brash, quick to anger, and didn’t cower or balk at authority. This man was dangerous.

For the span of seconds, Bastian didn’t speak. He just stood there, his body tense as he stared at Ramsey from behind those tinted glasses. Around him, Ramsey felt the crowd shift.

“Ashes to ashes…” the priest was saying. He turned back to the casket to see his aunt and cousins huddled together before the deep rectangular hole. “Dust to dust…” The sound of dirt hitting the casket touched his ear.

As they moved away, Hannah and Titus approached. His mother held a single red rose, his uncle a handful of dirt. Ramsey trailed them, reaching into the container with loose dirt just inches from Pat’s burial site and capturing some in his fist. He approached and tossed the contents onto the casket.

Heading toward his aunt and cousins to deliver his final condolences, Ramsey grit his teeth when someone, Bastian, caught his arm, halting him. In a low, forceful voice, his brother spoke, “You may be the head of this family—”

“
I said
,” Ramsey began again, this time turning to give him a slight frown. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“My daughter’s dead and now Uncle Pat—”

“Look around, Bastian.” He continued walking, forcing his brother to release him and fall into step. “Do you see those black vans?” He indicated the two black vans with tinted windows that had been parked on the street closest to his uncle’s burial plot. They were both of the same make, but had different logos. One presented as a flower delivery service; the other as gravesite cleaning. From the moment they’d arrived at the private cemetery, just over half an hour ago, Ramsey had seen no one go into or come out of the van, which was peculiar if someone was dropping off flowers or cleaning a gravesite. Vince noticed it too, and like Ramsey, knew what was happening.

“Yes.”

“Say hello to the FBI.” He slowed and halted, looking between the two vans. “I’m sure they can hear you.” They now had devices that, when attached to an undercover agent in close enough vicinity, recorded entire conversations. Many men had seen their downfall based on this particular tactic. Ramsey wasn’t going to be one of them.

“What?” Bastian froze before swearing under his breath. “Bastards…even at a fucking funeral!”

Ramsey agreed, but didn’t voice it. Instead, he continued over to his aunt and his cousins. He hadn’t fired the bullet that killed Pat. Pat had either done that himself or one of his associates had gotten to him before Ramsey. The reports were inconclusive on whether it was a suicide or murder since Pat’s body had been recovered from the Hudson. His cause of death: drowning. Still, Ramsey was genuinely sorry for their loss. Barring greed and where it led him, Pat had been a decent man, the most decent of his uncles anyway.

Ten minutes later, Ramsey drove from the cemetery. Hannah sat in the front seat, staring ahead. As was expected, Pat’s death had saddened his mother even more. She’d lost a granddaughter and a brother all in the span of weeks. From what Ramsey had observed, Hannah and Pat were the closest of the siblings. She’d barely spoken to the rest, and even Titus, who was closer to her age, had often gotten her cold shoulder. Ramsey had contemplated Hannah when deciding whether he should go through with the hit on Pat, but in the end, he knew there was no other way. He could forgive Pat’s disobeying his orders to remain in legal enterprises. There were other, more debilitating ways to punish greed; he could have taken his wealth, cut off his air supply without touching him physically, but Pat had gone to the feds. There was no coming back from that.

“Ramsey?”

He briefly turned to his mother before refocusing his attention on the road. “
Omma
?”

“Did he suffer?”

It was a strange question to ask someone who wasn’t involved in the murder. Ramsey answered anyway, “I don’t think so,
omma
. The toxicology report said there was no struggle.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her black, meshed, hat bob a few times. “I know what the toxicology reports said, Ramsey, but you still haven’t answered my question.” She drew a breath. “Did he suffer?”

“I wouldn’t know—”

“I’m not stupid, Ramsey. I’ve never been stupid nor have I pretended to be. My brother was many things, but suicidal wasn’t one of them.” She never raised her voice. “So, did he suffer or not?”

Shaking his head, Ramsey answered, “I’ve never thought you were stupid,
omma
. As to whether Pat suffered, I don’t know.”

“Who does?”

Ramsey contemplated lying, denying any and all knowledge of Pat’s end, but his mother had always been involved in the family business. Traditionally, women were protected from these things, thought to be too delicate to stomach the details, but Hannah always knew. It had baffled him when he was younger, until his grandfather patted his head and explained that Hannah always kept ahead of them. “Possibly the Italians.”

“Ah,” she muttered. “Drugs?”

“Women.”

“Whores.” Hannah laughed dryly. “
Appa
always said greed would be his downfall. He was never content…always wanted more…”

As she brought up his grandfather in a discussion about his uncle, Ramsey remembered his promise. Between his handling the leads that were slowly but surely revealing those involved in his niece’s death, fending off the FBI, and dealing with Pat’s demise, he’d barely seen his mother and hadn’t gotten around to telling her.

“A few days before Pat’s accident, I visited him.”

“About?”

Ramsey ignored the question. His mother didn’t need to know
those
details. “He told me to tell you that you were right.”

“I was right?”

He navigated his way to the back of his building and into the underground parking lot. “That the old man had something to do with it. He said you’d understand.”

It took a few minutes to reach his parking space, and in that time, Hannah remained silent. In fact, if not for her easy breaths, Ramsey would think he was alone. Putting the truck into park, he turned to her, but she was staring ahead, her face an impassive mask.

“
Omma
?”

She started and blinked before turning to face him. Almost instantly, her face relaxed and she offered him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Life’s ironic, isn’t it?”

Ramsey lifted a brow.

She laughed low, clutching her purse tight against her leg.

“Are you okay?” His mother had had a few health scares, but she’d had successful treatments for all of them.

“As well as I could be considering I just buried my brother.” With that, she gave him a smile, opened the door and climbed down. He did the same, walking her the short distance to the elevator. “Are you coming up?”

Ramsey shook his head. Hannah frowned. “Have you eaten?”

“I’ll pick something up on my way to the spa.”

She shook her head in disapproval, but eventually sighed. “All work and no play, Ramsey.”

Once he saw her onto the elevator, Ramsey made his way back to his truck. He acknowledged Otis, who walked past him to the elevator. He would stay with Hannah while Grant followed Ramsey. After Jezebel breached his apartment, Ramsey acknowledged his own fault and revamped the system. The only reason Jezebel had gotten into his living room was because he’d never anticipated her showing up to his apartment, and hadn’t mentioned to building security that she was not welcome. The shadows had been on patrol—Otis in the garage and Grant assessing the staircases leading to his suite—when Jezebel slipped into his apartment. Now, Grant and Otis had company. He’d brought in two more shadows whose sole jobs were to guard his apartment. They patrolled.

Back in his truck, he called Vince. Two rings later, his cousin answered, sounded as if he had something in his mouth.

“Did they bring him in?” In a week and some days, Ramsey had made considerable progress in learning who was trying to cripple him. They’d gone through numerous people before they’d landed a name that gave Ramsey some pleasure: Lee Woon-Ha. The Lees were part of a Korean American street gang that had broken off from, but still had ties to, the
Hwan Song Sung Pa
or the H.S.S. Mob. It was currently led by
Chang
Chul-Moo. Considering Chang had given him such a hard time in Seoul, Ramsey had already made the connection. He just needed it confirmed.

“Yea, he’s here. Should I start without you?”

Staring at his hands, Ramsey nodded. “Start, but don’t finish.”  Vince was good at what he did, but at times, he got carried away.

He heard the wrinkling of foil. “Yea.”

Ramsey paused for the span of three breaths. “Anything else?”

Vince’s answer was immediate. “No.”

“Where is she?”

“Sarah left with Bastian about five minutes after you. I think they went home.”

He scowled. His cousin had never been slow, but Ramsey was noticing a pattern of late, a pattern he’d have to check if it continued. “Where’s Jezebel?”

There was more rustling and when Vince spoke again, it was clear he was eating something. “Wit-Sec.”

“I know that,” he bit out. Days after their “visit” and under the cover of dark, Jezebel had been picked up by a black van and driven to the federal courthouse. Since federal witness protection was run by US Marshalls, they’d taken it from there. “Where?”

“State?” Ramsey didn’t respond. “Still working on it.”

“You were supposed to have it by today.”

“The chips are scrambling.” The chips he referred to were the tracking devices attached directly to Jezebel’s brand new travelling suitcases by an agent in Ramsey’s pocket. “They probably have some type of firewall in place. I’ll have to overwrite it first.”

“How long?”

“Few hours if it’s weak, days if it’s the good stuff. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

“You do that.”

He hung up.

***