Page 46 of Caution to the Wind

It was strange, though, how even comin’ to that reasonable conclusion ached somewhere inside me like a bruised rib. It had to be that I didn’t want to cause Mei pain, even unwittingly. I hoped my rejection didn’t have to change our relationship completely ’cause the idea of my life without her in it felt deeply and maybe a little perturbingly wrong.

I didn’t have long to dwell on the situation, thank fuck, ’cause Old Dragon had pulled through for me and got me a meetin’ with someone from Seven Song triad.

Not the Dragon Head himself, but close.

The Golden Door Inn was a narrow two-story building in Chinatown sandwiched between a restaurant and a tailor’s shop. The Chinese sign above the door proclaimed it had no vacancy, and I doubted it ever read otherwise. This was not an establishment for those outside of the “know,” and the know were those in the Seven Song triad.

I parked my bike under the sodium light of a streetlamp directly outside and walked into the building without issue, even though the space between my shoulder blades itched with the sensation of multiple eyes on me.

A huge blond man walked into a bar in Chinatown…it sounded like the beginnings of a terrible joke, but there was nothin’ funny about enterin’ the main foyer to find three Chinese gangsters with guns levelled at your chest.

“Hello, Mr. Axelsen.” The man in the centre of the inverted triangle, a step behind the other two but clearly in the position of power, was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit and tie, diamond cuff links winking at his wrists, matching ones in his ears.

I’d never understood the gaudiness of gangsters. Bikers kept it real with silver rings and wallet chains, practical accessories that made our punches sharper and the possibility of theft extremely fuckin’ unlikely. Rollin’ around in gold and flashy designer brands was askin’ for attention from all the wrong kinds a people––thieves and police.

“Hello, Mr. Kuan,” I returned blandly in Cantonese. “Good of you to meet with me.”

A little smile that was cocky despite its size. “I had to see what kind of man would walk into my place of business when he has so clearly done me wrong. If you have big balls or a small brain.”

“Maybe it’s both,” I suggested with a flicker of a raised brow to show how uninterested I was in playin’ games.

His smile curled tighter. “Maybe. Come, take a seat.”

The left side of the room opened up to a small bar and seatin’ area with little tables and worn wooden chairs that looked like they’d crumple under my weight. I pulled one out and flipped it backward to straddle the back as we took seats around one of the tables. It was a little thing, but the wood was a better shield than nothin’, and I didn’t trust these motherfuckers at all.

“Is this visit at the behest of your president?” Jiang asked as an older lady appeared at our side with a bottle of rice wine and two glasses.

She filled them efficiently and placed one in front of me.

I recognized the offerin’ of food or drink, and took a small sip of the pleasantly dry wine even though I didn’t want to.

Jiang mimicked my action with raised brows, clearly pleased.

Five minutes in his presence and I was already exhausted by the ritual of détente.

“No,” I finally answered. “But I don’t think you’d’ve taken my request for a sit-down if it was sanctioned by Rooster.”

“No,” Jiang agreed easily before straightenin’ slightly, a sly expression elongatin’ his features ’til he looked fox-like and too-clever by half. “Is it, perhaps, about your wife?”

Rage hit me between the eyes, rockin’ me back, obliteratin’ my sense of reality. For a long moment, I could only focus on the need to throttle the man for even mentionin’ Kate, for thinkin’ he could bring up her murder like it was gossip at a fuckin’ tea party.

My fists clenched and unclenched beneath the table.

“No,” I ground out, so guttural it hurt my throat. “Though, you got information about any of your people puttin’ a hit out on my wife, it’d be good you come clean about it. I’ll find out eventually.”

“Will you?” His mildness made everythin’ offensive, as if nothin’ about the situation was interestin’ or worthy. It took serious effort to keep red from cloudin’ my vision, my judgment.

Jiang’s long, thin fingers stroked the little clay urn of rice wine as he contemplated me. “I meant no offence. Only, I’ve heard you believe the wrongdoing lies at our doorstep and you are quite mistaken. I did some digging of my own when word spread after her death that it was Seven Song responsible, and at the risk of insulting you further, I might note that your wife was a prostitute with many clients and a pimp who was notorious for having enemies.”

Fury burned through me, deep inside my marrow, so I felt like I might combust from the inside out. I focused on breathin’, in for four, hold for seven, and out for eight, then lifted my gaze to Jiang and ruthlessly cut myself off from all feelin’. A trick I’d learned as a boy when my father took his fists to me that was compounded by my years of trainin’ in tactical breath work in the military.

“Not here for that, like I said. I’m here to focus on the problems ofnow. Those bein’ this feud between you and The Fallen that’s cropped up like a weed in an otherwise prosperous playin’ field.”

“A playing fieldyouchanged by delving into heroin and meth.”

“A playin’ field you fuckin’ lit on fire by stealin’ some of our dealers first.”

He blinked at me, and there was surprise there. He wasn’t expectin’ someone so unruffled by his taunts, so calm in the face of his pomp and threatenin’ circumstance.