Gina Takes Bangkok (The Femme Vendettas) (9 page)

He seethed as he watched her go. It was she who had forced him into betraying Alak. She who had botched the simple capture of a teenager. She who’d failed to wring a single word from their prisoner. Yet, even as his anger rose, it dissipated like smoke.

She was his little sister. The last blood he had in the world. The one who’d always encouraged him, admired him and, in her own mad way, loved him. He should have put an end to her sick obsessions when he’d had the chance. Instead he’d only deepened her depravity. It was his fault that she was the way she was. He’d created a monster, one he’d sworn to his mother on her deathbed, he wasn’t going to let anything happen to.

Because, God help him, he loved her, too.

Gina snuggled under the covers of her bed aboard
The Pink Pussycat
, an icepack against her head.

They’d returned to the boat at dawn, and immediately Darae had set about fussing over the gaggle of children, arranging beds and breakfasts for all. The majority of them were from Cambodia, smuggled across the border with the promise of jobs and a better life in Bangkok. Between the lot of them, they hardly spoke ten words of Thai. That didn’t matter to Darae.

Being an ex-prostitute, brothel madam and wife of a gangster hadn’t stopped Gina’s stepmother from having a soft spot for kids. Unable to have children of her own, she doted on everyone else’s, and had spent millions funding orphanages, medical clinics, schools and scholarships. Sure it was good PR for the Zaffini’s little empire of vice, but Gina knew that whenever Darae gave, the gift was sincere.

With Darae occupied and her dad still asleep, Gina had slipped away, ready to spend the whole day unconscious. Four hours later, there’d been calls for lunch and washing of hands, followed by an excited thundering of little feet past her door to the upper deck. She planned to join them—until she stood. Then, she opted to pop another painkiller instead. God, one hit from Kannon and she felt dead. How did people like Jarun survive him?

There was a knock on her cabin door. “Come in.”

It was Ryota.

“Hey there,” she said, and stuffed another pillow under her head to raise herself up.

He bowed, and then again, as if for good measure. “Ms. Zaffini, may I speak to you about Mr. Takahama?”

This couldn’t be good. “Sure. Shoot.” They both winced at her word choice.

“Your father is very angry with him.”

She struggled to sit up and failed. “Ow, ow, ow. How did he find out? I asked Darae to call me when Daddy got up, so I could explain things.”

“Mr. Takahama told him.”

Gina closed her eyes. Of course, Kannon would do the right and honorable and most incredibly stupid thing.

“I was hoping you might speak in his defense,” he requested. “Things have reached a critical juncture.”

She didn’t want to ask what that meant when it came to her father and Kannon. “Okay, okay,” Gina tossed aside her ice pack and her duvet. Ryota snapped shut his eyes and turned his back. “Oh, for pity’s sake, I do have underwear on.”

“Yes, I understand. But my culture is different.”

Gina began rummaging through her suitcase. “Give me a break. Your culture has vending machines for dirty panties.”

“I have never used them.”

“I believe it. What does Tasanee think of your prudishness?”

His back stiffened. “That is not the way it is between us.”

Gina located a wraparound dress and wrapped it around. “I can tell.” She walked past him to the door. “Tasanee is from a different culture, too. You need to recognize that before you two reach your own critical juncture.”

Gina arrived on deck in time to see Kannon about to descend into the yacht’s powerboat, her father, leaning heavily on his cane, overseeing the departure.

“Hey, where are you going?” Gina called out.

“I’m sending him away,” Vincenzo said.

Gina caught up to them. “What? Why?”

Vincenzo looked pointedly at her head. “If that’s not obvious to you then he must have hit you harder than I thought.”

“He’s the best gun in Thailand!”

“If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be leaving this boat alive.”

“No, this is ridiculous. You have to let him stay. I need him. I mean I need him to find Alak,” she clarified. “Kannon’s our best bet to sort out this business with Wakai.”

Kannon cleared his throat. “Locating my boss is my business, not—”

“Damn right it’s your business,” Gina snapped. “And without us, it’s going to take you a whole hell of a lot longer to do that, isn’t it? In the meantime Wakai isn’t going to stop hunting for Tasanee, and who knows what Alak’s going through right now. You and Ryota can’t afford to go it alone, and neither can we, so let’s quit this pissing contest and get back to work.”

Two of Bangkok’s more powerful men glared at her. It was her father who spoke first. “So what are you proposing, bambina?”

She wasn’t sure what she was doing but she did it anyway. “I’m his boss.”

“I’ve already got a boss,” Kannon said.

“All you have right now is a man you need to find. And what we’ve got is a chain-of-command problem. The only way for this to work is if I give the orders.”

She turned to her father. “You know Kannon’s a man of his word. If he swears he’ll do what I tell him from here on in then you know he will.”

Vincenzo thumped his cane on the deck. “I know no such thing. He was supposed to protect you last night and instead he knocks you out. Couldn’t wait to tell me.”

“He told you himself because that was the alpha thing to do,” she replied. “And stupid, I agree.”

“If he was a real man he’d never hit a woman. That’s the first rule of The Pink Stilettos. Every one knows I won’t tolerate mistreatment.” Each of the last words was thumped out against the deck with his cane. Her father was pale and sweat was beading on his bare head. This was costing him. She needed to bring it to a swift end.

“Look, Dad. You and I both know that the 70 Rai club had to be shut down, and we both know that the only way that could happen was if the reason for its existence was shut down. Those clients, the people who ran that place, they were sick fucks. I tried to stop Kannon and if he’d listened to me, there’d be kids in a lot more pain than me with my little bump to the head.”

Vincenzo looked away, shrugged. It was his way of conceding the point.

She angled herself to Kannon so her father couldn’t see her bulge out her eyes and aim them at her father. “Do we have a deal?”

His neutral look in place, Kannon gave a barely perceptible nod. “Yes, we do. I swear I’ll obey Ms. Zaffini until Mr. Montri is free.”

Vincenzo Zaffini slammed his cane down even harder. “You so much as look at my daughter the wrong way, I’ll make you wish we’d parted company. You understand me?”

Kannon bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

“Take them damn glasses off and say it.”

Kannon did as asked. Vincenzo breathed out. “I need a drink.” He bulged his eyes out at his daughter. “And a cigarette.”

Kannon gave Ryota a meaningful look, and moving to her father’s side, Ryota began to escort Vincenzo away.

“Also, a girl,” he said to Ryota.

Oh, hell. Her father had found someone new to terrorize.

“Yes, sir.” Ryota said. “I—right away.”

As the two walked off, Gina stepped up to Kannon. “Order number one is you don’t hit me. Spanking I like, hitting I don’t.”

Something flashed in his dark eyes before he covered them with his sunglasses.

“Yes, Ms. Zaffini.”

“Order number two is for you to call me Gina. Or Gina honey. Or Gina babycakes. Or Gina sugar. Or Gina, you little sex kitten. Or Gina—”

“Yes, Gina.”

“And order number three is to go get breakfast while I shower and slip into something that doesn’t make me hot and sweaty. Well, any more hot and sweaty than I get around you.”

As usual, he ignored her.

“Then we’re off to see an old friend of mine.”

His mouth twisted. “We don’t have time for social calls.”

“We have time for this one,” she sing-songed.

He took the bait. “And who would this friend be?”

“Nobody special. Just one of the world’s most wanted cyberterrorists.”

Victoria snuggled against Alak Montri in the back seat of the limo, setting her chin on his shoulder. She fussed with the cloth bag over his head to ensure a comfortable fit. “You know, when we killed your lieutenants, I thought we ought to kill you, too. I mean, why stop when there’s only one enemy left? Doesn’t seem to make sense, does it?”

There was silence from the bag and a subtle lowering of his shoulder away from her cheek. Tsk. She cupped his crotch and he froze.

She rolled his soft balls in her hand. “It was my brother that saved you. You know, the man you think betrayed you? He spared you and all he wants in return is for you to be useful, Alak. Don’t you want to show some gratitude for his mercy? I mean, you do owe him your life.”

She stroked the front of his pants, waking his cock to quivering life. With the handcuffs behind his back, he was helpless to stop her and could only press himself against the seat. The silly, silly fuck. He didn’t understand revulsion had nothing to do with sex. In fact, in her experience, the two were quite compatible. “I know I haven’t been very kind to you, Alak,” she murmured. “Believe me it could have been worse. John didn’t want me hurting you. Too much. Nothing that would kill you or do permanent harm. Given the circumstances he was very kind to you. Surely you get that?”

Alak Montri leaned his head back. There, there, relax. And then he head-butted her.

“Duck fucker!” she squealed, elbowing him hard in the stomach. Alak doubled over, and her fingers were dug into his windpipe before she pulled herself together. She shoved him back against the seat. “You’re lucky John wants you alive.”

She reached into her purse for her compact mirror. Nothing broken, but there’d certainly be a nasty bruise. She dabbed at the blood from her nose with a thick handkerchief she purposely carried for little mop-ups.

Alak Montri hadn’t moved, the cloth around his mouth suctioning in and out. She gripped his crotch hard this time and his body jerked. “You better pray that you can be of some use to my brother, because if not, I’m going to tie ten fishhooks on a line, jam them down your throat, and then pull them up out of your stomach one by one.”

The man turned his face towards her again. “You may wear the skin of a woman,” he wheezed, “but you’re a demon inside.”

Victoria tilted her head, and unzipped his pants. “You’re more right than you know.”

John Wakai watched Victoria yank the hood off his former boss and dump him onto the living room floor. Montri’s face was pulpy from bruises and cuts. Several of his fingers looked broken. Dammit. It was always so hard for Victoria to stop once she got going.

Then he noticed his sister’s face. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I was playing nice and he head-butted me. Fucker’ll pay, don’t worry.”

Wakai rubbed his temple. “Did you at least give him some water?”

“I tried. He wouldn’t drink.”

Wakai sighed and wheeled over to him. “Can you hear me, Alak?” He reeked of sweat and vomit and blood, the stench of resistance.