The Dragon (G.O.N.Y. - Double Dragon) (16 page)

Vince frowned. “Ram, you’re not thinking clearly.”

Pushing from behind the desk, he approached the other man. When he stood before him, staring into eyes as dark as his, he spoke, “Can I trust you, Vince?”

Taken aback, Vince frowned but dipped his head. “With your life.”

It was a rhetorical question as Ramsey already knew the answer. When he’d been officially inducted into the family business, of all his male family members gathered for the ceremony, Vince had answered the call to be his second. He’d expected Bastian, but Ramsey had looked over to find Pat holding Bastian in place with a firm hand on his shoulder as his brother looked on angrily. That night, Vince had taken a sacred oath, to put Ramsey’s life above his own until released. Although Ramsey had only met his cousin a few times before then, the man had spoken with such conviction, Ramsey believed him. What had happened next had secured Vince’s place in his life. Having been told of most parts of the ritualistic ceremony, Ramsey had expected them to return to the house for his birthday celebration, but that hadn’t happened. At least, not immediately. Instead, a whimpering man had been dragged out, his body dirty and smelling of stale urine. Horrified, Ramsey had barely remembered to keep his face neutral as his grandfather had taught him.

“This man is a traitor,” his grandfather called loudly, his voice echoing in the fabric warehouse. Standing just a few inches over five and half feet, his grandfather managed to make him feel small even as the older man looked up to Ramsey. Kang Jae Seong wore a custom-made dark brown suit that favored a more vintage collection in its close fit and seamed pants. On a regular day, his grandfather dressed well, but on Ramsey’s eighteenth birthday, the old man spared no expense. They’d all received new suits. “He was trading information to the police in exchange for food, money, even clothes.”

“Like a whore,” someone spat.

“He would see you dead, Ramsey,” his grandfather continued, his voice a firm, almost prophetic lull. “He would see this family destroyed; husbands torn from wives, fathers from children, heirs forever disinherited. He would see us ruined.”

Ramsey then watched in growing horror as he turned to receive a small, wooden box, lifted the box and withdrew a thin blade that was barely five inches long. Etched into the steel hilt was a symbol similar to the one that now adorned his upper arm, of two dragons curled into each other as if squaring off for battle. “We do not tolerate betrayal and never will. Betrayal is like a festering wound. If left untreated, it spreads, infecting things that were once pure and untouched.” He flipped the knife, and presented it hilt first to Ramsey. “How will you handle this betrayal, young king?”

It was a test. Ramsey had known there was more to his formal initiation than the grueling hours he’d spent getting the tattoo and his grandfather’s words to welcome him into the
Ssang Yong Pa.
He couldn’t say he was surprised with this part of the event. As he reached for the knife, nervous and feeling the beginnings of nausea, Vince had stepped forward. “I will do this for you, if I am allowed.”

When he’d looked to his grandfather, the old man had shrugged. “Being a leader is about deciding which tasks to do yourself and which to assign to others.”

Removing the knife from his grandfather’s hand, Ramsey approached the man on the ground. He’d whimpered and pleaded. The fear in his eyes had been so stark Ramsey still remembered them. After long minutes, he’d turned to Vince, who’d moved with him and now stood to his right, a few paces back.

“Do it.”

Less than a minute later, Vincent stepped before him, holding up a bloody knife for inspection. At Ramsey’s nod, he pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket, wiped the blood from the knife, and handed it, hilt first, to Ramsey. Later, his grandfather complimented him on his control, praised him for delegating the task since the “pig” hadn’t been worth his time. Ramsey had sat there, seemingly unaffected, and nodded. In truth, he’d given Vince the task out of fear; fear that he’d embarrass himself, and his family by losing his lunch before he took care of the situation. Somehow, Vince had known that.

As the years passed and Ramsey remained under Kang Jae Seong’s tutelage, he’d become immune to death. Not once had he killed anyone, but he’d been there for executions by gun, knife, sword, rope, and various other instruments. Ramsey had watched the fine art of torture without so much as a flinch. And in those years, Vince’s loyalty had been put to the test. Every summer, Vince stayed with them in Gwangju. He would have stayed longer but he was enrolled in university at the time. When Ramsey moved to New York after college, Vince followed. It was during those summers, and the two years that they shared an apartment in Manhattan, that Ramsey grew to understand his cousin. Vince was his second cousin, of his grandfather’s brother’s lineage, and he’d spent most of his life in America. He was an only child, and more than anything, Vince wanted to belong. At first, he’d been all business, acting the part of bodyguard more than anything else, until Ramsey reminded him that they were blood and he didn’t need a babysitter. When his grandfather died, Vince had been the first to pledge his allegiance, and when his uncle had attempted to steal the mantle, it had been Vince who’d foiled it and put him down.

Vince’s voice snapped him out of the memory. “She’ll be protected even if I’m with you.”

“Jezebel is pregnant with my child,” he cut in. When Vince only nodded as if it was common knowledge, Ramsey continued, “I’m trusting you with my life, Vince. Don’t fail me now.”

After a few moments, in which his cousin seemed ready to argue his point more, Vince acquiesced. “If you decide to go elsewhere or leave Gwangju, I’d advise you to take me.”

“Your advice is always heeded, cousin.”

Vince gave him a look that clearly said he believed otherwise. “I’ll speak to the men about the changes.”

“No.” Ramsey shook his head. “Tell them tomorrow morning.”

“Do you suspect someone?”

“Everyone is suspect.”

Before Vince could respond, there was a light knock on the door. When he turned to it, wondering if Bastian had decided to confront him this morning, the knock came again, harder this time but still soft.

“Come.”

The door pushed in and Jezebel came around it. She’d changed into a dark blue sweater and black pants. She froze upon seeing Vince, who now stood beside him, staring at her. As she looked between the two of them, she laced her fingers over her belly . “I didn’t know you had company.”

“Is something wrong?” The question left his lips as soon as she moved her hands. Was something wrong with the baby? Was that why she was gripping her belly?

“I wanted to speak to you, but if you’re busy…“

Ramsey turned to Vince, who ignored him until he cleared his throat.

“I was just leaving,” his cousin finally murmured. As he walked to the door, Ramsey heard him say, “You look different today, Jezebel. It’s almost as if you’re glowing.”

She blushed. Ramsey might have smiled were he inclined. Jezebel wasn’t a blusher.

When the door closed, he indicated the two empty chairs. She approached, but chose not to take any of them.

“I’m guessing you’re here about last night…”

“Last night was a mistake.” There was no softness in her tone. She was straightforward, business-like, as if they were discussing a transaction. “It happened. We’re both adults and these things happen. That doesn’t mean it’ll happen again.”

He smiled.

“What? Did I say something funny?”

“It happened, we’re adults, and we can admit that it will happen again and again.” When she looked aghast, he smirked, feeling a lightness settle over him that had come with her presence. “I can see right through you, Jezebel. Right now, you’re remembering last night…”

“Ramsey,” Jezebel began on a frustrated breath, looking even more flustered than when Vince had teased her. “We don’t have a future together.”

“Your belly begs to differ.”

She inhaled sharply and nodded. As he watched, Jezebel moved to one of the chairs and sat down, adjusting her sweater when it pulled up along her belly. Slightly confused at this sudden change, Ramsey leaned against his desk and waited.

“Okay. Who are you?”

Sensing he wouldn’t like her line of questioning, Ramsey played dumb. “Ramsey Stone. Jez, are you sure you’re feeling well?”

She ignored his attempted distraction, leaned back in her chair and stared at him in a fixed, unwavering way. “Are you a gangster?”

“Jezebel, I’m not―”

“No more lies,” she interrupted, clear brown eyes piercing his. “Last night, that’s what you said, what you promised. No more lies.” She looked down at her belly, slid her arms around it, and nodded. “Stop lying to me, Ramsey. Please.”

A long silence passed between them before she resumed her questioning.

***

“Are you a gangster?” Jezebel repeated.

She was no one’s fool. After what happened in the Catskills, what she’d had to do to survive, she was certain that Ramsey was involved with illegal activities. What she didn’t know was exactly how deep that involvement ran. That was what she wanted to find out. She wanted to hear it from his lips. No more third parties, surprises, and her drawing her own conclusions. He owed it to her, if only because she was soon to be the mother of his child.

Seconds trickled by in silence. Ramsey didn’t speak. In fact, he didn’t do much of anything. He just continued to lean against the desk and stare at her, his expression blank.

“Is that a yes?” she wondered aloud.

He didn’t respond.

“Ramsey―”

“Ask your questions, Jezebel.”

She shook her head. “I just asked…” The words died off as understanding dawned.  Was he not allowed to disclose that information to her because of some code? If he was in some underground group, it was possible he’d taken an oath or something to remain silent. She’d watched
The Godfather
, though she could barely remember it. Was silence yes?

“Were you ever married?”

He shook his head.

She swallowed. “Does your organization sell or distribute drugs?”

Once more, he shook his head.

“Weapons?”

He gave her the same blank stare as when she’d asked her first question. Jezebel swallowed hard.

“Sex slaves?”

He shook his head.

“Prostitutes?”

He shook his head.

“Are you the head of the Double Dragon?”

There was no movement. He just stared at her.

“Have you killed anyone…in your line of work?” She remembered the gunfight in the Catskills and added, “Outside of the situation that happened in the Catskills.”

There was that blank stare again. She nodded even as a chill snaked down her spine and went all the way to her toes. He’d lied to her about that too. “Are you dangerous, Ramsey?”

He didn’t answer for long moments, and she was about to move on to her next question, accepting the answer was ‘yes,’ when he stated, “Not to you.”

She swallowed nervously. Not now, because she was pregnant, but what about later? What happened if she pissed him off, got him truly upset? Although she chose not to voice those questions, they remained front and center in her mind. “But to everyone else?”

He gave her a cool smile. “I told you, Jezebel. I will always protect my family.”

Stroking the firm bump that was her belly, she asked, “Will my child be safe?”

“As long as I’m alive―”

“And if you’re not?” she snapped. “What happens if you die?”

He seemed taken aback by her frankness, but Jezebel had a list of questions and she was going to get through most if not all of them right now.

“You’ll both be safe if I die.”

“How?”

“If it happens, you’ll know.”

Jezebel shook her head. “That’s too vague, Ramsey.”

“Then hope I stay alive.” He smiled. She scowled at his blasé attitude.

“I need to go to the doctor.”

The smile disappeared. Ramsey moved from the desk and came forward, looking her over. “What happened? Are you in pain? Is something wrong with the baby?”

Sensing the onset of what seemed suspiciously like panic in the usually cool Ramsey, Jezebel interrupted, “Nothing’s wrong. I need prenatal vitamins and I’m due for a checkup.” In her scramble to save her life, her child’s, and her sister’s, she’d rushed from the house in the Catskills with nothing but the clothes on her back. If not for Ramsey purchasing her clothes in New York, and an entire wardrobe in Gwangju, she’d probably still be in said clothes.

His body relaxed considerably. “Of course.”

“Delilah needs to go as well.”

“With you?” He frowned. “I’ll have the doctor come to you…”

“She needs to see an oncologist,” she interrupted. Being in remission did not mean the slew of prescription cocktails stopped. Her sister had medication that she needed, medication she hadn’t taken in almost a week, and Jezebel was going to make sure she got them.