THE NAKED ASSASSIN - Book 2 of the Camilla Lee series.

One

At the next table, three women say my name. They pull up my leaked police mug shot on a phone, gawp as one, and prattle about my hair, my face, and what it is I did. Four days ago, I was a nobody. Now, thanks to the power of social media, everyone in Hong Kong knows my story.

My name is Camilla Lee and I am an avenger. The woman holding the phone calls me a modern day dragon-slayer, a hero. I call myself TigerLee.

Tomorrow, I front court. The charge; murder. I do not deny it.

Yes, I cut off the eighty-seven-year-old penis of Wu Mon-hung, Dragon Head of the Seven Dragons Triad.

Yes, I forced it down the old bastard’s throat, made him chew.

Yes, when it lodged in his windpipe, I stood back and watched him choke to death.

Well, what can I say? He had it coming.

So yes, I have a lot to answer for, but right this minute, none of that matters.

I lean over and kiss my boyfriend, Red. Not a lover’s kiss, but a sisterly one. Auntie Edith taps her foot. Her critical gaze holds ice enough to cool my ardour. She knows Red and I are an item. How could she not? We have shared the room next to her for three wonderful days. I am sure she has mixed feelings about our relationship. Him being twice my age, twice my size, and my hand-to-hand combat instructor. He is ex SAS. I was fourteen when we met and he became my sensei. In four years, he has taught me to fight dirty, to disarm attackers, use knives, and to win at all costs.

The past three days, he has been my sensei in the wonderful art of lovemaking. He is as skilled under the sheets as he is on the judo mats. But that is not why I adore the big lug. On the outside, he is hard as a macadamia, but inside… he is a marshmallow. The day his tears spilled on my scars; comprehending my near suicide from depression; he won my heart. I could not wait to give him the rest of me.

I will miss his company, but most of all, I will miss making love. He has me hooked on sex. My former shyness and sexual insecurities are history. Red likes to tease that I have worn him out with my constant, ‘Let’s do it again.’ Honestly, I cannot get enough. It is fun finding new positions and discovering each other’s pleasure zones. Lovemaking is my new favourite workout. Shocking to admit, sure, but I am no Robinson Crusoe. Who doesn’t love sex? Who doesn’t feel one with the universe when they climax with their soulmate? I rate it is the best experience two people can share.

This morning, we are saying farewell at Hong Kong’s Chek Lap Kok Airport. Red is accompanying Auntie Edith back to Australia. Sadly, her husband, my Uncle Benji, is travelling in the hold. Even though Auntie has said, ‘It’s okay. I don’t blame you,’ she cannot hide the accusation behind her eyes. Her beloved Benji would not be in a coffin, if my pestering had not driven him to Hong Kong. If only I had been patient. If only I had found Dad’s notebook sooner.

If only…

Regret is a worm that eats us from within.

And my worm grows each time Auntie’s gaze falls on me. I love her, but I am glad not to be returning on her flight.

She hooks her arthritic fingers into Red’s arm and says, ‘Let’s go.’

His eyes have not left mine. Lips pinched, he stands and helps Auntie to her feet. We exit the coffee shop and pause for one last look at each other.

Red smiles and says, ‘See you in Australia, sweetheart.’

‘Soon. I hope.’

Auntie turns him towards the boarding lounge and he helps her shuffle away.

I sniff, wipe a tear with the back of my wrist, and turn back to my escort, an AFP officer named Anders and a soldier, Sargeant John Adams. Both work at the Australian Consulate. Officially, they are here to protect me from triad retaliation. Unofficially, I suspect they simply want to keep me on a short leash. If I run. If I do not show for court tomorrow, the Consulate General will have hell to pay.

Currently, I am disguised behind a pair of large sunglasses and a blonde wig lest the Seven Dragons find me. They have eyes everywhere and word is; they are keen to even the score for Wu Mon-hung’s murder. Yes, they could wait for the courts to put me in prison, then kill me there, but that could take months. Anyway, they want to be the ones to make an example out of me. And the sooner the better.

So there you have it. I have a target on my back. For life.

Just like my father.

Dad, formerly known as the Devil, was once an infamous triad enforcer, and Wu’s right-hand man. Long story short, after coming to blows with Wu, Dad changed his identity, fled to Australia, shaved his head, grew a beard, and turned his life around. For many years, all was well. Then, a few months ago, Leong Xu Li, a high-ranking Seven Dragons deputy, identified my father at our martial arts school and gym. During a silly incident, Leong spotted and recognised Dad’s (normally concealed) triad tattoo.

Shortly after, the shit hit the fan.

The Dragons invaded our home, shot me, and murdered my parents. I survived. My search for answers led me to Hong Kong and my current inescapable situation. The Australian Consulate and the Hong Kong Justice Alliance are doing all they can to ensure I go free, but the Hong Kong justice system is a corrupt hodgepodge of British and Chinese justice and the vibe I get from my lawyers is that I’m mince.

I guess we will find out tomorrow.

Red and Auntie disappear through security. Neither looks back.

Anders tilts her head at the exit. ‘Honeymoon’s over. Let’s go Blondie.’

Two

We exit the airport at a brisk pace. The air is heavy with fumes from the stream of vehicles feeding the footpath. My escort scans for threats. Off to the right, four gorillas, with dragon tattoos peeking from their collars, swing their gazes to us. They had been scrutinising the special number plates on the consulate saloon which waits, engine running, in the limousine-only drop-off area. The triad must have gotten to someone at the consulate. One Dragon stares hard at me, then whispers urgently into the phone held to his ear.

Oh hell, this shit just got real.

‘Get in, hurry,’ Sargeant Adams says, yanking open the rear door. I do as told and shuffle across. He falls in beside me just as Anders scrambles in from the other side.

‘Go,’ Anders shouts at Don behind the wheel. Don, like Adams, is a soldier attached to the Australian Consulate. He is young, enthusiastic, and grins at the prospect of trouble. I just hope his bravado is not put to the test. Over my shoulder, I watch the goons at the airport pile into two black SUVs and give chase. There is nothing subtle about the pursuit. We are the fish, and they are the sharks.

‘Faster,’ Adams calls.

Acceleration thrusts me back in my seat as the big V8 Mercedes surges ahead of our pursuers. Anders, voice quavering, tone desperate, is on her phone requesting police assistance. It is too little, too late. My guess is the Seven Dragons have their own special arrangement with the local fuzz. As if to confirm my suspicions, a police car pulls out in front of us and immediately slows. Don quickly assesses that they are here to hinder, not help. We cannot pass and there is but one turn off. Don takes it, but it is a trap. Another truck pulls out, blocking our path. We skid to a stop in an alley lined with industrial bins overflowing with waste bags from the adjoining restaurants. Kitchen hands slouching in doorways, hurriedly toss their cigarettes and dash inside.

Don finds reverse, but it is too late. Three vehicles turn in and block our path. There is no sign of the police vehicle that slowed us. A dozen men, wearing jeans and T-shirts, exit the cars and raise their guns.

‘No one needs to die. Just give us the girl,’ shouts a thickset thug with a scar running through his eye from forehead to cheek.

Sargeant Adams pushes my head down and says, ‘Run when I tell you.’ He opens his window, then the door, and using it as a shield, spills out and opens fire.

All hell breaks loose. The gunfire is deafening. Glass explodes from the rear window. Anders falls across my body under a rain of glass shards. Is she sheltering me? A glance tells me otherwise. Her left eye is gone, along with half the back of her head.

Adams tugs my arm, hauls me half through the door. ‘Run. Run now.’

I tumble out in a crouch behind Adams. Between the industrial bins I spy a backdoor, closed, but open a crack. Bullets whiz over my head and ricochet off the bins. He shoves me through the gap. ‘Go.’

Head down, I burst forward like a cannonball. A stray bullet whistles past my ear so close it parts my hair. Behind me, he and Don empty their guns.

My shoulder hits the door. It swings open. I roll through and jump to my feet.

Facing me is a terrified cook. He holds the biggest meat cleaver I have ever seen. I look back and see Adams take a bullet to his shoulder. Don is reloading. The Dragons are edging down the alley, firing continuously. In a few seconds, they will reach the consulate car. I want to return and help the soldiers, but how? Kung Fu is useless in a gun battle. Those two brave soldiers are giving their lives to save mine. Now is not the time to hesitate. I must not squander their sacrifice.

Turning back to the cook, I say, ‘Let me pass.’

He steps back but keeps the cleaver raised. I slide past and bolt through the next door. The gunshots have alerted the diners. Some are already scrambling for the exit, others just ogle me with wide eyes and wider mouths, as if I am leading a dozen gun toting thugs into the restaurant, which, unluckily for them, is correct.

Behind me, I hear the cook plead, ‘Don’t fire. She went that way.’

Run, Camilla, run. My mother’s entreaty fills my mind like a distant echo.

I reach the front door as the first Dragon explodes into the restaurant and raises his gun.

Three

The raised gun is enough to cause the last of the diners to bolt for the door. For a perfect second, their backs screen me from my pursuers. Run or hide? Worried there might be Dragons waiting outside, I duck down and dive under the nearest abandoned table. Two seats are left out, deserted by the patrons, but two are unused and still pushed under the table. I climb onto the adjoining seats, curl into a ball, and hope the table cloth screens me. It is a child’s game of hide and go seek. Only with life or death consequences… not fun. My heart will not stop hammering.

The Dragons dash past, pushing and shoving to get through the shrieking women jamming the door. I see the gunmen from the waist down, weapons in hand, trigger fingers twitching. They curse. One of them raises a machine gun and fires a dozen shots in the air, but he only makes the crush worse.

‘She’s getting away,’ one thug calls.

Three more Dragons exit the kitchen and sprint to the door. Everyone spills out, taking their curses and shouts with them.

‘Where is she? Can you see her?’

For the moment, I am alone inside the restaurant, holding my breath, too scared to move.

‘You three, go that way. You two, come with me. Chen, return to the cars. Tell them to circle the block. Then wait here in case she doubles back. She can’t be far.’

Chen dashes past my table, shouts at the cook, ‘Out of my way.’

I roll off the chairs, pull off my wig and leave it on the nearest chair. They are chasing a blonde in a tracksuit. With no time to shed the trackies, I scramble out from under the table and return to the kitchen. The cook goes wide-eyed at my sudden reappearance. I hold a finger to my mouth for silence. He shuts his mouth but cannot stop his head from shaking in disbelief.

‘You,’ he whispers. ‘You’re the girl on the news. You killed Wu.’

I nod and stride past him to the back alley door. My three protectors are dead, bullets to the head, kevlar vests useless.

Peeking up the alley, I spot Chen giving instructions to the drivers, his voice urgent, spurring them on. They dash to their cars, the van, and the truck; a hunting party racing off to search the streets. Only this little duck is right under their noses. I count six dead Dragons strewn down both sides of the alley. My protection crew gave it their best, but outnumbered and outflanked, they had not stood a chance. The bullets they took to the head had come from behind.

Just like my father and mother.

I hate the Seven Dragons Triad. I had naively hoped killing Wu might have ended this rotten crime gang, but sadly, my deepest fear eventuated… I cut off one head, only to watch a fresh, equally wicked one grow in its place.

Is it Leong? The man I should have killed when I had the chance?

Chen, alone in the alley, turns suddenly and catches me watching him. I duck back inside, spin to face the cook, and say, ‘Quick, I need a knife.’

‘There.’ He points to a large carving knife beside the sink. Snatching it up, I toss it from hand to hand. It is heavy, but like all good kitchen knives, well balanced and extremely sharp. The cook steps back.

‘You should leave,’ I say.

I hear Chen’s hurried footsteps approaching. He has run back, not walked. And most importantly, not been smart enough to call the others.

Time is up. I crush myself to the wall between two shelves behind the door. Chen bursts in, gun at his side, stops, and stares at the wide-eyed cook who shakes his head, then in panic, glances at me.

Chen turns, sees me, grins, and raises his gun.

I cross the gap so fast, Chen only gets his weapon forty-five degrees from his leg before I stab his gun arm just above the wrist. His chin drops, no grin now, and he stares at his wounded arm as if it betrayed him by being too slow. I step inside his reach and fire my left elbow into his nose. For me, it is slow motion; for Chen, it happens in a blur.

‘Holy shit,’ the cook says, his eyes on stalks.

I slip my leg inside Chen’s stance and drive my shoulder into his chest. He trips and lands heavily on the greasy floor. I drop my knees into his belly and whip the tip of the knife into his nostril. His eyes cross, terrified. I want to laugh. So I do. Only it is not my laugh. It is my tiger’s, and he has claws.

A sudden foul stench tells me Chen has shit his pants.

Perfect. Getting some fast answers should not be too difficult.

‘Who sent you?’

‘The boss.’

‘Name?’

‘Leong.’

‘Is he the new Dragon Master?’

‘Yes. Voted in yesterday.’

So. Leong won out. No wonder the Dragons are baying for my blood.

‘Give Leong a message for me. Tell him…’ I hesitate, needing to gather my thoughts. Is there any point offering an olive branch? I cannot see that egotistical bastard stopping until I am dead. ‘Tell him; I got to Wu. And I’ll get to him. His days are numbered.’

I make Chen repeat it three times, then slam the butt of the knife into his temple and put him out cold.

‘Sorry if this brings you trouble,’ I say to the cook.

‘It’s okay,’ he says. ‘My family has paid protection money to the Seven Dragons for fifty years. We hate them, but…’ He lets his words trail off with a shrug. ‘You should run.’

He is totally right, but where? They are circling the block looking for me and will soon return to collect Chen.

‘Here, wear this.’ He passes me a stained chef’s jacket. ‘It’s my sister’s.’

I put it on, careful to tuck my long hair underneath the collar. He passes me a cook’s cap, which I pull down over my ears. It hides the gold tints my hairdresser, Pei, put in the short side of my unique hair style.

‘Okay, now go. And good luck. Most of Hong Kong is on your side. But beware. Seven Dragons have members everywhere. And there are others who will turn you in for a reward. And… don’t trust the police.’

He is not telling me anything I do not know already. I nod and thank him, anyway. He returns a smile.

‘Camilla Lee,’ I say, holding out my hand. He takes it. We shake and he says, ‘Äng Lai. Now quickly, tie me up.’

I do, then say, ‘Give me three minutes, then start yelling for help. Say I knocked you out.’

He nods. ‘Good Luck.’