Bitter Spirits (Roaring Twenties #1)(34)

The man ignored the doctor. “Sit down,” he repeated to Winter.

Winter complied.

Aida’s panic shifted into anger. She could continue to stand by and do nothing while Winter got hurt—or killed! Or she could do something and help him.

Her mind raced. Her lower arms were free. The man holding her was becoming lazy as he watched his friend torment Winter. Doctor Yip was huddled against the far wall, talking silently to himself. Praying to his spirits, maybe. She hoped like hell they were listening.

The overpowering scent of sandalwood was making her ill. She glanced down at it in irritation. The brass incense bowl was within her reach, the tips of the sticks glowing orange.

Ah . . .

Fast as she could, she whipped her arm out and grabbed several sticks in one swoop. She felt the gripping arm tighten around her shoulders, but he wasn’t fast enough. She stabbed backward over her shoulder using all her strength, aiming the joss sticks for what she hoped was his face.

ELEVEN

THE STICKS JAMMED INTO FLESH. HER CAPTOR’S SCREAM PIERCED her ear.

She fell forward, stumbling away from him.

Distracted by his friend’s screaming, the cauliflower-eared man let his guard down for one heartbeat too long. Winter flew off the bench. In two beautiful movements, he snatched the gun from the man’s hand as he jabbed an angry fist square in the middle of his face. It was brute strength, skillfully wielded—she’d never seen such a violent motion delivered so precisely. The punch made a sickening crack! like a bat hitting a ball. The man’s body flew backward and collapsed on the floor.

His muffled cries were pained and feral as the copper-bright scent of blood wafted in the air. He was not going to get up again. Aida’s attention flew to her captor. Both hands covered his cheek. She’d missed his eye by centimeters. A shame.

“Get down!” Winter bellowed at the man, loud enough to rattle Aida’s nerves. He was savage—the devil himself. And Aida was, all at once, frightened and strangely thrilled.

Winter stepped between her and her captor and motioned with the gun. The man dropped to his knees.

Lying on his side, the cauliflower-eared man loosely held his hands over his nose and took desperate gasps of air through his open mouth. Blood seeped between his fingers.

“No shame in crying.” Winter told him in a calmer voice. “That nose is broken and probably hurts like hell. You might want to have someone set it, or it’s going to look ugly when it heals.”

The man twisted in place to shoot Winter a hateful look.

Winter clucked his tongue. “You’ve got nerve, coming in here today to question me without Ju’s permission. I can only imagine what you were thinking. But let’s get some things straight. I’m not interested in Ju’s territory, or any of the other tongs’. We do not have overlapping interests. Never will. Secondly, this cul-de-sac is not technically Ju’s. It’s free territory.”

The man shuddered, rolled onto his shoulder, and spat blood out of his mouth.

“And if Ju has a problem with Bo ‘sniffing around,’ as you put it, then he will come talk to me directly. I don’t do business with peons.”

Her captor was saying something in Cantonese. His partner didn’t answer.

“But let me make one thing clear. If either of you lay a finger on Bo, I will hunt you down and break every bone in your body. And if you or any other man so much as even stands too close to her ever again, I will blame you personally”—he tapped the man’s elbow with his shoe—“and I will put a bullet in both your brains. Do you understand?”

The cauliflower-eared man made a short grunting noise in confirmation.

“I’m going to send word to Ju that the two of you assaulted us without provocation. I’ll let him dole out your punishment. Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind and take you out into the alley.”

• • •

Fifteen minutes later—after Winter had made promises to Doctor Yip about ensuring his protection—Aida scooted across the backseat of a taxi to make room for his big body. She decided it was better to drop her off at Gris-Gris, as there wasn’t time for her to return to her apartment. He instructed the driver, and soon they were pulling out onto a rain-slicked street, away from tong territory.

“That was a stupid thing to do, burning that man in the face,” Winter said staring out the window. “He could’ve hurt you.”

“But he didn’t.”

He turned and looked at her. “Did you think I wouldn’t protect you?” His tone was intimidating, his mouth stern. Was he angry, or was his male pride wounded?

“I wasn’t thinking about anything at all,” she protested. “I just acted on instinct.” When she got no response to that, she asked, “Would you have done worse to them if I wasn’t there?”

“I don’t go around killing everyone who threatens me. I’m not a thug.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He didn’t answer, which hurt her feelings.

Fine. He could be mad at her and brood in the corner all he wanted. Only, there wasn’t a corner in the taxi, and he filled up every inch of the space with his enormous body, the scent of his clothes, and the dark cloud of emotions radiating from him. She squirmed, trying to cram herself against the door.