Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Six of the fifteen Hawai‘ian Island volcanoes were active. Growing up, we’re raised to respect the terrible beauty of an eruption.
The calm before the storm had a whole new meaning when that storm consisted of molten lava, burning gases, and ground-shattering explosions.
We’re taught to fear and respect Pele, the goddess of fire and volcanoes, for the longer she was quiet, the more deadly she was about to become.
The storage yard was silent as we descended. Pele was slumbering.
Rory, Tangaloa, and I were in the lead. Since neither Aftermath nor Red were familiar with our land, I had them come in behind us.
I already sacrificed one truck of Bloody Scorpions and a supply of heroin to lessen our terrible odds.
I did not want to risk any of the Bloody Scorpions who remained to escape.
Neither Red nor Aftermath were happy about it, but I left them to guard the entry road.
The only thing I made sure of as the truck drove away was the bastard who had his hands all over my Lu was not in that truck. He would not get away so easily. His hands had touched Lu; his breaths were numbered.
A figure in a dry suit emerged from the sea like a merciless leviathan. He carried a jagged spear in each hand as he stealthily made his way around to our hiding place in the tree line. It may have been many years, but he knew my tactics.
The Bloody Scorpions did not.
Three figures emerged from the trees behind us.
The twins shed the shirts I practically forced on them while giving the Royal Bastards Ol’ Ladies riding lessons.
While they were not in traditional garb, both wore tight leggings and gym shorts.
The twins were not Hawai‘ian by birth, but they’d adopted our heritage and had great respect for it.
In my book, that made them kama?āina. Given what they’d endured in their young lives, I considered it great restraint on their part that they only hurt bad men.
I was surprised to see the third figure, since Tangaloa had said he hadn’t been able to reach Kanoa.
While Kanoa, Virgil, and Rory knew each other, I doubted all three had been in the same location in years.
I know I hadn’t seen them since Aaleah’s funeral and paddle-out ceremony.
Kanoa was dressed much like Rory was in cargo shorts, though his feet were bare.
Rory used to say it hurt his Irish sensitivities to go into battle barefoot. Those were the good days.
I looked at my phone, but the unopened message was not the one I was hoping for.
Hiro: They’re lining the women up. I think they’re going to start moving them to the boats.
Fuck. I handed my phone to Tangaloa. We knew better than to speak this close to the storage facility. Sounds had a way of carrying. Whoever had my phone kept his back turned to the building so the low light from the screen did not give away our position.
Tangaloa quickly handed me back my phone.
Hiro: No, they’re taking pictures of the women. Like mugshots. They’re not making them pose or anything.
Hiro: They separated the three men, but I don’t see them.
Taking pictures? I could only think of one reason to do that. So people could see the product prior to purchase.
The screen of my phone cracked in my hand. Tangaloa put a hand on my arm, but it did nothing to steady me. She must be so terrified, and she had no way of knowing I was coming for her.
I was done waiting.
Hiro wasn’t a fighter, but he could get Lu out if we provided a big enough distraction. I looked at Virgil. The former British SAS soldier nodded once before heading back into the sea.
My gaze turned to the twins. Their lips shifted up into matching menacing smiles.
They both pulled on black leather gloves.
I didn’t have to feel them to know they were the ones with small barbs dipped in tetrodotoxin.
They headed to the docks. When Virgil made his move, the Bloody Scorpions would come investigating—and then the twins would make their move.
Tangaloa, Kanoa, and Rory checked their handguns. I had one too, but guns were not my weapon of choice.
There was a reason that Rory blamed me for Aaleah’s death.
Lu had just left me, and I’d been in a drunken stupor when I’d been called upon to go after a waste disposal company that was only fined a few hundred thousand dollars after being found guilty of dumping barrels filled with hazardous chemicals into the Pacific.
I hadn’t been there to protect Aaleah, and I’d be damned if I let Lu share her fate.
We advanced on the storage facility. Seven against twenty-something. We’d faced worse odds, but never before had I had such motivation to win a battle.
Pele was waking up.
The ancient fighting style of Kapu Ku?ialua, or Lua, was sacred to my people. While more modern martial arts had come to the Islands over the last century, there are those who still live by our traditions.
My father was one of the select few, an ?ōlohe, who was chosen to become such a revered warrior. From the time I could walk, he drilled me in the ways of our ancestors. The most important lesson he taught me was that a Lua warrior never walked alone.
At his core, my father was a peaceful man.
He believed in the law of the land and balance in all things.
After he disappeared following my mother’s funeral, I twisted his teachings, used them not to defend but to avenge.
I killed and maimed, caused harm to those who dared endanger my island.
I was cruel, and above all, I was deadly.
I did not honor my father. I was angry, grieving the loss of both my parents, one that left me by fate and the other by choice, and I besmirched the ways of my ancestors.
But I never forgot my roots. I never forgot my heritage.
It had been over four years since I did more than train, yet there was no hesitation. The moment the boats blew up and the Bloody Scorpions scattered, it was like I never stopped. I didn’t need weapons, because I was the weapon.
Rory and Tangaloa followed me inside. Kanoa was just behind them, watching our flank.
The Bloody Scorpions’ attention was on the burning boats.
A good chunk of them had run outside to see what the commotion was, and came face-to-face (to face) with the twins.
I heard the first screams of pain as I delivered my first strike.
Bones shattered and limbs crumpled. They reached for weapons, but many were not fast enough.
I manipulated their joints, bent body parts that were not meant to be twisted.
Those who came at my back were met with bullets from either Tangaloa or Rory.
The hallway we were in provided little room for them to maneuver, but I was not limited by such trivial things as walls and doors.
Weapons came at me. Blades, one chain, and many bullets.
That was the problem with guns. They were not made for close-quarter combat.
If they’d gotten to me when I was at the door, they could have killed me.
That had been my mistake five years ago, and if not for Jameson’s timely intervention, it would have proved fatal.
But Virgil’s distraction of the boats exploding forced the Bloody Scorpions’ attention to divide.
They did not see me coming with their backs turned.
Hot crimson caked my skin like war paint. I heard the screams of the women, but I did not take my eyes off my enemy.
That is, until I saw him. The fucking bastard who put his hands all over her.
He wasn’t as tall as me. With dark hair and dark eyes, his light complexion looked pale and pasty.
Like many of his brethren, he was wearing too much clothing for the hot climate.
Boots, heavy jeans, a long-sleeve shirt.
He would have been sweating long before Virgil rigged the boats to explode.
I delivered a killing blow to the man in front of me, his lower jaw completely dislocating from his skull from the single contact of my bare heel.
I was running before gravity pulled him to the floor.
I ignored everything else, my vision entirely focused on my quarry.
I was precision, a hunter amongst a sea of prey.
My knee collided with his ribs. His gun flew from his hand as he fought for balance.
We were at the end of the hall. I had no idea how many had fallen or how many were left, nor did I care.
Kanoa, Tangaloa, Rory, the twins, and Virgil could handle everyone else.
This fucking bastard had touched my wahine.
He would not earn a quick death from me.
He tried to swipe at me with his right hand, and I snapped his fingers. The fingers of the hand that touched Lu. Glass shattered behind me. I felt some of it imbed into my back, but the pain did not register.
His elbow went next. The joint snapped and tendons fractured as the lower half of his arm dangled, completely useless. The bastard’s cries of agony were a symphony of dynamic power and harmony to my ears. I should have recorded it so I could listen to the tones every day for the rest of my life.
I was not strong enough to rip his entire arm from his body, but a foot to his knee dropped him down to the concrete flooring where I was able to wrap my knee around his neck, using his body weight as leverage to tear his shoulder to shreds from the inside out.
It would have been so easy to snap his neck with my thighs, but I wanted more of his pain. He owed it to me.
Instead, I lowered my body weight, grabbing his torso between my knees and twisting. The noise of the fight within the confined space echoed too loudly for me to hear the satisfying pop of his hips. I felt it, though, and I reveled in satisfaction.
I flipped him mid-air, letting him fall gracelessly to the hard concrete onto his stomach. Fisting his hair, I forced him up onto his knees. His one arm entirely useless and his hips struggling to hold up the weight of his torso.