The Naked Assassin Bundle

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One

I was born Camilla Lee and raised by two amazing parents, both assassinated during a home invasion orchestrated by the Seven Dragons’ triad about six months ago. The same thugs also shot me and left me for dead. Clearly, I survived. When I got out of hospital, I set about figuring out who was responsible. Along the way, I discovered Foo, a brutal tiger, dwelling deep within my psyche. Foo transformed me into the merciless TigerLee. Unleashing my tiger, I went in search of payback.
Along the way, much to my disillusionment and dismay, I learnt my father once terrorised Hong Kong as a triad enforcer. Dad was a Shaolin trained Kung Fu master and could dispatch a man with his bare hands. It was said he delivered men to hell. Soon, people began calling him the Devil. His fearsome reputation grew. The mere threat of a visit from the Devil was enough for any sane man to pay or do whatever the Dragon Master, Wu Mong-Hung, demanded. As the Dragon Master’s bastard son, right-hand man, and Deputy Dragon Master, my father, was destined to succeed Wu. Had he chosen to stay on that path, he would never have met Mum, and I would not grace this earth. Such is fate.
However, grandfather Wu, the incestuous old paedophile, lost my father’s loyalty when he insisted on deflowering Ai Wen, my father’s beloved younger half-sister, while he stood by and watched. Perhaps it was a test, or maybe the old man was simply too crazy and narcissistic to see… this was the straw that turned my father’s heart.
Making a spur-of-the-moment decision to rescue Ai Wen, Dad assaulted Wu and rendered him unconscious. That decision changed the course of his life and left him with no choice but to flee the Seven Dragons. Shortly after, he negotiated a deal with the police, whereby he headed up a special anti-triad task force. In due course, it proved deadly. The task force had some success. Then came disaster. The Seven Dragons fought back and wiped out his entire team. By pure luck, Dad survived, went into hiding, and started a new life in Australia. The Devil became Johnny Lee, buried his past, and turned over a new leaf.
All my life growing up, I never knew my father’s history. In my eyes, Dad was an angel. So you can imagine my surprise when the Seven Dragons invaded our family home and murdered my parents.
I swore to avenge my family’s name. And I succeeded. Grandfather Wu paid with his life. I have zero regrets about killing the old bull. God knows how many children he sired, but Wikipedia suggests it may be several hundred. Hard to believe, right? But look at the circumstances, then do the math…
Wu became Dragon Master in his twenties and I have it on good authority, he envisioned himself as a modern emperor, believing himself fully entitled to a fresh virgin every day.
Yep. Every day.
Capone, the current Dragon Master (and my ex-lover) is also one of Wu’s bastard sons. One night, snuggling in his arms, I asked him about grandfather Wu. He told me Wu liked to boast, “A virgin a day keeps the doctor away,” or some such shit. Capone also confided that Wu believed; when he stole a girl’s virginity, he also took their Chi. He claimed it maintained his virility and extended his life. Which proves the power of belief; because at eighty-seven, he was still raping at least one new girl each day. I don’t doubt it for a second. I saw the room and table where he strapped the girls down for his pleasure. It would have happened to me also, but I turned the tables and ended Wu’s rotten life in a vile way that brought justice to the many ghosts haunting the room.
Which leaves the math: 60+ years as Dragon Master x 365 days = 21,900 chances of impregnating his victim. If just one in a hundred went full term, then he has at least 219 bastard sons and daughters… including my father.
One might question, how is it possible to source a virgin a day? I cannot say for sure, but when I threw the question to Capone, he snorted and told me, ‘In Asia, it is easy. More often than not, Wu was spoilt for choice. Of course, he selected the youngest because he believed they extended his longevity the most.’
‘But the triad can’t just pick girls up from the street,’ I protested.
‘Of course we can. Do you know how many runaways from mainland China are homeless in Hong Kong? Add to that the dozens of South East Asian girls smuggled in as maids every week. The prettiest end up in brothels. The traffickers sent the youngest to Wu, after which, they were put to work.’
‘Was my father ever involved in procuring girls for Wu?’ God knows why I asked, but curiosity has the better of me.
‘Yes. From time to time he provided Wu with the daughters of men who owed the Dragons money. Usually gambling debts. Given a choice between losing a hand or handing up their daughters, most men will—’
‘Oh, God. I can’t believe my father did that.’
‘If it makes you feel any better, I think he was reluctant. Felt he had no choice.’
Hmm… had Wu also noticed my father’s reluctance? Maybe he wanted Dad to watch while he deflowered Ai Wen? A test?
I remember the disappointment crushing my soul. Hard as it is for me to accept, the sickly truth is, Dad was once a very different man. His rise to Deputy Dragon Master must be an astounding tale. Wu had an interesting policy regarding his many misbegotten children. From time to time, he adopted the smartest and healthiest of his sons and sent them to the Shaolin monks for Kung Fu training.
As for Wu’s illegitimate daughters and granddaughters… they were not so lucky. All too often, Wu deflowered the prettiest before putting them to work in one of the triad’s many brothels.
Gross, right? I am so glad I killed him; choked him on the very same cock which ruled his life and ruined so many others. But sadly, killing him did not put an end to the Seven Dragons, nor stop them from continuing to stock their brothels with underage girls.
Vowing to avenge my family came with its own Pandora’s box of consequences. Some good, some not. I never expected to get expelled from school in my senior year. And who would have thought my thirst for payback would lead to MI6 recruiting and training me as a honeytrap assassin?
Honeytrap.
Yes… I am in the seduction business. A vocation which suits me fine. Over the past few months, I discovered some surprising things about myself. The biggest… is that I am a sex addict. There… I said it. Not a boast. Just the truth. I am not ashamed. It poses no problem. Sexaholics Anonymous will never see me. I will not be confessing to a roomful of slavering strangers that my sex addiction is entirely to blame on a genetic disposition passed to me by my horny old Grandpa, Wu Mong-Hung.
No. Not me. I am proud of my sexual appetite. And let me say, how freeing that is… because it places me past the point of slut-shaming and into the realm of a love goddess. TigerLee is a sexually liberated exhibitionist. A good thing too, because the goody two-shoes Saint Matthew’s College schoolgirl needed liberating.
Camilla Lee blossomed from shy wall-flower to man-eating Triffid.
Mostly, I enjoy being a honeytrap assassin. Both parts; the sex and the killing. Sending bad guys to hell is satisfying, like splatting a buzzing fly… except… I feel a smidge of guilt about the fly.
My operational name is Cameron Li.
Camilla Lee had to die. It was the only way to avoid prison and escape the Seven Dragons.
My new identity was provided by the man who recruited me, Tony Walters, head of MI6’s secret field office here in Hong Kong. I call him boss. He calls me Cam, a name I neither like nor hate.
After I killed Wu and a bunch of his thugs, Tony saw my potential and took me under his wing. Normally, it takes a university degree and years of training before MI6 places an operative in the field. I skipped all that rigmarole and, after a crash course with weapons and signals, completed my first two missions.
I eliminated both targets, but the last one, General Walrunando, an Indonesian child trafficker, got messy. Luckily, I escaped with only minor injuries.
Both targets were child traffickers.
I hate those motherfuckers.
Last night, I saved three girls, no older than twelve, from certain death. The poor things were emaciated, used up by the Seven Dragons, and of no further use. Making an on-the-spot decision, I killed their captors, two triad thugs, then made my escape.
Tony Walters, my boss, was furious, but he calmed down and eventually agreed to help the girls by reaching out to his contacts in Interpol.
I thanked him with sex. My idea, not his. Killing those thugs had left my nerves tight as a fence wire, so what better way to unwind than humping the boss? I am a confessed nymphomaniac, after all. And it was fun, too. He is a pretty good lover. Too bad, when he finished, he turned cold and went right back to being a typical British gentleman. In other words… an arrogant, pompous arsehole.
And here we sit, 9:05 am the next day, eyeballing each other. Him behind the desk we screwed on only hours ago, and me sitting demurely on a hard wooden chair, smirking at the awkwardness he cannot quite fully conceal.
‘Well?’ he says gruffly. ‘Have you decided?’
‘Yes.’
‘And? Will you stay with MI6 or—’
‘I want to stay on. Do my bit to end child trafficking. And I want to start by wiping out the Seven Dragons once and for all.’
He takes a breath, purses his lips, and shakes his head as if I have asked the impossible. Maybe I have.
‘If you don’t agree, I’ll leave. Find another way. I’m not bluffing.’
His stare intensifies. He sighs. ‘You are serious about the Dragons. That is understandable, after what they did to your family, but—’
‘You’re not listening. I evened the score for my family already. This is about last night. They are still hurting young girls. Destroying lives. I want it stopped. I want—’
‘Yes, yes. I know what you want. Very admirable, my dear, but what you’re asking is impossible. And we don’t allow our field operatives to dictate terms.’
I stand, genuinely prepared to walk. ‘We’re done here.’
‘Sit. Sit down. Let me finish.’
I scowl, then sit.
‘Let me make you an offer.’
I nod.
‘I have a mission that’s right up your alley. Your target runs the largest child trafficking ring in Europe. Eliminate him, and I will see what we can do about the Seven Dragons.’
‘Not good enough. I want an ironclad promise. Not this bullshit; “See what we can do.” Those girls I saved last night are just the tip of the iceberg. Did you speak to your friend at Interpol? Are they safe?’
‘Yes, and yes. They were taken to hospital and are in care. Turns out, the eldest one is pregnant. The other two have AIDS.’
‘Damn those triad bastards! That’s why we must stop them, don’t you see?’
‘Agreed, but it would be easier to stop the tide than stop the Dragons. Their soldiers number over thirty thousand.’
‘Soldiers, bah. Such a slur on actual soldiers. Most of their members are just dropkicks with nothing better to do than get a tattoo and join one of their gangs.’
‘That may be so, but the leadership is rock solid. As you know all too well, take out one Dragon Master and another pops up a week later. They are as organised as any well run corporation.’
‘Corporations collapse.’
‘Not successful ones.’
‘Tony, we—’
‘Call me sir, chief, chief Walters, boss. Just because last night—’
‘We did the dirty, sir. I happened to enjoy it, and I know damn well you did too, so don’t go getting on your high horse with this “sir” bullshit. Just promise me you will do everything in your power to destroy the Seven Dragons. And in the meantime, I will eliminate this European trafficker.’
He holds my gaze for ten long seconds, then reaches into a drawer and passes me a flashdrive. ‘Passcode is Prazina1968, your target’s name and birth year.’ He spells Prazina. ‘I’ll leave it to you to suggest a plan. Meanwhile, I will talk to London about cleaning up the Dragons.’
Despite his faults, Tony is a man of his word. I thank him, finishing with “Sir,” then rush from his office, excited to see what mission is on the flashdrive, and overjoyed that finally, MI6 will take steps to wipe out the Dragons once and for all.

Two

Stopping only to make coffee, I enter my room expecting to find my roomie awake. But no, she is a late riser. Her full name is Hua Pingguo. She is twenty-two, but looks younger, has pink cheeks, and is named after the apple blossom. Like me, she is a honeytrap. Unlike me, she is not a warrior, not an assassin. She uses her honeytrap skills to glean useful information from corrupt married men, more often than not, in positions of power. She possesses the unique skill of being a human lie detector, which makes our conversations both tricky and interesting.
The coffee mugs clink as I set them on the sidetable between our bunks.
She stirs.
‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you,’ I lie.
Settling on my bed, I prop three pillows behind me, open my laptop, insert Tony’s flashdrive, and type the passcode.
‘Mmm… coffee smells good,’ she slurs sleepily, pushing herself up and rubbing her eyes. ‘Whats up?’
‘I have a mission. Want to see? Help me figure out the best way to nail this bastard?’
‘Sure. But first, I need a wee and a shower. Be right back.’ She yawns, grabs her toiletries bag, slips into a pair of pink Chinese slippers, and shuffles out.
I open the only folder on the drive and begin reading.
My target is Ramiz Prazina. Born 1968 in Bosnia. He runs guns, drugs, and girls into Europe. Two ugly scars, from brow to cheek, line his cruel face, the result of a knife fight during his infamous army career. He is a stone-cold killer. No wife, no kids, no family. I study his chequered history and my hackles rise. The reports garnered from MI6, Interpol, and the CIA, are just some of his many atrocities. I shudder to think how much more is undocumented.
One incident goes straight to my battle chest. Thirty-six Asian women found dead in a shipping container on a lorry bound for England. Autopsies show they died from thirst. A mix up at a dock in Holland meant their container became lost in the system for three weeks. Pictures taken in London where authorities opened the container are like a knife to my very soul.
It makes me keen to slay this monster, this perpetrator of such vile horror.
The problem, and there is always at least one, is… how do I get close to him? He is constantly on the move. He is the Bosnian equivalent of a Russian oligarch. A billionaire with his own Leer jet and a super yacht moored in the Mediterranean. MI6 have never penetrated his security. Last year, Tony tried and failed with a stunning beauty from France by the name of Isabelle Marceau, a honeytrap like me and Ping. She had ten successful missions under her belt, but Prazina saw through her, tortured her for information, then packed her head in a box and shipped it to MI6’s London office.
It was a clear message to Tony.
Back off.
But Chief Tony Walters is as tenacious and unforgiving as that well-known British Bulldog, Winston Churchill, who led Britain to victory in WW2. And it is understandable that he wants Prazina dead more than ever, but why does he think I can do what Isabelle Marceau could not? Is it because I succeeded where my Russian friend and lover, Sonja, lost her life to the Snake? Christ, Jakarta was almost the death of me, too. A near disaster. I got lucky.
Maybe sending me after Prazina is some kind of test? Or maybe he thinks if I fail, and my head gets returned, he can escape his promise to help me wipe out the Seven Dragons?
Christ, my mind growls. Where did that left-field thought come from? I shake my head like a wet dog. No way. Tony may be ruthless, but…
‘Hey.’ Ping returns wearing just a damp towel, sits beside me, crosses her magnificent long legs, and asks, ‘Why the big headshake?’
‘Oh, nothing. Just my mind having crazy thoughts.’
‘About me, I hope.’
Ping’s smile lights the room. Her breath is minty fresh. Her pale lips are lush, kissable, and ever so inviting. Not only is she incredibly beautiful, but she, too, is a temptress. She studies me as if she can read my thoughts.
‘Go ahead,’ she says, leaning in and offering her mouth. ‘I know you want to.’
Damn… she is talented. Her ability to read body language and facial expressions is amazing. I kiss her. Short and sweet. A test kiss. We only met yesterday, but the chemistry is hot. She obviously feels it, too. Maybe it is because we both live on the edge. Our next mission could be our last. It makes us tend to live more in the moment. To grab every pleasure as if it is our last.
God… I so want a second kiss, but I also want to get back to my mission prep.
She takes the decision from my hands, and without taking her eyes from mine, reaches out and closes my laptop.
An hour later, we lay in each other’s arms, sharing a hundred tiny kisses. Do my eyes shine as brightly as hers? I lost count the times I climaxed. Sixty-nines are insane with someone who knows how to please, and heaven help me, Ping knows.
‘I’m sorry you only had one home run,’ I say, remembering the moment she groaned and convulsed as if zapped with a Tazer. ‘You’ll have to teach me your technique so I can do better next time.’
‘No need for sorry. You were perfect. It’s me. I rarely climax. My mind runs off on tangents. Can’t focus. I usually fake it.’
‘Nooo… what about when you…?’ I circle a finger over my crotch.
Her scowl and brisk headshake say it all. ‘I never… do… that. Feels all wrong to me. Tried twice, but only made myself sore. The sad truth is, my orgasms are far and few between. And never on a mission.’
‘Not me. I can’t explain, but most of the time, the imminent danger, the chance of getting caught, heightens my pleasure.’
‘Lucky you.’ The way her voice drops sounds wishful. ‘I’ve only had a handful of orgasms my entire life. First, with Jianyu, my boyfriend from school. Plus one with Sonja after she climbed into my bed. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.’ She presses a finger to her lips while her eyes jump up and left, as if relishing the memory, then adds, ‘Thank God for her persistence.’ With her next breath, she says, ‘And since this is a full confession, I had a surprise orgasm with Chief Walters.’
‘Nooo.’ I draw the word out. Half question, half astonishment.
‘He got me drunk on champagne at a dinner briefing, then ravished me in a hotel room. Turns out…’ Ping shakes her head slowly, ‘… it was a test. I passed.’ She cuts me a knowing smile.
‘He’s quite the all-rounder. A hands-on boss.’
She giggles. ‘Hands all over me. Has he tested you yet?’
‘P-lease,’ I make a get-real face. ‘I jumped on the pommy bastard first chance I got.’
Ping chortles and slaps her thighs. ‘And Sonja? Did he send her to you also?’
‘Oh, yes.’ I nod. ‘And she showed me some wicked tricks with her tongue. No complaints from me. I will miss the crazy Russian.’
‘I’ll miss her too. She had a flamboyant personality. May she rest in peace.’
‘Ping? Do you still see Jianyu?’
Her eyes shadow. ‘Remember me telling how I used my ability to read people to win big at poker? How it all went wrong when I foolishly won big bucks from the wrong men?’
I nod.
‘Those gangsters were Seven Dragons triad. They murdered Jianyu to get back at me.’
‘Shit. I’m so very sorry.’
‘Me too. Broke my heart.’
I take her hand. She and I share a common grief. I consider telling her about Tony’s promise to destroy the Dragons, but it is too soon to get my own hopes up, let alone Ping’s.
A minute later she sighs and says, ‘That’s when the Chief recruited me. Such was my devastation, I couldn’t refuse. I wanted payback. It took many sessions with Julia to move on from my anger. To mitigate my desire for revenge. Let me rephrase that… Julia showed me how to channel my wrath in a positive way. Only when I mastered my bleak moods and black thoughts did the Chief send me on my first mission.’
‘You still want revenge?’
She shrugs. ‘Yes, and no.’ A huff, then. ‘Oh… who am I kidding? Of course, I want my fucking revenge. But you know… sleeping with the enemy… stealing vital information so MI6 can take down the bad guys… it’s… how you say… therapeutic? Is it like that for you too?’
‘I think you summed it up perfectly.’
We exchange sympathetic smiles, then she passes my laptop. ‘Let’s work on your mission.’
So we do.
An hour later, we realise the mission has one glaringly obvious problem…
Prazina has no cock.
No balls either.
Eighteen years ago, his genital region got badly mutilated by shrapnel from a grenade tossed during a skirmish in a back alley. The blast killed the two soldiers ahead of him. The monster is a eunuch, reportedly incapable of enjoying any facet of sex. Even hates kissing. To make my mission even tougher, he resents attractive women because he can no longer engage in bedroom pleasures. Our in-house psychologist, Julia Chang, has included a note to suggest his resentment and outright hostility to women has become increasingly psychopathic. Prazina is a misogynist who hates women because they remind him of his loss. He traffics young girls for reasons other than money. His life is ruined, so why not ruin theirs? His interest in the fairer sex is solely about control and power. He is a sadist who enjoys hurting women. He lives to inflict humiliation and pain. And like Wu Mong-Hung, Prazina has a God complex. The monster kills and maims simply because he can.
Which makes me wonder, why has Tony offered me this mission? It seems more suited to a SEAL team than this little honeytrap. A woman hater like Prazina is way beyond my limited powers of seduction.
Ping and I read on. The deeper we delve into the atrocities he has perpetrated, the more I want him dead.
By lunchtime we have read and absorbed most of the gruesome details. Prazina’s activities read like a fictional horror story, only far worse because they are real. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of young women and girls dead at his hand. Faceless, forgotten people, invisible to the world at large, but flesh and blood to me. They had hopes and dreams, just like I had before it got torn away. And it gets worse; for every life he stole, he has ruined dozens more; distraught parents, siblings, grandparents, and anyone else who loved the girls stolen by his foul organisation.
We dress, go to lunch, then return to scour Prazina’s file, hoping to figure a way to penetrate his security.
After a fruitless hour tossing ideas back and forth only to shoot them down as hopeless, Ping says, ‘Let’s take a break. Do something else. Let our subconscious’ work on it.’
‘Good idea. My brain hurts.’
‘You poor child. Let me kiss it better.’ She places a motherly kiss on my temple, then another on my ear. I offer my lips. She kisses them too. In seconds, we cast off our clothes and resume where we left off this morning. This time, she is topside. I instruct her to sit up and ride my face, the way I loved to ride Red’s.
‘What about you?’
‘I’m good. Now, do as you’re told, or I will have to spank you.’
She does not jump at my suggestion nor return the offer, unfortunately. Probably has yet to discover how incredible a skilled spanking feels. But she does sit up and gently grind, working her clit where I can service it best. With my nose buried, breathing is tricky, but I can tell my piggy snuffles are working the same magic as when I rode Red’s man sized nose. Something I did every chance I got.
This time, Ping climaxes in a little under fifteen minutes.
I am still catching my breath when she shouts, ‘Hey!’
Ping swings off and faces me on her knees. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come. Instead, she chortles.
‘What?’
Regaining her composure, she points and says, ‘Sorry. Your face is a mess.’
‘Doh. You think? You’re juicier than a watermelon.’
She grins, and still pointing, rocks her head side to side in a way that lays the blame at my feet. I poke my tongue. Guilty as charged.
She sobers and says, ‘I know how you can get to Prazina.’
I shoot up to my elbows. ‘How?’
She tells me. Turns out she has great tactical instincts. The plan is perfect. I throw on some clothes, kiss Ping, and dash to Tony’s office.