The Naked Assassin (EBOOK)

The Naked Assassin will keep you on the edge of your seat as TigerLee, an avenger and assassin faces her toughest challenge yet... delivering payback on child traffickers.

Stranded in Hong Kong and chased by the Seven Dragons, this dazzling beauty with deadly intentions must form an unlikely alliance with a seasoned mobster. Combining steamy sex and unspeakable violence, Camilla Lee must become his mistress if she is to survive his devious plan to become Dragon Master. Fans of fast-paced thrillers such as The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo will love this riveting story by Jerry Furnell. Buy The Naked Assassin now to continue your adventure with Camilla Lee.
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One

At the next table, three women say my name. They pull up my leaked police mug shot on a phone, gawp as one, and prattle about my hair, my face, and what it is I did. Four days ago, I was a nobody. Now, thanks to the power of social media, everyone in Hong Kong knows my story.
My name is Camilla Lee and I am an avenger. The woman holding the phone calls me a modern day dragon-slayer, a hero. I call myself TigerLee.
Tomorrow, I front court. The charge; murder. I do not deny it.
Yes, I cut off the eighty-seven-year-old penis of Wu Mon-hung, Dragon Head of the Seven Dragons Triad.
Yes, I forced it down the old bastard’s throat, made him chew.
Yes, when it lodged in his windpipe, I stood back and watched him choke to death.
Well, what can I say? He had it coming.
So yes, I have a lot to answer for, but right this minute, none of that matters.
I lean over and kiss my boyfriend, Red. Not a lover’s kiss, but a sisterly one. Auntie Edith taps her foot. Her critical gaze holds ice enough to cool my ardour. She knows Red and I are an item. How could she not? We have shared the room next to her for three wonderful days. I am sure she has mixed feelings about our relationship. Him being twice my age, twice my size, and my hand-to-hand combat instructor. He is ex SAS. I was fourteen when we met and he became my sensei. In four years, he has taught me to fight dirty, to disarm attackers, use knives, and to win at all costs.
The past three days, he has been my sensei in the wonderful art of lovemaking. He is as skilled under the sheets as he is on the judo mats. But that is not why I adore the big lug. On the outside, he is hard as a macadamia, but inside… he is a marshmallow. The day his tears spilled on my scars; comprehending my near suicide from depression; he won my heart. I could not wait to give him the rest of me.
I will miss his company, but most of all, I will miss making love. He has me hooked on sex. My former shyness and sexual insecurities are history. Red likes to tease that I have worn him out with my constant, ‘Let’s do it again.’ Honestly, I cannot get enough. It is fun finding new positions and discovering each other’s pleasure zones. Lovemaking is my new favourite workout. Shocking to admit, sure, but I am no Robinson Crusoe. Who doesn’t love sex? Who doesn’t feel one with the universe when they climax with their soulmate? I rate it is the best experience two people can share.
This morning, we are saying farewell at Hong Kong’s Chek Lap Kok Airport. Red is accompanying Auntie Edith back to Australia. Sadly, her husband, my Uncle Benji, is travelling in the hold. Even though Auntie has said, ‘It’s okay. I don’t blame you,’ she cannot hide the accusation behind her eyes. Her beloved Benji would not be in a coffin, if my pestering had not driven him to Hong Kong. If only I had been patient. If only I had found Dad’s notebook sooner.
If only…
Regret is a worm that eats us from within.
And my worm grows each time Auntie’s gaze falls on me. I love her, but I am glad not to be returning on her flight.
She hooks her arthritic fingers into Red’s arm and says, ‘Let’s go.’
His eyes have not left mine. Lips pinched, he stands and helps Auntie to her feet. We exit the coffee shop and pause for one last look at each other.
Red smiles and says, ‘See you in Australia, sweetheart.’
‘Soon. I hope.’
Auntie turns him towards the boarding lounge and he helps her shuffle away.
I sniff, wipe a tear with the back of my wrist, and turn back to my escort, an AFP officer named Anders and a soldier, Sargeant John Adams. Both work at the Australian Consulate. Officially, they are here to protect me from triad retaliation. Unofficially, I suspect they simply want to keep me on a short leash. If I run. If I do not show for court tomorrow, the Consulate General will have hell to pay.
Currently, I am disguised behind a pair of large sunglasses and a blonde wig lest the Seven Dragons find me. They have eyes everywhere and word is; they are keen to even the score for Wu Mon-hung’s murder. Yes, they could wait for the courts to put me in prison, then kill me there, but that could take months. Anyway, they want to be the ones to make an example out of me. And the sooner the better.
So there you have it. I have a target on my back. For life.
Just like my father.
Dad, formerly known as the Devil, was once an infamous triad enforcer, and Wu’s right-hand man. Long story short, after coming to blows with Wu, Dad changed his identity, fled to Australia, shaved his head, grew a beard, and turned his life around. For many years, all was well. Then, a few months ago, Leong Xu Li, a high-ranking Seven Dragons deputy, identified my father at our martial arts school and gym. During a silly incident, Leong spotted and recognised Dad’s (normally concealed) triad tattoo.
Shortly after, the shit hit the fan.
The Dragons invaded our home, shot me, and murdered my parents. I survived. My search for answers led me to Hong Kong and my current inescapable situation. The Australian Consulate and the Hong Kong Justice Alliance are doing all they can to ensure I go free, but the Hong Kong justice system is a corrupt hodgepodge of British and Chinese justice and the vibe I get from my lawyers is that I’m mince.
I guess we will find out tomorrow.
Red and Auntie disappear through security. Neither look back.
Anders tilts her head at the exit. ‘Honeymoon’s over. Let’s go Blondie.’


Two

We exit the airport at a brisk pace. The air is heavy with fumes from the stream of vehicles feeding the footpath. My escort scans for threats. Off to the right, four gorillas, with dragon tattoos peeking from their collars, swing their gazes to us. They had been scrutinising the special number plates on the consulate saloon which waits, engine running, in the limousine-only drop-off area. The triad must have got to someone at the consulate. One Dragon stares hard at me, then whispers urgently into the phone held to his ear.
Oh hell, this shit just got real.
‘Get in, hurry,’ Sargeant Adams says, yanking open the rear door. I do as told and shuffle across. He falls in beside me just as Anders scrambles in from the other side.
‘Go,’ Anders shouts at Don behind the wheel. Don, like Adams, is a soldier attached to the Australian Consulate. He is young, enthusiastic, and grins at the prospect of trouble. I just hope his bravado is not put to the test. Over my shoulder, I watch the goons at the airport pile into two black SUVs and give chase. There is nothing subtle about the pursuit. We are the fish, and they are the sharks.
‘Faster,’ Adams calls.
Acceleration thrusts me back in my seat as the big V8 Mercedes surges ahead of our pursuers. Anders, voice quavering, tone desperate, is on her phone requesting police assistance. It is too little, too late. My guess is the Seven Dragons have their own special arrangement with the local fuzz. As if to confirm my suspicions, a police car pulls out in front of us and immediately slows. Don quickly assesses that they are here to hinder, not help. We cannot pass and there is but one turn off. Don takes it, but it is a trap. Another truck pulls out, blocking our path. We skid to a stop in an alley lined with industrial bins overflowing with waste bags from the adjoining restaurants. Kitchen hands slouching in doorways, hurriedly toss their cigarettes and dash inside.
Don finds reverse, but it is too late. Three vehicles turn in and block our path. There is no sign of the police vehicle that slowed us. A dozen men, wearing jeans and T-shirts, exit the cars and raise their guns.
‘No one needs to die. Just give us the girl,’ shouts a thickset thug with a scar running through his eye from forehead to cheek.
Sargeant Adams pushes my head down and says, ‘Run when I tell you.’ He opens his window, then the door, and using it as a shield, spills out and opens fire.
All hell breaks loose. The gunfire is deafening. Glass explodes from the rear window. Anders falls across my body under a rain of glass shards. Is she sheltering me? A glance tells me otherwise. Her left eye is gone, along with half the back of her head.
Adams tugs my arm, hauls me half through the door. ‘Run. Run now.’
I tumble out in a crouch behind Adams. Between the industrial bins I spy a backdoor, closed, but open a crack. Bullets whiz over my head and ricochet off the bins. He shoves me through the gap. ‘Go.’
Head down, I burst forward like a cannonball. A stray bullet whistles past my ear so close it parts my hair. Behind me, he and Don empty their guns.
My shoulder hits the door. It swings open. I roll through and jump to my feet.
Facing me is a terrified cook. He holds the biggest meat cleaver I have ever seen. I look back and see Adams take a bullet to his shoulder. Don is reloading. The Dragons are edging down the alley, firing continuously. In a few seconds, they will reach the consulate car. I want to return and help the soldiers, but how? Kung Fu is useless in a gun battle. Those two brave soldiers are giving their lives to save mine. Now is not the time to hesitate. I must not squander their sacrifice.
Turning back to the cook, I say, ‘Let me pass.’
He steps back but keeps the cleaver raised. I slide past and bolt through the next door. The gunshots have alerted the diners. Some are already scrambling for the exit, others just ogle me with wide eyes and wider mouths, as if I am leading a dozen gun toting thugs into the restaurant, which, unluckily for them, is correct.
Behind me, I hear the cook plead, ‘Don’t fire. She went that way.’
Run, Camilla, run. My mother’s entreaty fills my mind like a distant echo.
I reach the front door as the first Dragon explodes into the restaurant and raises his gun.