These Violent Delights (These Violent Delights 1)

“I have your rent money.” They watched Madame wade through the discarded clothes on her floor, reaching under the slab of a mattress she called a bed to retrieve her money. Muttering beneath her breath, Madame counted the coins, each clinking into her palm to the tune of the groaning ceiling beams.

Madame extended her arm, offering Juliette the money in her fist.

“Actually—” Juliette closed her hand around Madame’s and pushed the money back. “Keep it. There is something else I would prefer.”

Madame’s pleasant expression faltered. Her eyes swiveled to the side, to the other door.

“And what would that be?”

Juliette smiled. “Information. I want your knowledge regarding the Communists.”

The pleasant expression on Madame’s face dropped entirely. “I beg your pardon?”

“I know you let them frequent this place for their meetings.” Juliette cocked her head, once at Kathleen and once at Rosalind. The two sisters broke away from their positions beside her and fanned into the room, each planting themselves in front of an exit. “I know one of these back rooms isn’t holding a girl and her eternal pleasure ride—it holds a table and a fireplace to keep the members of the Communist Party of China warm. So tell me, what have you heard about their role in this madness sweeping through the city?”

Madame barked out a sudden laugh. She lifted her lips too wide. Juliette could see the thick gap between her two front teeth.

“I haven’t a clue what you mean,” Madame said. “I keep out of their business.”

Is it fear or loyalty preventing her from talking? Juliette wondered. Madame was Scarlet-associated but not a gangster, loyal to the cause but not quite willing to die for it.

“Of course. How rude of me to assume,” Juliette said. She rifled through her pocket, then grinned brighter than the thin, diamond necklace she had retrieved, now dangling between her fingers. “Will you accept a gift from me to make up for my insolence?”

Juliette skittered behind Madame before Madame could protest, and Madame did not move, either, for what was the harm in taking a diamond necklace?

It was not a diamond necklace.

Madame squawked when Juliette pulled the garrote wire tight, her fingers flying up to scrabble at the pressure digging into her skin. By then the wire was already wrapped around her neck, the micro-blades piercing in.

“Those who are loyal to the Scarlet Gang are dropping dead in droves,” Juliette hissed. “Those who dirty their hands for us are falling victim to the madness, while people like you remain tight-lipped, unable to decide whether you bleed scarlet or fight for the workers’ red rags.” Thin beads of blood bubbled to the surface of Madame’s smooth skin, enough to stain the hues of her neck. If Juliette pulled the wire only a hairsbreadth further, the blades would dig deep enough to scar upon healing. “Which shade do you bleed, Madame? Scarlet or red?”

“Stop, stop!” She wheezed. “I speak! I speak!”

Juliette loosened the wire a minuscule fraction. “Then speak. What role do the Communists play in this madness?”

“They do not claim responsibility for the madness,” Madame managed. “As a group, they remain resolute that this is not of their political doing. Privately, however, they speculate.”

“Regarding what?” Juliette demanded.

“They think one genius within the Party schemed it up.” Madame’s fingers tried to claw at the wire again, but the wire was too thin for her to secure a grip. All she achieved was scratching, her nails grazing at skin as if she were mocking the madness’s victims. “They whisper of having seen one man’s notes, planning it all.”

“Who?”

When Madame seemed to hesitate, her tongue gagging forward, Juliette pulled the wire tighter in threat. By the door, Rosalind cleared her throat, an unspoken recommendation for Juliette to ease up and watch hers

elf, but Juliette did not falter. She only said, her voice as calm as the morning tide, “I want a name.”

“Zhang Gutai,” Madame spat out. “The Secretary-General of the Communists.”

Immediately, Juliette let go of the wire, bringing it back to her side and giving it a shake. She retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket, giving the chain a wipe down until it was sparkly and silver once again. When she tucked the wire away, she offered Madame the handkerchief with the same bright smile she reserved for working flapper parties and charming old men.

Madame was pale and shaking. She did not protest when Juliette tied the handkerchief around her neck, carefully adjusting the fabric until it soaked up the line of blood.

“I apologize for your troubles,” Juliette said. “You’ll keep this between us, won’t you?”

Madame nodded blankly. She did not move when Juliette summoned Rosalind and Kathleen back to her side; nor did she protest when Juliette tossed all the cash she had in her pocket onto the table to belatedly pay Madame for the information.

Juliette marched out of the room, her heels echoing loudly as she exited the den with her cousins. She was already forgetting how steady her grip had been upon the wire, how willing she had been to hurt Madame for what she wanted to hear. All she could think about was the name she had received—Zhang Gutai—and how she was to proceed next.