Tempted Tigress (45 page)

It took an act of will. In the end, killing the man—even an evil man—was still damn hard. But she remembered all the lies he had told her, the families his opium had destroyed, and the girls he had bought and sold. Most of all, she knew that he wouldn't stop unless someone ended his reign. Someone like her. Right now.

While Samuel was bent over, she slammed the hypodermic down, straight into his neck. He reared up in shock, but not before she squeezed down, shooting a massive dose of pure opium into his body.

It was enough to kill him three times over. It certainly would be if it had been shot into his veins. But she hadn't hit his vein. While he would die, it would not be as fast.

The room erupted into chaos. Samuel roared, his massive hand going to his neck to pull out the needle. His movements were supposed to be slowing, his fingers fumbling from the drug. They weren't. His arms were very strong as he knocked her backward against the wall with one hand and dragged out the needle with the other.

"Kill them!" he bellowed.

The guards hadn't needed the order. They were already readying their weapons. But Zhi-Gang didn't give them the chance. As soon as she struck Samuel with the needle, he had dived for the bag of opium and whipped it at the face of the guard who held the pistol. The bag exploded, powder erupting into the air around him, fouling his grip and his vision.

But that didn't stop the other man, the one with Zhi-Gang's knives. He attacked with the speed of a monkey. He barreled forward without subtlety, going for Zhi-Gang, raising the blades with a roar of fury. Zhi-Gang took a step backward, reaching for Anna as Samuel straightened, his eyes blazing with fury.

"I'll handle Samuel!" she cried. Her voice rang out loud and strong, despite the fact that she felt slightly dazed from striking her head on the wall, and she couldn't understand why Samuel hadn't fallen to the ground dead.

Zhi-Gang meant to argue. She could tell by his expression, but the guard with the blades was swinging wildly across the wood expanse of the desk, and so he backed up with her nearly to the wall. The only one truly in danger from the blades was Samuel, who was heading for Anna, barely keeping himself out of range of the blades.

Samuel was breathing hard and his movements were erratic. "You whore!" he spat. "Bitch whore!"

He raised his massive fists, probably to strike her. But Anna had learned a few fighting tricks—some of them from Samuel himself. She ducked and slammed her shoulder into his chest. He gasped, and she felt the heavy impacts of his fists on her back. The first was a glancing blow that numbed her shoulder. The other landed like a hammer on her lower back. She cried out and dropped to her knees.

She barely had the strength to draw breath, much less tense for the coming rain of blows. But it didn't matter, she told herself; all she was doing was buying time for the opium to take effect.

The shower of blows never arrived. Out of the corner of her eye, Anna saw Zhi-Gang step over her and slam his fists into Samuel. She heard her adopted father grunt in surprise and watched as his feet stumbled over his satchel that lay open and abandoned on the floor. She looked up in time to see Zhi-Gang throw her adopted father backward over the desk and into the man swinging the deer-horn knives.

With a gasp of surprise, the guard tried to recover. Samuel, too, stretched forward to grab at Zhi-Gang. Neither succeeded. A blade sliced across Samuel's shoulder and bit into his neck. Blood spurted everywhere and both the guard and Anna's father screamed.

Anna straightened. She needed to see what she had wrought. She would not spare herself the consequences of her actions. But before she could rise, Zhi-Gang slammed his open hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down. A second later, a pistol shot sounded. The other man.

Zhi-Gang leaped across the desk, slamming his fist into the face of the horrified guard with the knife embedded in Samuel's neck. Anna heard two, maybe three blows land—flesh hitting flesh, a grunt of pain and then a telltale gurgle. She prayed it was the man with the knives who was dead. It couldn't be Zhi-Gang...

She lifted her head far enough to see over the desk just as another pistol shot deafened her, and dropped back down with a squeak of terror. But not before she had seen Zhi-Gang, one of his knives back in his hand, leaping for the guard with the pistol.

Anna cringed and half crouched, half crawled around the desk. She had to help if she could. She had created this situation; she couldn't allow Zhi-Gang to face it alone.

But she was too late. She rounded the corner in time to see that both Samuel and the first guard were dead. And as she looked up, the one with the pistol was slowly sinking to the floor, a deer-horn knife sticking out of his chest.

She gaped. She was no stranger to blood or death, but it still took a moment for her to absorb the sight. Her gaze went to Zhi-Gang. He was spinning around, his black queue coiling around him as he moved. His eyes were fierce, his grip strong as he pulled his blade out of the last guard and scanned the room.

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

"Are you all right?" he said at the same time.

Both answers came equally fast.

"Fine."

"No injury."

Then there was a long moment of silence as both of them stared at each other, at the room, and processed the knowledge of what they had done.

"It's finished," Anna said quietly. "I'm free."

"I would have done it," he answered, equally softly. "You didn't need to—"

"I did. You have enough of a burden. This was mine." She straightened to her full height. "I am not running anymore."

He paused then nodded, his eyes grave as he looked at her, looked at the dead men around them and then, as if a cord holding him back abruptly snapped, he closed the space between them. She was enfolded in his arms before she had a chance to draw breath. His arms surrounded her, she buried her face in his chest, and then she wrapped her arms around him, gripping him with all her strength.

"You have his records," she murmured into his chest. "You can trace all the girls coming into his brothels—not just from Jiangsu, but all over. You can stop it now. You can—"

He stopped her words with a kiss. His mouth landed on hers with a fierceness that sent a thrill of delight through her body. He was marking her with his tongue, was claiming her as his own as he thrust against her tongue, stroked her teeth, even teased the roof of her mouth. She opened herself fully to him. More; she filled herself with him, allowing his brand to sear her.

She was his. Body and soul, she gave herself to him. And in the moment when he at last pulled back, his breath coming in aching gasps, she looked into his eyes and realized the truth: she was still going to run—this time from herself. She could go all the way to England, but her life in China would always be part of her, would always break her heart.

From Anna Marie Thompson's journal

January 1, 1900

A new year, a new century, a new decision: I'm leaving China. The Enforcer follows me wherever I go, whatever I do. I feel him looking for me, searching. It can't be true. He doesn't know about me, but I still feel it. And I can't live like this anymore.

So, I'm leaving. I'll board a boat and escape. I don't even care where. Maybe England. Maybe my grandparents will change their minds once they meet me. I'll be like the Prodigal Son. They'll hug me and throw a party. Maybe...

It doesn't matter. I'm leaving because the Enforcer is coming. If he finds me, I'll never escape...

I am in dread of the judgment of God upon England for our national iniquity towards China.

—William Gladstone, 1842

The cure for all ills and wrongs, the cares, the sorrows and the crimes of humanity, all lie in the one word "love." It is the divine vitality that everywhere produces and restores life.

—Lydia Maria Child

Chapter 19