Page 3 of Wicked King

Jia

My chest vibrates with the pounding of my anxious heart as I ascend the steps to the Red Dragon Restaurant. Jianjun Zhang, the leader of the Red Dragons, opened this establishment nearly a decade ago as a legitimate front for the Triad’s not so legitimate dealings. Two crimson dragons glare at me when I cross between them, as if they’re furious at me for forsaking my blood legacy. The ancestors will not be pleased.

Honor is everything, Jia. My father’s voice rattles my already fragile nerves.

I draw in a deep breath, and the pungent scent of sweet and sour sauce and fried wontons invades my nostrils. The powerful fragrance ignites memories of the past, of my mom hustling around our small kitchen. Despite her Philippine heritage, she’d always catered to Bà’s cultural and culinary preferences. The only thing she’d drilled into me—in secret, of course—was her devout Catholicism. As a child living in the Philippines, she and her family had been visited by missionaries and had adopted their religion. She’d clung to it her entire life, instilling those values in me.

Though I’m not exactly practicing anymore, I still want to believe.

My hand wraps around the tarnished gold handle and I freeze at the door, my heartbeat a manic staccato. You can do this, Jia. Blood of the dragon and all that. Steadying my nerves, I twist the knob and march in with my shoulders pinned back and head held high. I am a Guo, after all. My father may have been a bastard to me behind closed doors, but in public, he treated me like a princess. And now, I was heir to the Four Seas.

A woman stands at the entrance foyer in traditional Chinese attire, a brilliant ruby silk dress with gold piping and a high collar that reaches nearly up to her chin. She dips her head and motions to the back of the restaurant. “They are waiting for you.”

Great. I’m not late already, am I? I steal a quick peek at my watch. Ten o’clock on the dot. Figures the others would get here early just to intimidate me. I weave through the maze of mauve tablecloths and keep my gaze fixed on the double doors at the back. I accompanied Bà to a few meetings when I was younger, but I was never permitted to pass through those doors. Instead, I’d been forced to remain sitting at one of these tables with the hostess babysitting me.

How things have changed…

Stiffening my bottom lip, I push through the swinging doors and that thick, oily, fried scent invades my nostrils as I pass through the kitchen. To the left, another door is open and from the corner of my eye, I can already make out the two intimidating males sitting at the table. Jianjun Zhang and Hao Wei, the two eldest members of the Triad. Father had sat at that very table only last year.

“Jia, is that you?” A gravelly voice spurs my feet forward.

I peer into the back room and meet two pairs of piercing orbs. Even sitting, the menacing elder males’ auras fill the small space. Behind them, a dozen men dressed in their respective gang’s colors: red for Jianjun’s Red Dragons, yellow for Hao’s Golden Star, and to my surprise, a handful of navy clad Four Seas. Standing behind the chair presumably saved for me is a familiar face, one in which I have no desire to see today. Lei Wang.

Beady eyes fix on mine, and a slimy grin curls his thin lips. Lei was my brother’s best friend. Since his murder, he’s taken it upon himself to assume the leadership role within the Four Seas. He can have it, for all I care.

“Sit down, Jia.” Jianjun ticks his head at the vacant chair to his right. “We have much to discuss today.”

Drawing in a breath, I round the table and narrow my eyes at Lei until he releases his possessive hold on my chair. He may want the throne, but it isn’t his—yet. I fold into the seat, every muscle in my body tense. Still, I keep a practiced smile on my face when I pivot toward the two males. “Let’s get started, then. I’m quite busy myself.”

The hint of a smile curves Jianjun’s lips. He and Bà were close once, as close as one can be to a trusted enemy. “Since Qian’s death,” Jianjun begins, “the Four Seas have been in chaos. This cannot go on, Jia. Your father would have wanted you to assume the role of leadership, to carry on the legacy your grandfather began.”

“Only, as a female, I was never born for this role, Zhang xiansheng, as I’m sure you are aware.”

“I am, but in the absence of a male heir, the duty falls to you.”

“He is right,” Hao interjects. “The time for indecision has ended. Our territories are at risk from a number of outside forces. The Italians pose a constant threat despite multiple treaties, the Puerto Ricans are moving in, and the Russians…” He clucks his tongue. “We must stand united as a powerful Triad as we once did when your father was with us.”

I open my mouth to interject, but Lei appears over my shoulder.

“If I may suggest an alternative?”

Jianjun and Hao both lift their narrowed gazes to me. I wave a nonchalant hand at the rude male peering over my shoulder. “Sure, why not?”

“It is clear that the beautiful Jia is uninterested in assuming her role, and I cannot blame her. Such nasty business is best left handled to the men.” He tosses me a reassuring smile, and I barely restrain the urge to snarl at him. It isn’t that I can’t handle managing a gang of grown men because I’m a woman, it’s that I have no desire to. But I keep my teeth clenched and allow him to continue, for now. “I offer myself to rule in her place. The Wangs have long served the Guos and Four Seas. It would be my highest honor to continue the legacy Wei Guo began decades ago.”

Jianjun sneers, and Hao lifts an uninterested brow.

Apparently not dissuaded by their reactions to his suggestion, Lei continues, “At the very least, it should be voted upon at the next Triad council meeting.”

“It will never be approved,” Jianjun replies dryly. “Per our custom, the only way in which a new family may take over an established syndicate is by terminating the remaining bloodline.” All eyes pivot to mine, and I choke down a gasp.

They aren’t serious, are they?

Lei would have to kill me to assume the leadership of the Four Seas?

I wouldn’t put it past the conniving male, not for an instant.

“Perhaps it’s time to modernize our barbaric ways,” I blurt. “Why should I be forced to rule or die?” What I really want to say is “fuck you all.” But there are at least a dozen males with guns in this small room, and a shootout would be a bloodbath for all.

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