Page 8 of Brutal Surrender

With a towel, I wipe the water dripping from my face and step out onto the balcony, inhaling the balmy night air as I close my eyes. For a moment, my mind is empty and I feel fine. But the instant my thoughts drift back to Ramona, I start to feel queasy again. My head starts to pound. It’s like she put a hex on me. Only I don’t believe in witches. I don’t believe in the supernatural, and I don’t believe in any higher being. If such a thing as God or gods existed, then they’re just as sadistic, fucked up, and immoral as me. How else could the world be as messed up as it is?

Look at my luxury yacht worth over a quarter-billion dollars. It’s mine because I run one of the most successful criminal organizations on the planet. We do just about everything from selling illicit drugs to money laundering to cybercrime. Just no sex trafficking. I got rid of that when I took over as head of the Black Dragon Triad. But that’s not enough to save my soul. I have too much blood on my hands.

If the gods were righteous, fair and compassionate, the do-gooders in the world would own this yacht. Not criminals like me. That old adage that crime doesn’t pay only applies to people who don’t do it well.

I walk over to the bar and pour myself a shot of baijiu. There’s one other potential explanation for why I feel like crap, but it’s absurd. More absurd than my developing seasickness out of nowhere.

Because my conscience died alongside her years ago.

I throw down the burning liquid as if it could quash any possible budding of a conscience.

And just to prove I am as heartless as they come, I have something terrible in store for Ramona. She will give me her real name and the names of any accomplices.

She will break for me.

Chapter 5

Vincent

“You don’t look well,” notes Charlie Wong, one of my lieutenants, as he sits down on the balcony outside my cabin. His grin makes the scar along his face more crooked. “You stay up late pounding pussy?”

I move my chair into the shade because the sun makes my headache worse before sitting down. “What did you want to see me about?”

Charlie leans toward me. “I was catching up with Chinawatra on a call, and he said business is booming. The price on pussy has more than doubled.”

That’s partially due to my omega blockers, which has made it harder for people to take advantage of omegas and their submissive natures.

“Your point?” I ask.

“What if we were to get back into the sex-trafficking business?”

“No,” I say flatly. “I didn’t get the Black Dragon out of it just to get back in.”

“But it’s a multi-billion dollar industry, and the Black Dragon was good at it. I bet if we link up with our old connects—”

“Did you hear me? I said no.”

Not only have I pulled out of sex-trafficking, I’m now in the business of hunting down sex traffickers. For personal reasons. Because Irene’s cousin was a victim, and it broke Irene’s heart to know that, according to the International Labour Organization, over five million adults and children are trapped in sexual exploitation worldwide.

“It’s money on the table for the taking,” Charlie tries. “And with our abilities, we could dominate…”

He trails off upon taking in my hard stare.

“All right, all right,” he relents. “I guess we have other areas we can build up.”

“We do. So don’t bring it up again.”

“Got it.”

I like Charlie’s enthusiasm. He works hard. He’s ambitious. He was mentored by Fang Zhe but easily adapted to my leadership when Fang Zhe decided to retire after losing the election to me several years back.

But Charlie’s not as disciplined as Yang Mi, my other lieutenant. Her style is more like mine, more methodical and less impulsive. Neither of them are aware that I have a hostage in the lower level of my yacht. For some reason I don’t feel like telling them yet. Charlie tends to be nosy, and Yang Mi isn’t as sadistic as I am. What I’m doing to Ramona might disturb her.

The irony that I hunt and punish sex traffickers is not lost on me. Even after what happened to Irene’s cousin, Irene was incapable of hate. So I hate sex traffickers on her behalf. But the way I’m treating Ramona is no better than how the sex traffickers treat their victims. Mine could be worse. That shouldn’t bother me. It. Shouldn’t. Bother. Me. The last thing I want is to grow a conscience. The woman tried to kill me.

Though that shouldn’t bother me as much as it does either. Lots of people want to kill me. Some have tried. She got closer than most, and I respect that. But there’s something about her that triggers me with strange intensity.

Unlike Irene, Ramona is capable of plenty of hate. She’s my equal in that regard. I know what it’s like to be in her shoes. I know the despair, the void eating away at your insides, the shame and helplessness when you can’t get justice for your loved ones.

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