The Dragon (G.O.N.Y. - Double Dragon) (9 page)

He allowed his body to fall back until he was staring up at the yellow lights twinkling beneath the star-shaped, crystal chandelier on his ceiling. Someone had murdered Lily to hurt him. That person had gone after Jezebel and his unborn child to bring him to his knees. The child wasn’t even born and already, he was in danger.

Ramsey closed his eyes.

He’d protect him, protect them.

Resolved, he sat up. Jezebel was now tied to him for life. Whatever future she’d imagined without him would have to change. She couldn’t be more linked to him if he married her in a church and mailed DVDs to every enemy.

Ramsey frowned as he thought of Brandon Erickson. Had she even slept with him? Granted, Jezebel was the epitome of modern. She hadn’t any need for him but for sex, intimacy, and love. Still, he couldn’t see her sleeping with the man, no matter how attractive or charming, knowing she was pregnant with another man’s child. But anger and hurt made people act differently. Had it been a one-time occurrence? He gnashed his teeth together. Had she been hormonal, as she’d mentioned, and Erickson there?

He didn’t realize he was clenching his fists until his hands began to cramp up. Relaxing his muscles, he exhaled deep, before drawing air back into his lungs. After doing that over and over, he calmed enough to come to a decision.

Whatever she’d had with Erickson was over.

He doubted their marriage, considering she’d been using aliases when she’d been in Witness Protection, but whatever feelings she had for the bastard or he had for her, would have to stop. Jezebel would hate him for it at first, but he was doing it to protect his child and his child’s mother. That was what he told himself. Getting the FBI agent out of the picture was simply a bonus.

***

“What?”

Jezebel stared at him as if he’d grown another head because he might have well sprouted one. She must have misheard him. She looked around the guestroom, searching for anything amiss to indicate that she was dreaming, before returning her attention to the sharply dressed man before her.

He dropped two shopping bags at her feet. “Get dressed.”

When he moved to turn away, Jezebel grabbed his arm. He looked down at her hand clenching him through the suit before lifting a brow.

She shook her head once, twice. “I’m—Ramsey…I…no.”

“No, what?”

“No, I am not going to South Korea with you!” she yelled, pushing away from him. She should have called the FBI or the US Marshalls, but she had been found while under their protection. It didn’t take a genius to know that meant someone was giving away classified information. At least with Ramsey, she didn’t have to worry about that. What she needed to worry about was this madman attempting to whisk her out of the country and take her across the world!

“Yes you are, Jezebel,” he replied, as if she was a little child stomping her foot and he the patient father.

“Are you hearing what I’m saying?” Jezebel hissed. When he nodded, she continued, “I’m not leaving the country.”

“I have enemies,” he interrupted smoothly, his voice a somber monotone.

“Obviously,” she snorted. Oh, she knew
well
that Ramsey Stone had enemies…

“I have enemies who will stop at nothing to hurt me.”

She frowned.

“I have enemies who would have kidnapped you, taken you to a secure location, and videotaped as they raped you, cut the child from your belly, and slit your throat.”

Her breath hitched as Jezebel protectively clutched her belly. She’d suspected Kim had planned to hurt her, but as images of what he’d intended seeped into her mind and churned her stomach, she realized just how twisted Ramsey Stone’s “enemies” were.

“You’re not a gangster, right?” she mocked, remembering when he’d come to her office after the FBI first alerted her that Ramsey was not as straight laced as he appeared.

He didn’t respond. Jezebel was not satisfied.

She stepped closer and shoved at his chest. “You’re not a gangster, right, Ramsey?” She shoved him again, and this time, he took a step backward. His expression, however, remained cool, unfazed. “It’s all a misunderstanding, right? Your enemies have 9 to 5s when they aren’t planning to rape, torture and murder innocent people, right?” She shoved him again, this time using both hands to push him away from her. She wanted him out of her room. She wanted him out of her life, out of her child’s life.

His hands suddenly caught hers, keeping them against his chest.

“Get off of me!” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded raw, ragged. He tightened his hold. She shook her head. “You bastard!”

Jezebel slumped forward, bracing her weight against the hands that rested on his chest. She felt tired, drained, as if there was a boulder on her shoulders and she was unable to get it down.

Ramsey released her hands, but before she could process it, he pulled her against his body. With her face against his shirt, she could smell the citrusy maleness he exuded, and though she despised herself for it, it soothed her. She closed her eyes, blotted him out, and took the comfort. He could have been a stranger, she told herself. She just needed someone to hold her up right now. When familiar fingers slid into her hair, and began to massage her scalp, she sighed and let him.

Jezebel didn’t know how long he held her, how long she allowed him to comfort her, but she did remember when it ended. She was fully leaning on him, his fingers stroking her scalp, when his lips pressed to her ear.

“I’m many things, Jezebel,” he whispered. “But most of all, I’m a man who protects his family.” She’d pulled back to look into his face. What she saw sent a shiver down her spine. With cold eyes and determination etched into every crevice of his face, he continued, “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you and my child safe.
Nothing
.”

As she pulled out of his embrace and turned her back to him, Jezebel shook her head. “Get out.”

She didn’t hear any footsteps, so she glared over her shoulder to find him still there, watching her. As she spun to confront him, he held up a hand.

“Get dressed, Jezebel.” He looked at the two bags in the middle of the guest bedroom. “The plane leaves at two in the morning. We need to be at the airport by midnight.”

It was just after seven in the evening. 

“I don’t even have a passport…”

“I took care of everything,” he assured.

He’d turned and was walking to the door when she called after him. He turned to her with a lifted brow. “What about my sister?”

“It’s best if she stays—”

Jezebel laughed. Was he insane? “I’m not going anywhere without my sister.”

His lips tightened but he nodded once. “We’ll leave at eleven.”

He turned and began heading for the door but she halted him again. “And Brandon and the rest of the team?” She’d been in Ramsey’s apartment for three days, and each day she inquired about the team who’d protected her, particularly Brandon. She wanted to know because she cared and wasn’t sure she’d be able to live with knowing she’d been the reason for their deaths. They were only doing their jobs.

Ramsey stiffened, and when he turned to face her, his expression was even colder. “He’s in stable condition, like the rest of his team.” Jezebel sighed and closed her eyes. At least there was some good news. She’d have to tell Delilah.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He didn’t reply, and when she opened her eyes, it was just in time to see the door close behind him.

“I am my brother’s keeper; I am my sister’s keeper too.”

―Anonymous

She’d traded one prison for another.

As Jezebel descended the large spiral staircase, taking time to place one slipper covered foot before the other and holding on to the polished wood, she couldn’t help the thought. Granted, her new prison was extremely luxurious compared to the last, with thousands upon thousands of square feet for her to traverse, an army of servants, including a cook and maids, a pool, sauna, indoor gym, indoor and outdoor gardens, and so many other amenities she’d forgotten most of them. A prison, no matter how gilded, was still a prison.

They’d arrived in South Korea three days ago.

Jezebel had spent most of the fifteen-hour flight asleep, thanks to the cabin pressure, and genuine exhaustion. The comfortable first class bed-seats hadn’t hurt either. Ramsey had been in the seat behind her, Delilah next to her, and around them, occupying most, if not all, of the seats in the exclusive section of the jet, were more of his
people.
 Although she didn’t know most of them, Jezebel quickly recognized his brother, Bastian, Bastian’s wife, Sarah, and Vince. They hadn’t travelled with them to the airport, but the four had been on the plane when they boarded.

They were all staying in the protected fortress that was Ramsey’s home in Gwangju. She’d been in Seoul for all of an hour, if so much, when they first landed, before Ramsey escorted her to a small, private plane and they’d flown to the other city. At her inquiry, he’d explained that his ancestral home was in the countryside. She’d expected a decent sized, traditional house, maybe with a shingle rooftop or something to show it withstood the test of time. Instead, she’d been greeted by a sprawling gray stone mansion surrounded by the most ominous looking black gates at the front and sides and the sea at the back. From a purely analytical perspective, Jezebel could see why Ramsey chose this place. It wasn’t easy for anyone to breach the gates and anyone approaching from the sea would be seen or heard immediately.

Once she was on the ground floor, she navigated her way to the kitchen. She’d been brought her breakfast each morning she’d been here, but drew the line at lunch. Ramsey had already explained that she was confined to the house until further notice, which was nonnegotiable since she had psychopathic mafia killers after her, so she enjoyed moving around on her own, even if it was just for lunch or dinner. Usually, she had Delilah with her, but her sister was currently indulging in a bath in her Jacuzzi tub and Jezebel didn’t want to disturb her.

As she moved across the polished wooden foyer, she couldn’t help but notice, through the curtain-covered windows, the shadows of armed men who moved outside. On the plane ride to Gwangju, Ramsey had explained that his home was heavily patrolled. He hadn’t exaggerated, she quickly learned.

Trying to ignore them and what their presence meant, Jezebel continued to the kitchen. The sound of voices slowed her pace, but she eventually stepped through the archway and into the large kitchen. Instantly, the chatter stopped and two young women stared at her in shock. She recognized both as Ramsey had introduced all of the staff when they first arrived, but couldn’t remember their names. They instantly dropped the utensils in their hands, one was chopping peppers, the other straining some type of thick goo, and dipped their heads respectfully. Jezebel did the same. She was beginning to realize this was a cultural norm when greeting someone.

When they peeped out at her from beneath lowered lids, she smiled, hoping to put them at ease, and spoke slowly, “I wanted to cook something.”

Blank stares greeted her words, before brows furrowed and the taller one spoke, “Uh...hi!”

Jezebel chuckled. “Hi.”

The girl nodded and waited. Ramsey had explained that most of the staff didn’t speak English well, but knew basic words.

“Cook…” Jezebel looked around and seeing a pot sitting on the six burner stove, walked over and pointed to it. “I…” She pointed to herself, “cook.” She indicated the pot.

Two pairs of black brows shot up and they began to speak in hushed, but quick tones. From their frowns and the way they stared at her as if she were a strange creature to be examined and dissected, Jezebel could tell that whatever conclusion they’d come to was no good for her.

An amused voice cut through their conversation and Jezebel looked over her shoulder. Hannah stood in the archway, dressed in a dark blue pants suit with a black coat over one arm. Whatever the older woman said to the two maids, there was lots of head bobbing before they quickly rushed from the kitchen.

“Oh, they didn’t have to leave. I just wanted…” Jezebel trailed off and shook her head. She’d been bored, wanted to entertain herself by making only God knew what, and now she’d just gotten two innocent girls in trouble. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t their fault.”

With an easy smile, Hannah stepped forward, hanging her jacket on one of the bar chairs.

“You wanted to cook?” she probed easily. Jezebel nodded. She hadn’t seen Hannah, or any of Ramsey’s family, since they’d arrived. She knew there were separate wings, but sometimes she felt as if she and Delilah were the only ones in this palace. Even Ramsey, she hardly saw, not that she particularly wanted to see him.

“What do you feel like eating?”

Shrugging her shoulders, Jezebel leaned against the counter and laced her fingers over her belly. Hannah’s smile grew wider. “Bored?”

Jezebel nodded, feeling an answering smile tug her lips up. Hannah had been nothing but

pleasant from the moment she’d met her. There was also something about the woman that put Jezebel at ease.

“Tell you what,” Hannah began, lifting her coat into her arms once more. “I’ll meet you in the

indoor garden in ten minutes and we can have tea. I’ll make sure there’s green tea of course, and a few sweet treats.”

While that sounded great, Jezebel felt compelled to say, “You really don’t have to.”

“Jezebel, I
really
want to.” She smiled. “Plus, I’m sure you still have many unanswered questions.” Eyes so similar to Ramsey’s twinkled. “And after a cup of brandy-flavored tea, I’m usually very forthcoming.” At Jezebel’s snort, she chuckled. “Ten minutes and we can get to know each other better.”

***

“What is it?”

Ramsey stared at his cousin, who’d just stepped into his home office, and now leaned back against the wooden door. He eyed the thick manila envelope Vince held between two fingers curiously. Although they were close, arguably closer than brothers, his cousin never walked into his office unannounced unless it was important. And even then, Ramsey could count on one hand the amount of times Vince had ever done it.

A cold smile split the man’s lips. “Evidence.”

“Of?”

Vince walked to his desk and laid the envelope down. With his index finger, he pushed it to Ramsey. “Open it.”

Pushing aside the stack of business reports he was reviewing to keep his mind off of a certain pregnant female, he opened the envelope. Inside were a stack of black and white photos, each containing one commonality:
Chang
Chul-Moo.

Instantly, Ramsey tensed.

“When were these taken?” He stared at pictures of Chang meeting with the heads of various gangs. He’d started higher up, of course, with
Kwan Min-Ho, Sarah’s father, and leader of the Seven Star Mob, a gang that was quite active in various parts of South Korea. Ramsey flipped through those pictures and came to pictures of him meeting with the heads of less prominent gangs, the ones that pushed lower quantities of drugs and still in some way reported to others.

“All within the last week after Kim’s unfortunate disappearance. I pulled them from CCTV recordings after our guys spotted Chang meeting with the different bosses.”

Ramsey smirked.

“How many meetings did he have?”

“In total…five,” Vince answered. “He met with Kwan Jun-Ho first.” Kwan Jun-Ho was Sarah’s younger brother. “After, he met with Kwan Min-Ho, then two of the leaders of the Black Star Group, the Peonies—”

“The Peonies?”

Vince shrugged. “Desperation.”

Ramsey nodded. The Peonies weren’t even on police radar. They paid out to whomever so they could sell their drugs to the teenagers and college students in different territories. Still, they had no clout, no push, hardly any money, nothing.

“Any more?”

“The Triad.”

Ramsey lifted a brow. “Really?”

At Vince’s nod, he leaned back and nodded. “I wonder what Chang’s allies would think if they knew that.”

“Knew that he’s trading secrets to the Chinese monster of a mob?”

No Korean gang liked the Triad. The Chinese were too many, and wherever they settled, so did their gang. Although they weren’t as strong in South Korea as they were in China, they were still affiliated and under the umbrella of the very rich, very influential Chinese gang, which made this faction dangerous. They were also unwilling to assimilate and remained loyal only to their own.

“Should I set up meetings for you as well?” Vince asked.

He nodded. “Start with Kwan Min-Ho.” The Seven Star Mob and the Double Dragon were allies by marriage, but Ramsey was paranoid. He wanted the meeting to feel the old man out, to see what seeds Chang had planted, and to look him in the eye to gauge if he was lying. “The Triad?”

Ramsey lifted a brow. Vince shrugged. The Chinese had nothing to do with this, and if they were smart, would do what they usually did in instances like this, and keep to themselves.

Vince left soon after, leaving Ramsey to his thoughts. His coming to South Korea, and bringing along the entire family, no doubt scared Chang. Ramsey made it no secret that he’d taken Kim, but he hadn’t sent Chang any indication to mark his responsibility. In fact, Ramsey had been waiting for Chang to react without the confirmation, and react he had. Within a week, Chang had showed his hand. If he knew nothing of Kim’s involvement in Lily’s death, he wouldn’t be attempting to gather his allies or so desperate for them that he was seeking out The Triad. Reaching into his desk, he withdrew a small ring box and opened it.

As he stared at its content, Ramsey smiled.
Chang was playing directly into his hands and he didn’t even know it.

***

Jezebel couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed this much.

For a moment, she wondered if Hannah had poured some of her brandy into Jezebel’s tea, but quickly dismissed the thought. She was laughing because Hannah was telling funny stories and they were sitting in the warm, indoor garden with makeshift sunlight and sounds of nature. It reminded her of a spa, except there were no masseuses, just Hannah and her hilarious storytelling.

“You’re kidding,” she finally managed after bringing her laughter under control.

“No. I wish I were, but I’m not,” Hannah confided with a little snort, leaning back in the padded garden chair. “He was the perfect baby, slept through the nights, hardly ever cried, slept right between me and his dad and barely rolled, but he refused to sleep in his own bed until he was seven.”

She snorted, thinking of the ominous Ramsey now. “Seven? Isn’t that a bit…
old
?”

Hannah nodded instantly, the twinkle in her eye that of a person recalling fond memories. “At that time, he was a total mama’s boy and I indulged him, which meant I had to indulge Bastian too. So, I slept at one end of the bed, their father at the other end, and between us, our two boys.”

“How big was the bed?”

“We had a full bed at that time and my husband was as tall as and a bit heavier than Ramsey.”

Any attempt to hold in her laughter failed. She placed both hands on the wooden chair arms, tossed her head back, and chuckled at the picture Hannah had given her.

“For seven years?”

“A little over seven.” Hannah took a sip of her tea, and flashed Jezebel a smile.

“What made you decide seven was enough?”

“Well…” Hannah leaned across the table as if they were sharing some conspiratorial secret. “Ramsey Sr. had had enough.” She pursed her lips, lifted a brow and nodded, before chuckling.  

“I see.” And she did. The poor man must have been anxious to get the kids away from his wife.

“Yes, he said he refused to sneak around with his own wife in his own house and I was either going to put them into their own beds or he would.”

Hannah’s eyes glazed and she sat back in the chair and smiled softly.

“Did you?” Jezebel asked after long minutes passed and Hannah remained silent.

She blinked and focused on Jezebel. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

“It’s okay. I just wondered if you ended up putting them into their own beds.”

She beamed. “Oh yes, I did. I took their little hands when they walked into our bedroom in their pajamas and I walked them into their room and tucked them in.”

“What happened?”

“Ramsey screamed ‘
omma
’ all through the night in the most pitiful voice.”

Jezebel guffawed, before laughing again. She’d had no idea Ramsey had been this much of a mama’s boy.

“And Bastian?”

“Threw a tantrum and wore himself out in less than an hour.”