Page 21 of Wicked King

“Why not? It’s a compliment. I like my women feisty.”

A completely unladylike snort erupts. “I will never be your woman, and I could give two shits what you like.”

A low whistle puckers the perfect bow of his lips. “I was right, a real spitfire, just like the dragon on your blouse.” His gaze lingers along my forearms, and I quickly knot them across my chest. The material is translucent, and if one stares too closely, he could see…

“What would you know about dragons, anyway?” I blurt, drawing his eyes away from my sleeves and the humiliating secret they hide underneath.

A cheeky grin flashes across that scruffy jaw, and he tugs at the collar of his black button-down shirt, revealing the hint of a vibrant tattoo. He unfastens a button, and my eyes nearly pop out of my head.

“What are you doing?” I screech.

“Relax, spitfire, I’m only going to show you a peek. I don’t give this shit away for free.”

I barely restrain the eyeroll. This cocky man thinks he’s God’s gift to women. Still, I can’t help my gaze from trailing the dark hair peeking out from beneath his shirt. Under the wild, barely trimmed jungle, the head of a dragon emerges, and not just any dragon, but one disturbingly similar to the one I painted in my studio.

“Year of the dragon,” he murmurs with a grin.

“How lucky for you.” I spin around and slide into the car, not waiting for the grinning bastard to rebutton his shirt or to attempt more polite conversation.

A moment later, he slips in beside me, shirt fully buttoned once more, his long legs and broad shoulders consuming nearly half the back seat.

“Perhaps you’d prefer to sit next to my grandfather.” I motion across the way to where Yéye sits quietly watching.

Marco stretches out his legs and leans his elbow against the tinted window. “No, this is just fine.” He eyes me, that piercing gaze blazing a trail from the gold cross on my neck, down over the swell of my breasts, across my silk blouse, and settling on my black slacks. I hastily cross my legs, the burn of his gaze inciting a swell of unwanted heat between my thighs.

I scoot to the opposite end of the seat, putting as much distance between us as the car allows. Thank God it’s a limo so I’m not forced to be squished against the insufferable man.

A tense silence settles across the vehicle, and I suddenly realize I haven’t thought about the approaching meeting or my dismal future for one second since Marco Rossi showed up at my apartment. I peek at the mob boss from the corner of my eye and settle into the supple leather headrest. At least, he is good for one thing.

But now, I have to focus. I draw in a breath and call on the inner peace I vainly search for in my frequent attempts at meditation. In a few short minutes, I’ll be stepping into the dragon’s den, and I must prove myself to every male in the room.

It’s time for the rise of a new Dragon Queen.

CHAPTER 11

I CAN’T WAIT

Marco

Hmm… the innermost sanctuary of the infamous Triad. It’s a hell of a lot shittier than I’d imagined. The pungent odor of garlic, fried oil and hot chili peppers pervade the dank hallways as I follow Wei Guo and his lovely granddaughter past the clamoring kitchen of the Red Dragon restaurant. Compared to our Park Avenue penthouse boardrooms, the Triad really needs to step up their game.

A door at the back of the kitchen looms open with navy-hooded males on each side. I move between Jia and her grandfather, my hand poised on my gun. If Lei tries to pull something, I’ll jam a bullet between his eyes so quickly it’ll make his head spin.

One of the Four Seas guys narrows his eyes at my approach. “What the fuck are you doing here, Rossi?”

He looks familiar, but I can’t keep track of all these assholes. If I’m not mistaken, he’s one of Lei’s men. “I was invited.” I shoot him a smirk and motion over my shoulder. Wei Guo trails just a step behind, having dropped back as we approached the door, and is now probably hidden by my substantial form, but that traditional Chinese attire is a dead giveaway.

The guy’s head immediately drops, and he mutters something in Mandarin.

Wei barks something in return, and the sea of males parts as Jia breezes past us and through the doorway, with me, then Guo following. Well, that went better than I imagined.

A small room with flickering neon lighting coalesces, but despite the poorly lit space, I can still make out every satisfying detail of surprise on Jianjun Zhang and Hao Wei’s faces. I would assume that Jianjun, as eldest, is typically the man in charge, but with the honorable Wei Guo behind me, the hierarchy has changed today.

The heads of the Red Dragons and Golden Star slowly rise, each dipping their chins to the retired leader of the Four Seas. “It is truly an honor to have you in attendance, xiansheng.” Jianjun’s bow is so deep I’m not certain his spindly legs will hold as he rises.

“The honor is all mine,” the old man replies, staring straight at the two leaders without bowing, clearly still the most powerful on the food chain, regardless of his retired status.

“While we are most privileged to have you attend the council meeting, I must ask why Marco Rossi is here.” Jianjun regards me with barely veiled animosity. The Red Dragons have managed a sort of peace with my half-brothers, the Valentinos, but that treaty obviously doesn’t extend to my brother and me.

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