“Yeah, you have.”
He sat up a little and his men followed the movement.
Breathe.
“You’ve been a busy bee, haven’t you?” He leaned in menacingly.
I met him face to face. “Not as busy as I’d have liked.”
He stood abruptly. My hand went for one of my guns but he turned just as quickly and made his way toward the kitchen. His men’s guns were still trained on me.
“Come in here,” he said, rummaging through cabinets.
I stood, making my way toward him.
“Would you like some tea?” he asked, placing a kettle on his gigantic range.
“No,” I told him, edging around the men there.
He turned toward me, placing his hands at the end of a long kitchen island. “I have a proposition for you,” he said.
“No,” I answered.
He laughed. “You haven’t even heard what I had to say.”
“There’s nothing you could possibly say that would sway me from my task.”
“That’s too bad,” he said. “Because I’ve never seen anyone like you,” he explained, grabbing a packet of monk fruit and setting it on the surface of the island. He walked to his sub-zero and grabbed a bottle of whipping cream. When he placed it next to the monk fruit, he said, “Bad habit. Mother’s French.” He stared at me. “You would be quite the asset for me,” he continued. “I would be unstoppable with someone like you.”
“It is too bad, because I’d rather die than work for you.”
The kettle whistled shrilly into the thick air around us. “Really?” he asked, taking it from the lit burner and pouring hot water over a silver tea strainer in his cup. He placed his hands on either side to let it steep. We sat in an eerie silence for two minutes, seven seconds. I’d counted.
He removed the strainer and set it on a dish to drain. He poured the sweetener and the cream in, stirring with a metal spoon. The metal grated the bottom of the ceramic and the sound filled the room. He clicked the side of the spoon on the rim of the cup then set the spoon down on the cup’s saucer. He lifted the cup to take a sip. When he swallowed, he set the cup back down with a loud clink.
“Maybe you would rather die but would she?” he said, startling me. He pulled something from his pocket, unfolded it, and brought it up to eye level, flashing it at me. It was a picture of Fin and me.
Fury built within me with such rapid heat, I thought my hands would melt through the surface of the island. I gripped the edges, certain they would crumble under the strain.
“She’s quite pretty,” he said. “I might keep her to myself for a few weeks until I tire of her. Or I could sell her to the highest bidder. Many, many men are eager for tall, leggy, gorgeous Western women. They’re always my biggest sellers on the auction blocks.”
My body trembled with the need to abolish him, stamp him out, annihilate him.
“Or perhaps I’ll cut her up in little pieces and feed her to the children,” he said, his eyes blazing with intensity.
“You are going to die,” I told him. I heard the men around me shift closer.
He laughed then sighed, picking up his cup, and leaning one hand on the countertop. He took a sip. “It’s too bad. Just too bad,” he repeated, shaking his head. He set the cup back down. “Kill him,” he said, walking toward the sub-zero to put the cream back.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Burner still on. Ceramic teacup. Kettle. Boiling water. Metal magnet strip on kitchen wall. Chef’s knife. Meat carver. Santoku knife. Slicing knife. Six steak knives.
Breathe.
Four handguns. Unknown number of bullets.
Breathe.
My short swords.
Breathe.
No immediate cover. Fridge door, maybe?
Breathe.
Breathe.
I reached for the kettle full of boiling water and scattered the contents on the men behind me. They dropped their guns as they reached for their eyes and faces. I bent to pick up one of the abandoned automatics, rolled across the island, and landed on the other side, nearest Khanh.
I smiled at him as his eyes widened, his hands flew up in the air. “No! No! Don’t shoot! You’ll hit me!”
I laughed.
“Isn’t it too bad?” I asked him. I raised a handgun and shot him in the foot. He fell to the ground, screaming. I rolled up, yanked open the sub-zero door, and stood behind it. Khanh began to crawl through the kitchen toward his men, but I yanked him back to me, pulling him up, using his body as a shield.
Breathe.
I walked Khanh toward his men and raised my weapon. I fired off two rounds, hitting two men, but the remaining men scattered into his open-floor apartment, hiding themselves behind furniture, effectively trapping me in the kitchen near the television wall.
Breathe.
Khanh began to fight me, struggled to get away so his men could take me out. I took my handgun and shot him in the thigh of his right leg. He screamed in agony.
“Stop moving,” I gritted.
Breathe.
I took note of all the men in the room, all their guns raised and aimed at me.
Breathe.
Nothing to lose.
Breathe.
I readied the automatic and unleashed a spray of bullets. As if in slow motion, the windows shattered, tufts of stuffing from the couch went flying through the air, glass exploded all around us. And the men behind the furniture were dying with shrieks. They still refused to shoot upon us. Khanh was my leverage.
He struggled in my arms, but I held tightly to his neck.
Breathe.
My automatic ran out of bullets so I tossed it aside, reaching for one of my only three handguns left.
Breathe.
“Attack him!” Khanh yelled out to the ones who survived the spray, taking me by surprise.
Breathe.
Five men approached quickly. Too quickly. One of those men was Dai.
Breathe.
I pushed Khanh down toward the wood floor.
Breathe.
I pulled out another one of the handguns and raised both arms. One shot. One man down. Two shots. Second man down.
Breathe.
I’d run out of time.
Breathe.
The remaining two men along with Dai rushed me, overcoming me before I’d gotten a chance to shoot them. I dropped both of the guns. I crossed my arms within my hoodie and pulled out my knives. They whistled with the swiftness of their release and the sound was music to my ears. Knives I knew. Knives I was comfortable with. Knives were second nature to me.
Breathe.
I spun, holding the handle of one knife so the blade ran down my forearm. I let the blade slice across one man’s chest before planting the other knife in his neck. He fell where he stood. Both knives met my side once more.
Breathe.
Two to go.
Breathe.
I turned fluidly but caught a fist to the face, unable to predict it. I saw stars for a split second and stumbled back against the wall. I used it to right myself once more.
Breathe.
Another fist found my stomach, my face, my chest, my head, my temple. My eyesight swam slowly. I was losing.
Breathe.
My short swords dropped to the ground at my feet as I struggled to get Dai and the unknown man off me.
Breathe.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Khanh pick himself up and limp toward the elevator.
Breathe.
“Khanh!” I choked out. “Khanh!”
Breathe.
He turned toward me and smiled. “I’m going for her,” he said, enraging me.
Breathe.
Mom, I prayed silently, please. If you can, help me. Please, Mom.
Breathe.
An unexpected energy filled me from within. My arms exploded out from me, sending the men flying backward.
Breathe.
I bent, grab
bed a handgun from the floor, and shot the unknown without thinking twice.
Breathe.
My chest heaved as I stomped forward, Khanh my ultimate destination.
Breathe.
Dai tried to run ahead of me as if to protect him.
Breathe.
He stopped in front of Khanh, using himself as a shield.
Breathe.
My breaths pounded from my lips in a cumbersome effort, but I found my smile anyway.
Breathe.
“You protect him with your life, Dai. Why?”
Breathe.
“He pays me to.”
Breathe.
“Does he pay you to die for him? Because that is your fate as of this moment.”
Breathe.
“He does,” Dai confirmed.
Breathe.
“And you would die for this man you yourself recognized as horrific. You would willingly do this?”
Breathe.
“I have no choice,” he explained. “If I do not and he still survives, he will murder my family.”
Breathe.
I looked at Khanh and he shrugged his shoulders.
Breathe.
I took one solid breath, almost choking on it. They’d done damage to my lungs. One had collapsed.
Breathe.
“If I let you go, Dai, and promise to take care of Khanh, will you leave this life?”
Breathe.
Breathe.
“I would,” Dai said. “My regrets are heavy. And I feel their weight now.”
Breathe.
Breathe.
“Then go,” I told him.
Breathe.
Breathe.
His eyes opened as well as his mouth but before he could respond, blood pooled in the middle of his chest. All the life drained from his eyes, and he fell to his knees before collapsing into a heap onto the floor.
Breathe.
“You killed him,” I told Khanh. “What for? He was insignificant to you. You are going to die anyway.”
Breathe.
“I’m still going to have his family murdered,” Khanh told me calmly, holding a dripping knife in his hand.
Breathe.
An inexplicable urge to vomit rose in my throat at the sight of him holding his dripping knife. He reminded me too much of myself. Tall, pale, dark hair, mixed race, bloody knife. And no hesitation to kill.
Breathe.
“Oh my God,” I said. “We are no different from each other.”
Khanh lifted his hands, including the knife, as Dai’s blood found the floor near his feet. “We are not,” he said.
Breathe.
Breathe.
“Move,” I told him, making my way for the elevator. “I’m done. I have done the unthinkable. I am leaving.”
Breathe.
Breathe.
“You will do nothing of the sort,” he said, lifting his arm, ready to toss his knife my way.
Breathe.
Breathe.
With one swift throw, he released the knife.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Instinct kicked in. My body shifting down and away, the knife grazed my throat but never made solid contact. I stood upright.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Khanh shook his head once. He ran toward the kitchen and I followed.
Breathe.
Breathe.
He went straight for the knives on the wall, his hand picking up the Santoku knife. He backed away from me.
Breathe.
Breathe.
I picked up my short swords from the floor and followed him slowly around the island.
Breathe.
Breathe.
“You’re too far gone,” Khanh said. “Come join my side. I will forget these men’s deaths. We would be unstoppable,” he said, circling the island.
Breathe.
Breathe.
“Never,” I said without hesitation. The truth was, I thought I was too far gone as well. I thought there was no saving me, but that didn’t mean I would allow myself to stoop to his revolting crimes. I would rather die than touch the horrors that were his sins against children.
Breathe.
Breathe.
The grip on his knife tightened as evidenced by the whitening of his knuckles. He was done.
Breathe.
Breathe.
He tried to toss his knife at me once more, but I anticipated the move again and spun around it, choosing next to hop the island, sliding to his side of the counter. My legs met his chest, pushing him over the stove, near the ignited burner.
Breathe.
Breathe.
He tried to raise himself up but I flipped him on his side instead, palming his hair and shoulder, and pushing his face into the burner.
Breathe.
Breathe.
He cried out in anguish. His hands found the stovetop and he pushed up, grabbing for a meat mallet in a ceramic jar.
Breathe.
Breathe.
I took advantage of the movement, slid my knife across his throat, then dropped his body on the kitchen floor.
Breathe.
Breathe.
His hands frantically tried to stop the bleeding, but he gulped at the air, drowning in his own blood.
Breathe.
Breathe.
“You should have stopped,” I told him.
His breath rasped from his mouth. “I’ll… see… you… in… hell,” he spit out, laughing and gurgling on his own blood.
Breathe.
Breathe.
He died in that moment.
I let out one final breath.
I was done breathing.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Ethan
I hobbled out of Khan’s apartment, weaving my way around the carnage I’d created. With trembling hands, I fished the severed thumb from my pocket and placed it over the reader.
“Almost done,” I told the room of dead.
I traveled down to the second floor, bloody, beaten to a pulp, and overwhelmed by the weight of my own sins. The doors opened. All the children were standing in a semicircle around the doors. They’d seen the elevator descending, it seemed, and had gathered.
I brought the first elevatorful down. Ten children. I’d need at least two more trips.
The ten children emerged into the clueless club, the music still blaring, the patrons still partying. I led them out and the club took notice. Dancers stopped dancing, drinkers stopped drinking.
The entire club stopped, including the music, to gaze upon the blood-covered man and the ten children at his side.
“These children were kidnapped and trafficked by the very man who owns- owned this club!” I yelled.
Eyes widened, mouths dropped, some men and women escaped, frightened by my appearance.
“I have more children up there. I’m going to retrieve them. If any of you lay a finger on any of them, I will flay the skin from your bodies. Do you understand?”
I was met with utter silence as my answer.
I pointed at two harmless-looking women amongst the dancers. “Make sure no one nears them.”
I went back up twice and came back down twice. Once I’d gathered twenty-nine children, I led them all out. A dirty, bloody antithesis to the Pied Piper. They stared. I was certain they would never see the likes of anyone like me except in their nightmares.
“Remember this,” I cautioned the crowd. “Never forget this. Now you have seen these children with your own eyes. Know their pain! Witness the theft of their lives,” I bellowed, releasing every ounce of fury I had left in my body, irrupting it onto their shoulders. “Now you can never say you didn’t know. You can choose only to dismiss the memory.”
That was the last of my fury, the last of my wrath, my bitter, confused anger.
It belonged to them now.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Somehow I walked with twenty-nine children without losing one of them. P
eople, even those jaded by harsh Vietnamese life, looked at us twice, at the spectacle that we were. One bloody six-foot-three Echo Tribe-American boy and twenty-nine dirty, abused, torn children.
They all followed me without hesitation, though, which I found strange. Many of them insisted on taking turns holding my damaged, mangled hands, but I dared not refuse any of them.
The gunshot wounds in my legs, the collapsed lung, and the myriad cuts and scrapes were starting to wear on me. I needed to sit, lay, something and soon or I was going to pass out.
When we arrived at the bus stop to Hạ Long Bay, the driver opened the doors but when he glanced at me, he tried to close them. I struck my hands out and pulled them open.
“Don’t even think about it,” my shredded voice ordered.
I loaded children on the bus one by one, counting them as I went. When they were on, two patrons got off and scurried away from me as quickly as possible. I pulled my aching body onto the first step and nearly fell forward. The bus driver stood and helped me up the second and third step.
I took out my wallet and removed all the American money I had left.
“Eight-hundred twenty-six dollars,” I said, handing it to him. “We need to get to Hạ Long Bay.” I looked down at the blood on my legs. “And fast.”
The driver nodded and closed the doors. I looked out into the sea of twenty-nine faces and felt a glimmer of hope.
But just a glimmer.
And then I fell face forward onto the bus floor and escaped into the blackness that had so longed to take me.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Finley
I sat at one of An’s outside tables with her. It had been thirteen hours, forty-three minutes, fifty-three… fifty-four… fifty-five seconds since I’d seen Ethan last. Detective Tran had been to and from Slánaigh with Father Connolly, trying to figure out where Ethan had gone to and how to bring him back. An’s father kept muttering in Vietnamese. She told me he kept repeating, “I knew he was wrong. I knew he was wrong.” We were all in a state of panic.
But I was beside myself with worry. I’d physically fought An and Tran as they tried to keep me at Slánaigh once they’d told me what he’d done there in Hạ Long Bay, and what Tran thought he was going to do in Hanoi.