Reign
Characters: Wu and various NPCs Setting: Manhattan, 1986 Other: NSFW due to graphic violence and implied sexuality, all dialogue is Cantonese unless noted
In the three years since Wu had lost his finger, since he had founded the Black Suns, much had changed. Both the world around him and his own empire were perpetually evolving things, one always seeking to climb ahead of the other, and in the times when it was the world that surpassed him? Wu never let his people linger far behind. They had climbed far in the hierarchy of power that sustained New York, wiping away rivals and assimilating smaller groups, claiming block after block of territory, stretching beyond the limits of the city to fund their operations.
And as satisfying as it was to think on that, as easy as it could be to bask in his accomplishments like a cat in a sunbeam? Wu never did. There was always more to do; more product to bring into the city, more upstarts to teach their proper places, more fresh girls to establish in one of the brothels he had honeycombed around the island of Manhattan. As a result, Wu slept a handful of hours each night; a habit he didn’t expect to change even in his newest lodgings.
He’d bought the building outright a few months earlier, a modestly upscale office complex in the lower vestiges of this borough, and after the renovations and security additions were complete? He had a home he felt proud of, a fortress that was secure and unknown to enemies; law enforcement and rivals alike. It had been a process to integrate everything with his operations, of course, to pay for the building with laundered money and a fronted business on the title, but from where he sat behind a dark, rich mahogany desk? It was worth it.
Still, Wu would’ve liked to enjoy it more than he got to, to linger on the twelfth story view, to sit serenely in front of his aquarium for hours and hours. There was never time, and that kept any smile from his lips as he sat at his desk, combing over finance reports from his accountant. He relied on the numbers-jockey for now, needed a mind suited to the work, but Wu was always eager to try and learn for himself, should the day ever come where he would need discretion that he could trust to no one else.
And yet... it was such a far cry from the work that had brought him here, from the bloodshed and hustling and constant contention existing on the streets below. At times it felt as if this was a whole other world, though that feeling never jaded him. If this was so different? It was because this was where true authority happened, where decisions were made that trickled into the streets so those streets could bleed the blood of any who offended him. And that was a thought that made Wu smile as his pen bounced idly on a page, a savage expression that fit less with this side of things, and more with the name he knew was whispered in the streets.
“Devil Wu!” came the voice from beyond his office, past the double doors that were locked securely. “Devil Wu!” Again, an unknown voice, definitely female, but high and reedy even for a woman. His pen stopped it’s bouncing, fingers tightening on it as Wu waited and wondered. Who would come here? Who even knew about this place so soon, aside from his own lieutenants? And who, of all things, who would dare to use that name openly?
Dropping his pen errantly, Wu stretched a hand to either side of his desk; one closing on a half-glass of cognac he’d poured hours earlier, and the other switching on the small monitor that showed the feed from a camera just beyond his office. Sipping his drink as he waited for the squat, heavy monitor to come to life with a hum, Wu waited expectantly as the picture wobbled into frame, focusing sharply. In it, he could see his guards stepping away from the door, dragging what looked to be a child back from his doors and towards the elevator. A young girl, if the whipping mass of hair was to be believed, and the sight made him pause as a scowl etched itself onto his features.
“Devil Wu!” he heard again, in neat time now with the footage of the girl kicking and thrashing against his guards’ hold on either arm. Setting his glass aside, Wu slipped from his desk and pulled his suitcoat back on, moving for the doors and through them with an air of majesty, something imperious that clung to him as his guards stopped and looked back. “Forgive us, sir,” one blurted at the sight of him, “The girl ran from the elevator before we could stop her.” If there was more of an explanation coming, it was halted as Wu raised a hand to silence his guard, then turned it and waved back towards his office.
“Bring her in,” he told them, scowling darkly at the moment of surprise both men wore. “Whoever she is, she is clever to have made it here. I would hear why,” he said simply, turning on a heel and moving back into his office. It was a yawning space, almost cavernous with its’ raised ceilings and sparse furnishings, and as Wu moved back around his desk to sit, he couldn’t help smiling at the awe on the girl’s face as she was led in and placed in a chair on the other side. “Leave us,” he said, nodding back at the door. Then? He put his focus squarely on the girl.
She was filthy, smeared in grime on her cheeks and neck, forearms and hands, clad in threadbare clothes and barefoot. Her hair was long indeed, though matted and clumped, giving it a wild sort of madness. Most curiously? She looked... “Japanese?” he said first, raising a hand to rest his chin on it as the girl cringed under his scrutiny. “What is your name, child?”
“H-Haruko, sir,” she answered in a stammer, pulling her knees up towards her chest and putting those grubby feet on the leather of Wu’s chair. “And I am from Fuoshan, like my papa,” she added a moment later, the stammer replaced with a note of something more determined. Wu couldn’t help a laugh at that, nodding at her. “Fuoshan? The home of the great Ip Man,” he said with a smile, “But Haruko... this name is Japanese.”
There was a sting of sympathy in his chest as she drew herself in tighter, hugging her knees with both arms and nodding. “Momma is from Okinawa,” she murmured, seeming more fearful by the moment, “After papa went away, she wanted to take me there, but we had no money... she said we could earn it in America, and the boat brought us here. I... I don’t like it here.” Tears were welling up in her eyes, bright and shiny things that threatened to spill any moment and cut through the grime on her face, and against them? There was nothing Wu could do.
He stepped out from his desk again, rounding it and sitting on the front edge, leaning in to look at her more closely. “I do not like it here either, Haruko,” he assured her softly, “But in life, we cannot only have things we like. We must take the ones we hate and overcome them. Now... where is your mother? Why are you here?” There was something desperate and fearful about her, some undeniable air of wretched fortune that Wu knew he would hate hearing before she even answered.
“She is with Fat Lam!” Haruko snapped, the tears suddenly spilling like rainfall, and with that name? Everything started to make sense, questions Wu had yet to ask were answered. ‘Fat Lam’, Lam Thuy Trahn, a Vietnamese pimp who’d integrated into the Suns early and gladly. He’d been invaluable in the first years of the Suns’ prostitution operation, providing his own soldiers to bolster the ranks, rounding up girls from Chinatown and providing a client base that had brought in scads of cash, but Wu had never liked the man. He was slovenly, arrogant, quick to anger but never eager for a fair fight, and just smart enough to know when to hide his rage. Still, by the rules Wu himself had established, the man was a brother in the Suns. For now.
“Fat Lam...” he echoed slowly, “Did he hurt you? Or your mother? What has he done to send you here? And how did you know to come here?” She was scared, panicked like a hunted hare, but Wu’s patience for giving her time was clashing with his temper now, his own eagerness to mete out justice if a line had been crossed. And apparently Haruko could sense that in him, tucking her face down into her balled legs with a sniffle, peering just over her knees at him. “Haruko,” Wu said softly, lowering himself to look at as much of her as he could, “I will not be angry with you, or your mother, but you must tell me these things.”
He watched the struggle play itself out in her face, watched the tears slow to a trickle and be wiped away on her hands, leaving patches of clean skin surrounded by dirt and grime. Fighting for patience, Wu waited as her brow lined with more concern than a child should have. She was... ten, perhaps? Eleven? “Momma and I came here a year ago, she was going to work for Fat Lam until we had enough money to go home, she promised me,” Haruko said first, “But I hated it there, in that house. She did too, she... she would cry many nights. Fat Lam gave her a pipe one day and told me she would not cry so much with it.”
Patience was losing inside of him with every word, withdrawing willingly to make room for an icy feeling, a venom that seeped through Wu and drew one hand into a tight fist. Still, he listened. he waited. “Three nights ago, he... he took me from my room. Momma tried to stop him, she said I was too young, and he hit her,” she continued, sniffling again and absently rubbing her cheeks against her pant legs. “He took me to his room and... and... he held me down,” Haruko choked out, trembling bodily as she spoke, “He hurt me between my legs, and I told him to stop! I told him! But he... he said I worked for him now, that he owned me and momma both. He said I would make him a lot of money...” she trailed off, losing against her renewed sobs.
It was good that they were alone, because if there had been anyone at all that Wu could hurt in the room? He would’ve killed them in that moment, just to unleash a drop of his rage. His expression evened out, eyes narrowing as cold composure locked his features. “He should not have done this,” Wu said quietly, “I am... I am very sorry for what he did to you, Haruko. How did you find me? And where did he keep you?” If there was room for anything but malice in him just then, Wu would’ve laughed at how she produced a wallet from the filthy clothes she wore, holding it out to him. “It was in here,” she told him between choked breaths, arm trembling with stress and weariness, “With the words ‘Devil Wu’. But there was no money, and I did not know how to get here. But momma needs me, sir! I remembered the signs near the house, if I draw them can you take me back to her?”
That? That was astonishing, to think that this child had spent three days wandering Manhattan, trying to reach him, not even knowing if he could help but also not daring to give up. “You are very brave, Haruko, and very smart,” he praised softly, giving a nod her request, then reaching for his pen and a sheet of paper. “Show me what the signs said, I will take you home.” It was no surprise that English was beyond her, that was far too common with immigrants, even ones who came here for less unsavory work.
Reaching for his intercom as she began to carefully write on the paper, u thumbed down a button and waited for a moment until the door opened again, one of his guards looking in expectantly. “Ready the car, and call ahead to Uncle Benny. We will be stopping for an order of steamed buns,” Wu told his guard, managing a flicker of a smile as the girl looked up hopefully at that. “Do you like steamed buns, Haruko?” he asked, his smile solidifying when she nodded zealously, “Good. We shall have a treat for your mother, as well.”
Taking the paper when she offered it to him, Wu forced his smile to remain intact as he saw the solitary word she’d clumsily spelled out. ‘Mott’. The Mott Street brothel was one of four that Wu had in operation, and all four were overseen by Lam and his men, but now Wu knew which one he’d be at. Which would make all of this so, so much easier, and more immediately satisfying. “Come along, child. I will take you home,” he said finally, setting the paper aside and ushering her out of her chair. It was strange to him, how she seemed to keep close to his side as the guards saw him to the elevator, how desperate she must’ve been to find Wu the safest option available.
All the way through the trip, she stayed like that; sneaking closer to Wu’s side whenever his guards greeted him in the lobby or walked him to the car, and at one point he even felt a small hand grab his coat as he moved to climb into the vehicle. But for his awkwardness, he was rewarded by the awe she wore openly as they rode through the city, staring out the windows at tall buildings and bright lights, pressing into the glass to gape at the crowded sidewalks, even giggling at the sight of a street corner performer as he juggled for a small crowd.
One stop before their destination, a brief moment outside of a restaurant where Wu tried to leave the car without her, but the moment he moved to exit? She did too, her eyes wide and plaintive to the point that neither of them spared a word before Wu let her join him. They were met outside by the man everyone called Uncle Benny, once a restauranteur of some renown in China who had fled the Cultural Revolution, but found only obscurity and near-poverty in this country. Until Wu had found him and struck a deal, that is. Wu kept the neighborhood safe (from his own men) and Benny cleaned the money from as many other deals as Wu could manage. With a laugh at Haruko’s timidness and a blessing for Wu’s continued prosperity, they left Uncle Benny behind with a box of steamed buns for their efforts, returning to the car.
The city slid by like water around them, trails of streetlights stretching away in the darkness as Wu’s driver aimed them into the heart of his territory. Sitting in the back, he began to notice the way that Haruko would only look at her food as she ate, fidgeting anxiously and picking it apart with grubby fingers until he looked away. And whenever he did, Wu could catch reflections in the window of her looking his way, brightening up and eating more confidently. He smiled to himself, to the Devil in the reflection. A child so sweet should not have had to turn to men like him for help, but he was glad she had. After all, this was what he’d wanted; a reason to return to the streets of his territory, to remind the rest of Chinatown who its’ lord was.
Finally rolling to a stop as they reached their destination, Wu had to raise a hand to Haruko as she moved to leave the car with him. “You must wait here a short while,” he told her with the faintest sternness, reaching into his coat and handing over a handkerchief. “But not for long. Clean your cheeks, Haruko. You want to look your best for your mother, yes?” Grinning at her series of nods, Wu shut the car door and looked to his driver and other bodyguard. “Wait with the girl, we will call you in shortly,” he told the driver first, “And you, round up Lam’s men while I deal with him. It is late, they will be few in number at this hour.”
Wu’s head rolled back to look up at the building as he moved for the door, taking in all four stories of nondescript plainness. It could’ve been one of a million others anywhere in the city, somewhat rundown, anonymous to all except those who lived here, and that had been the point. Stepping inside, though, Wu realized that Fat Lam hadn’t maintained the entire illusion. It stank in here, the smell of too much life in too little space, and the peeling paint was only hidden wherever dead lights hung overhead. There were faint sounds inside, a steady tumult of people he knew to be in a low place as they sought whatever comfort or distraction they could before another day began. Seeing it like this, hearing from Haruko how wrong things had gone, Wu regretted it all for a moment. He should’ve taken a more direct role, should’ve overseen the setup of these houses personally. After tonight? He would.
Stalking through the parlor of the building, Wu ignored the man on the stairs who called out to him as his bodyguard moved to hush him with a quick explanation, and the shocked silence that followed drew his grin wider as he moved under patches of darkness. It was a vicious thing on his face, something that felt liberating to even show as he walked, heading for the office he knew to be on the ground floor.
He railed a fist into it three times in quick succession, waiting and hearing the faint groan of bedsprings before he did it again, harder this time. “Back to your rooms, whores!” came a voice from the other side, its’ Cantonese thickly accented with the tonal sounds that were common among native Vietnamese. Lashing out again, Wu shook the door on the frame before it snapped open again, revealing Fat Lam still in the process of rubbing sleep from his eyes. “No fixes until tomorrow!” he blurted, falling back a step as his eyes focused and he saw Wu. “Brother?” he stammered, posture changing and becoming more cowed, more subservient... more panicked.
Fat Lam had earned his nickname with his gluttony and unkempt ways, and now was clearly no exception, given how he seemed to shine even in the lowlight from the oily complexion of his skin. The wisp of a moustache he kept only made his face wider, and right now? Wu was barely controlling himself as he watched those wide cheeks gape in surprise. “We must speak,” Wu told him, stepping right in, “It cannot keep until morning. Put the kettle on, brother, I would have tea...”
There was clearly no pride in this man’s life at all, judging from the squalid conditions of his room, the half-eaten containers of food, discarded and soiled clothing, or the fitfully-sleeping girl in his bed who was just now pulling the covers over herself. But he could follow orders, at least, not that Wu gave him much credit as he watched Lam fill a tarnished kettle from his sink and put it on one of the coils of a small hotplate. Wu was silent, listening to it begin to heat up with a small clank as he just stared at Lam, drawing on an innate talent for making people sweat with nothing but a lingering gaze.
“What is wrong, brother?” Lam asked him anxiously, moving around the squat apartment in search of clean mugs. “You should have called, this place is unfit for one such as you.” Wu sneered at that, never looking away from Lam as he waited and listened, focusing past the rushed words to find the little sounds of the hotplate, the stutter of the ceiling fan overhead, and the faint sound of footfalls growing closer. “I would speak of it in the company of your men,” Wu finally told him, nodding to the door behind him as it swung open, revealing his bodyguard and two of Lam’s men. Technically his men, Black Suns, but they had served Lam first. It was time to see how loyal they were.
Wu sucked in a breath, on the verge of speaking when he saw the girl in bed roll over, her eyes settling on him. They were glassy, hazed with a fugue he recognized from countless addicts, and one of them was ringed with black and puffy tissue from a sharp bruise that encompassed her whole cheek, bearing a scabbed pressure cut just below her eye. “To your room, miss,” he told her, waving at his men errantly before they fell to either side to make a path. The girl slid from bed, wrapping herself in the blanket and drawing a snarl of protest from Lam; a snarl that stopped at that wordless sound as he looked to Wu, and saw Wu’s eyes on him once again.
There was a raw hate beginning to show in them as he waited for the girl to leave, then paced farther into the room. “A contact of mine in the police called me,” Wu said first, stopping at a chair and dragging it with him towards Fat Lam, “To say that a child arrived at their precinct this evening. She claimed to have fled a brothel in this part of the city, though she speaks no English, and could not retrace her steps. What do you know of this, brother Lam?” He savored the pallor creeping over Lam as he told the lie, drank in the beads of sweat that formed on the other man’s brow and cheeks. He wanted to clap his hands in delight at it all, really, but all Wu did was stare.
“That fucking girl!” Lam snapped, suddenly energized and pacing, wringing his hands and sucking at his lower lip anxiously. “This little whore’s daughter has been nothing but trouble for me, brother, you do not know! Last week, she bit a client. Bit him! Three days ago I caught her in here, digging in my things, looking for a fix for her mother! I thought a good beating would sort her out,” Lam stressed, waving a hand at both of his men, “But she is possessed! They both saw how she is!”
Wu’s eyes ticked away from Lam to his men, and in that moment he could feel relief roll off of Lam as tangibly as the reek of his sweat, but at the same time? Both of his men now realized the Devil’s gaze was on them. “Is this true? Brother Lam has tried his best to maintain my interests here?” he asked them, eyes narrowing. The younger of them shifted from foot to foot, awkward and shy as he parted his lips as if to answer, saying nothing in the end. And the older? Well, it was commendable just how quickly he nodded, and how he only gave away the lie in a twitch around his eyes. “Yes, Boss Wu,” he managed, “Boss Lam speaks the truth.”
It really was commendable, worthy of a quick death even. Wu’s gun was out so quickly that it must’ve seemed like he’d had it ready the whole time, raised without warning as he pulled the trigger twice and twisted to aim it at Lam, not even looking back as Lam’s guard fell with weeping craters punched into his cheek and nose, leaving dark red splatters on the door behind him. Wu could hear the younger guard cry out in surprise, as well as the familiar click of another weapon being readied as his own guard drew and aimed at the young man. And Lam? Wu had him dead to rights, caught in his sights as Lam scrambled for his bed and what he assumed would be a weapon hidden beneath it. “Brother Lam, sit,” he ordered, kicking the chair across the scant space, “There are questions I would have answered.”
Lam stayed low, eyes darting between Wu and his bed as he weighed his options, and when he still didn’t move? Wu raised his free hand, waving it over his shoulder and waiting as his guard pushed the younger man forward. “You,” Wu said to him, “What is your name?” The man, boy to be honest, cringed under Wu’s gaze, raising both hands in an unspoken plea for mercy. “Hyung, honored Zhang Wu Ji,” he managed, still flinching as if expecting death at any moment.
“Hyung,” Wu echoed with a nod, “Tell me, Hyung: do you serve the Black Suns? Or do you serve a man who rapes children?” And oh, it was satisfying to see Lam react to that. He wasn’t sure if Lam was on the verge of speaking up or vomiting, but the steady and soundless gaping of his mouth was the purest show of terror Wu could ask for, shy of Lam shitting himself. “I...” Hyung trailed off, looking away from Wu and over to Lam as the implications of that question sank in. He straightened up, lowered his hands, and pulled his collar aside to show the tattoo stamped onto his shoulder. “I am a Black Sun, Boss Wu,” Hyung finally said with a solid note of resolve, earning a grin from Wu.
“Good. Make this dog sit.” Oh, how he relished that authority as both men moved around him, grabbing Lam under the arms and forcing him into the chair. “No! No!” Lam shrieked as he struggled, “Brother, I swear to you I did not! The girl lies! Please brother Wu, do not do this!” Wu only smiled, shaking his head as he walked to the hot plate, plucking the kettle off of it by the handle as it started to whistle and stalking over.
“You have always been filthy, Fat Lam,” he taunted, dangling the kettle in front of Lam’s eyes, “You should know that cleanliness is crucial when addressing your betters.” He tipped it a bit, letting water sizzle in the kettle’s neck before it dribbled out and onto Lam’s chest, drawing another shriek. “Please, Zhang Wu Ji! Please!” Lam begged as both men held him in the chair. Wu’s smile vanished in an instant, replaced by the same heartless majesty he had leveraged in conquering this borough. “Weep, as Haruko wept.”
He tilted the kettle further, letting the boiling water pour free, dumping a steady stream of it onto Lam’s crotch. The screams blossomed then, raising in pitch to become a keening sound as Lam struggled against his captors, legs stomping a frantic staccato on the stained floorboards underneath. The air was tinged with an acrid smell suddenly, the reek of involuntary piss flooding from Lam as Wu emptied the kettle onto him and gave the slightest of nods to his guard. Another nod, from his guard to Hyung, and both men released Lam to let him double over, hands cradling the boiled flesh of his waist and lap as he started to sob in pain.
That was when Wu hit him with the kettle.
He swung it sideways, using the handle to leverage the spout into Lam’s temple and tearing a chunk of flesh free, knocking Lam from the chair with the force of the blow. “She was a child!” Wu roared, stepping in as the other two men moved back, raising the kettle again and smacking it down onto Lam’s face. “A child! A child under my protection!” Again and again, the kettle raised and fell, the tarnish becoming lost under smears of red as the shape of it dented and crumpled. “What you have done cannot be forgiven! Dog of a man!” he raged, slapping Lam’s hands aside and swinging again.
“You have damned me with your sin!” Wu snapped, lost in a sea of red as he hammered into Lam relentlessly, heedless of the splatters of blood that flew from the kettle to color his face and shirt. He was nearly straddling Lam now, mindless in his hate and oblivious to the ruin he had created from the other man’s face. “You damn all of us! You ruin her for what remains of her life!” He rose then, tossing the kettle into a wall hard enough to crack the plaster before he turned and stomped on Lam’s ribs three times. Wu staggered back a step, sucking in a deep breath as he pushed both hands through his hair, streaking part of his brow with blood.
Out came his gun again, held high in one hand as Wu looked back at his men, seeing Hyung stare at him in terror, and even slight revulsion from his own guard. None of them got used to this. Anyone who could was a threat. With his gun clenched tightly, Wu leaned down near Lam’s head, ignoring the caved-in ruin of his face and the teeth that had been knocked loose, but stuck now to his bloodied lips. “You will not die quickly, Lam Thuy Trahn. I promise you this, and one other thing,” he growled into the man’s ear, “You will die alone.” He stood tall then, aiming at Lam’s legs and putting a bullet in each knee, then spitting on him once before he turned away.
“Come,” Wu said to both his guard and Hyung as he moved for the door, ripping the phone from the wall in passing, “Leave him. Let him drown in his own filthy blood.” He moved from the room with an expression of utter disgust, walking the hallway in quick steps and ignoring the cascade of faces that began to peer from half-open doorways. There was a torrent of whispers following him, soft proclamations of fear at the sight of a bloodied man with a weapon drawn, stalking from their overseer’s den. Devil Wu, they said.
Reaching the lobby, Wu turned to his personal guard and nodded at the door. “Send the girl in, call the accountant. We will need new lodgings for these women,” he instructed, waiting for the man to hurry off before looking to Hyung. “You will tend to them in their new home. You will not harm them, you will not rob them of what little they hold dear, you will never force yourself on them. Do not fail me in this opportunity,” Wu explained pointedly, drinking in the fearful bow Hyung gave him like a sweet wine. It was a promotion, sure, but with stakes like these? Some people would probably prefer staying lower on the totem pole. “Now, go and fetch me Haruko’s mother.”
Watching Hyung race up the stairs into the building, Wu found himself alone for a moment in the lobby, seething with the rage that was starting to bleed off of him like morning mists on the bay. He would never understand it; how a man like him who had done so many vicious things would still be so disgusted, so repelled by the depths of others. Was there no bottom to the ugliness of this world? Did it only spiral into the blackness, where monsters and dead men existed?
“Uncle Wu?” came a soft voice, drawing Wu’s eyes from the floor and stilling the constant curling and uncurling of his hands. Haruko stood just past the door, flanked on either side by his guard and driver, her eyes wide as she looked at him. Just a child, ruined by this world I have built... he thought as he looked to her, managing a small smile. “Uncle?” he echoed, nodding to his men as they led her over. “They told me you did not like to be called Devil,” she told Wu with a cautious smile, “And that you are the one who keeps us safe. Like family.”
It was... it was both the purest and most heartbreaking moment Wu could think of experiencing since his own childhood, somehow simultaneously reaffirming his choices in this life and making him curse a world where he could be considered a boon to anyone, let alone a child. And then? Haruko made it worse, extending both hands to offer his handkerchief back, neatly folded to keep the grime tucked away. “Clean your cheeks, Uncle,” she told him with a hint more life in her small smile, “You want to look your best, yes?”
He took it from her with a nod, keeping his hands from trembling as Wu began to wipe his cheeks and brow, hating this moment for existing. She was likely too young to truly understand, to even guess at what he’d done, and Wu would never be so callous as to force that truth on a child. Blessedly, it was a short-lived moment before he heard feet on the stairs and a choked cry. “Haruko!” the woman there yelled, rushing down the remaining steps as Haruko’s face lit up with relief and she ran to meet her. Wu watched as she scooped the child up in a hug, squeezing her tight and crying joyously. She moved towards him at an almost frantic pace, clinging to Haruko and bowing her head again and again. “Bless you, Zhang Wu Ji, bless you!” she gushed, “My baby is safe because of you! Heavens smile on you!”
Stepping towards her, Wu’s own smile dimmed as he looked her over. The bruises on her neck told of strangulation, the splits in her lower lip confirmed abuse, and the haze in her eyes? Was the same as the other girl. “Spare me your blessings,” he told her quietly, reaching to pat Haruko on the back. “Throw away the pipe Fat Lam gave to you, gather your things. None of you will stay here,” he explained carefully, “There will be new lodgings soon. When you enter them, you will be clean of this habit. You will make sure Haruko learns English. And when she is of age, she may join the Black Suns. For that alone, do not bless me. I may yet cost you much.”
He waited just a moment for those words to sink in, watched some realization take root and spark in her, then turned to walk away. “Stay with Hyung,” he told his bodyguard, waving a hand around the lobby. “ See to it that he cuts our mark from Lam and his crony. Before dawn, call in others and have them here to greet the remainder of Lam’s men. If they do not pledge loyalty on the spot, execute them and remove their marks as well.” He glanced back once, catching sight of other women slowly trickling into the lobby, stealing a glimpse of Haruko waving after him even as her mother shushed her. He hated it, on some level. The idea that anything could be so terrible that he would be seen as a savior...
“There will be law here, or there will be nothing,” Wu stressed, earning a bow from his guard before he walked out. “My law,” he said to no one, moving for his car. He needed a drink, and maybe, just maybe? A chance to enjoy the view. After all, from so high up, he could never see how foul his empire was.