These Violent Delights (These Violent Delights 1)

Her city, her gang, her family. The better thing to do now would be to walk away, walk away from anything that would distract her from what was important. But she couldn’t. She… hoped. And hope was dangerous. Hope was the most vicious evil of them all, the thing that had managed to thrive in Pandora’s box among misery, and disease, and sadness—and what could endure alongside others with such teeth if it didn’t have ghastly claws of its own?

“We still have a monster to catch,” Juliette said firmly, even knowing, knowing better. “Chenghuangmiao is White Flower territory. Let’s go.”

She feared Roma would say no. That he would walk away even if she couldn’t. There were so many people bustling about Chenghuangmiao on the daily—Chinese or otherwise—that it would be impossible to keep the Scarlet Gang out. She did not need Roma’s help to find the Larkspur at this stage. They did not have to keep cooperating. He knew this.

Roma’s eyes were blank. His posture was easy, spine straight.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Thirty-One

Tyler Cai was the first to receive news of rumblings within the city. He prided himself on keeping an ear on the grapevine, face turned outward for whispers that flowed downwind of any burning source, eyes pinned on those who needed them. Average civilians were fickle little creatures. They could not be trusted to go about their lives sensibly. They needed overseeing, a gentle, kind hand to prod them around and move the strings that held their fates as necessity dictated, else the strings became entangled and people choked to death on their own bumbling foolishness.

“Mr. Cai.” The news came from a messenger named Andong, whom Tyler had taken especially under his wing, trained with the express directive of coming to him first, before anybody else. “It’s really bad.”

Tyler straightened up at his desk, setting down his calligraphy pen. “What happened?”

“A strike at a factory in Nanshi,” Andong said, breathless. He had run in, barely avoiding a collision with the doorjamb in his hurry. “Casualties. There are casualties this time.”

“Casualties?” Tyler echoed, his whole brow furrowing. “They are merely workers making up a fuss—how did they manage casualties? Did the madness strike at the same time?”

“No, it’s the Communists,” came the harried reply. “There were people from the worker’s union planted inside the factory, instructing the workers and smuggling in weapons. The foreman is dead. Found with a meat cleaver in his head.”

Tyler frowned deeply. He cast his memory back to the rallies on the streets, to the political parties that the Scarlet Gang had been trying to keep under control. Perhaps they had aligned themselves wrongly with the Nationalists. Perhaps it was the Communists they should have been watching more closely.

“With what do they take issue?” Tyler sneered. “How dare they revolt against those who give them safety!”

“They do not view it as such,” Andong replied. “The workers who are not dying from the madness are dying from starvation. They’re lining up en masse for that stupid vaccine, and instead of blaming this blasted Larkspur for overcharging, they worship him for the safety of his magical vials and blame the Scarlet factories for not paying enough to let them have both the vaccine and food.”

Tyler shook his head. He hissed, “Ridiculous.”

“Yet the Communists are thriving in this climate.”

They were. They were taking full advantage of the chaos to turn the people of Shanghai against their rulers, to tear down the reign the gangsters had built. But it was not a big deal. The Scarlet Gang still held the crown. If they couldn’t get the Communists in line eventually, they would simply destroy them.

“It is not an isolated incident,” Andong warned when Tyler remained silent. “It may be an uprising. The Communists are planning something today. The factories all through Nanshi are starting to mutter unhappily. There will be more murders before the day is done.”

Off with their heads and down with the rich. The workers were hungry enough that they would cut down the gangsters and use the sound of screaming to insulate the spaces between their ribs.

“Send warnings to our Scarlet affiliations,” Tyler instructed. “Immediately.”

The messenger nodded. He seemed to start back in the direction he came, but paused before he could move, stilling. “There’s… another thing.”

“More?” Tyler said. He threw his hands behind his head, rocking back on his chair.

“I did not see this with my own eyes, but”—Andong stepped farther into the room, then lowered his head. Instinctively his voice grew quiet, as if matters of death and revolution could be discussed at a normal speaking tone but petty gossip required reverence—“Cansun said he witnessed Miss Juliette in White Flower territory. He said he saw her…” Andong trailed off.

“Spit it out,” Tyler snapped.

“He saw her with Roma Montagov.”

Tyler lowered his hands slowly. “Oh?”

“It was a mere glimpse,” Andong continued. “But he thought it suspicious. He thought you may like to know.”

“Indeed, I do like to know.” Tyler stood. “Thank you, Andong. If you would excuse me now, I must find my dear cousin.”

* * *