Reaper hops out next, then holds out his hand to help me out. I take it, wincing still at the effort of moving. The moment my feet hit the pavement, guards emerge from the front door of the Triad den and surround us. In their midst is Charlie Eng and Madam Lin’s grandson, Danny, the doctor, who is holding a leather doctor’s satchel at his side. Eng and the doctor both stride toward us.
“I heard what happened. Thank you for keeping my mother safe. Whatever weapons and assistance you need, you shall have it,” he says solemnly.
“Oh, Charlie, I had such a wonderful night,” Mrs. Eng says, pulling her son into a hug. “It is such a shame you could not be there. But your friends kept me very good company. They kept me safe, and they sang with me, too. Next time: no excuses, you are taking me out and you are singing, too. No more excuses. You will honor your mother with your singing voice.”
Tank clears his throat and has an intense, businesslike look on his face, but I cut him off, because I am not in any mood formale posturing in this moment. I point kindly, forcefully, and with clear intent to maim if I don’t get my way, at Danny. Then I point to my bleeding midsection. “I was stabbed in a dirty bathroom. Let’s fix this. Now.”
He blinks, then, once Charlie Eng nods, he nods, too. “Let’s go. I’ll take you to your room upstairs. We will work on you there, and I will have you fixed up in no time.”
We determinedly weave through the crowd, and Danny does his best to keep his eyes low and averted from the deviant debauchery that’s taking place in the shadows. I almost feel sorry for him, trapped by his family obligations.
He pauses and throws a quick glance over his shoulder, as if he can read my mind. “This work pays very well. I do not enjoy it. But I enjoy the things I can provide for my family because of it.”
“That’s great. And I’d love to hear more about your complicated moral code. But after we disinfect and stitch up this gaping wound in my stomach, OK?”
“I would hardly call it gaping.”
“Say that one more time and I’ll show you gaping.”
He blinks, and for a second I think I’m going to learn a valuable lesson about not pissing off the doctor before he’s fixed you up, then he nods. “Very well.”
Up in the lushly appointed room that the Triads have set aside for us, Danny directs me to sit on the bed and remove my shirt. I do so in one quick motion — wincing as I do — and take a long moment to look down at the wicked red mark running across my stomach. It looks angry.
Danny eyes it for a moment, then places his hands around the wound, barely touching the edges. “I will give you some antibiotics to stave off any infection. I will stitch you up and bandage the wound. And I suggest you avoid fighting with knives for a while.”
“That all sounds logical, except it means I’ll have to figure something else out to do for my Friday nights.”
“Today isn’t Friday.”
I sigh, then keep my mouth shut. Danny sets to work, doing exactly as he said he would, and I stay silent until the needle enters my skin and the thread pulls tight to close the gap in my flesh. I hiss like a teakettle at full boil.
Danny then stands up, gathers his supplies into his satchel, and nods with satisfaction. “Get some rest. Do not get stabbed again.”
As I stretch out onto the bed, the sheer exhaustion of this night from hell overtakes me, and my eyes slam shut on their own. With a deep sigh, I drift off, and hope that the nightmare of the last few days, and all my doubts about Reaper and my sister’s death, don’t follow me.
Chapter Forty-Two
Reaper
It takes almost no time at all for Tank and I to hammer out the details of the help we’ll get from Charlie Eng and his Triads — all the guns we want, any covert help we need — which isn’t a surprise considering he believes the Russians tried to kill his mother and are at war with his organization. Once we’ve shaken hands with Charlie, we head into the Triad den, where I grab a bottle of whiskey from the bar and nod to Tank.
“We need to talk,” I say.
He grunts. “About damn time. Been wondering when you were going to ask that.”
“Never figured you to be the type to be eager for conversation,” I say, trying to feign something close to a joke to ease the tension in my chest. Doubts and truths and lies are stirring between Adriana and me, and they have a hard grip on my heart. Just as I’m on the verge of freeing myself and her from being Volkov’s targets and starting a life together — fresh, free, healed — I stand on the verge of losing her. It’s a feeling of loss I know all too well, and one I’m not sure I could survive again. Not sure I’d want to.
But my joke doesn’t land — not on Tank, and not on me, either; I can’t even crack a fucking smile at my own stupid line.
Tank grunts. “I ain’t. But I ain’t a fan of liars, especially when those lies threaten my life and the lives of my brothers. You’vegot a lot of truth-telling to do before we fucking ride into the teeth of it against this Volkov son of a bitch.”
We ascend the staircase to the upper floors where our quarters are, and Tank gestures for me to follow him to his room. Inside, we both take a seat on a couple of chairs. I take a pull from the bottle and then pass it to him.
“It’s not lying, exactly,” I say.
He snorts, takes a drink, and then snorts again. “When you have to start off with fucking qualifiers like that, it doesn’t make the bullshit stink any less.”
“She came here wanting to kill me, Tank. And I wanted her to.”
