UNLEASHING THE TIGER: A Vigilante Justice Thriller. Brutal, raw, and very, very, entertaining. (The Naked Assassin Series Book 1) by Furnell Jerry

Author:Furnell, Jerry [Furnell, Jerry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-03-22T00:00:00+00:00

Forty-five

Approaching Tia’s table, I see two male security officers speaking to the four nearby guys. They have taken the liberty of commandeering Tia’s uneaten pizza and water. Leong is gone. I check the exits and glimpse him disappearing the way he came.

‘Wait,’ I call, and sprint after him. Heads turn, but not his. Security follows at a walk. My guess is, they will be happy if we leave without further incident. Or maybe they mistake me for Tia and I might yet end up in a police cell.

I catch Leong and slow beside him. ‘Okay, let’s talk.’

‘In my car.’

‘No, here.’ I want the protection of people around me.

He ignores me and keeps walking. I almost grab his elbow to pull him to a stop, but the thought of touching him repulses me. So, left with no alternative, I keep pace and repeat, ‘Whatever you want. Just stop.’

But he continues, and here we are at his BMW. He opens the passenger door and says, ‘In.’

‘No.’

‘You said, “Whatever I want.” Now, get in, or get lost.’

I shake my head. Only a complete fool would get in. Not that it matters, because he slams the door, walks behind the car, enters the driver’s side, starts the engine and backs out.

The answers I seek are about to drive away. Security has arrived. Their scowls are visible from twenty metres.

What the hell. In for a penny…

I grab the passenger door as Leong stops to engage drive, yank it open, and jump in. Wheels squeal. Acceleration presses me into my seat. I fumble for the seatbelt and buckle it. The smell of leather tells me he replaced his scratched BMW with a new one.

Grim faced, he weaves the car down two levels, and exits into the night, showing complete disregard for the speed limit. At this rate, he will kill us both, and my birthday really will be my deathday.

‘Okay, stop the car. This is crazy. Let’s talk.’

‘We talk back at my apartment.’

‘No. Stop the car. Let me out.’

He slams on the brakes. The driver behind rides his horn. We are blocking traffic. I stare at Leong, but he fixes his eyes on his mirror and holds up a single finger. He is furious. First, I toss him out of my gym, then I use Tia to sucker him to Pac Fair, and now the clown behind us leans on his horn.

I should get out. But “should” holds no power when desperation is driving your mind. I have questions. He has answers.

The horn stops blaring and a burly man, with clenched fists the size of grapefruit, steps from his car, marches up to Leong’s window, raps it with his knuckles, and says, ‘Shit. Another fucking Asian fuckwit. Fucking knew it. Get out. Give me the fucking finger, will ya? Get out of your nazi B-M-fucking-W, you poxy little chicken-shit.’ He raps the window again, but Leong does not flinch; just opens the door, steps out and drives his fist into the man’s stomach with the same force he punched Red.

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