Patricia O'Day, aged twenty one, was a part-time social worker and full time clothing store manager. Trish never had a cause to hate or a reason to hurt, except during the last two days. A young billionaire named Vincent Roth caused the death of her brother Colin

Isaak O'Day, her father, was a corrupt businessman whose heart was in the right place. On a late Tuesday evening in Oakland, California, the rest of the O'Day family was endangered. At The Men's Club, following a negotiation between Roth and Isaak for waterfront property, a gruesome shootout occurred. Two bodyguards were killed in front of Trish's eyes, and her father was also shot. David Macendale a.k.a. Mac, was the antagonist after confessing to murdering Colin. Isaak laid bleeding on the expensive carpet. Trish was held down by Mac's thug.

"Oh, Lord, too much death," Trish chanted.

Mac's employee then hoisted Trish off the carpet, not letting her escape. Roth hastily exited to upstairs during the gunfight.

"I'm getting those fucking deeds back," Mac said. After a Mexican standoff with a guard, he pursued Roth.

Isaak tried to see Trish. Instead, he saw a gun next to him. Was it loaded? Was the safety on? He had to chance it. Isaak positioned himself to see his daughter held by a nondescript henchman. Trish saw the eyes of her father, then the gun. Trish thrust her elbow against the thug's gut, buying her time to flee. Isaak shot the man in the kneecap and chest. The thug pulled out a second gun. Isaak had little strength left and let loose another round into the heart, killing him.

"Daddy, please talk to me." She cried out as she knelt down and held his head up.

"This hurts like a bitch, but I'll survive it. I've been through worse." he said with a hushed, pained tone.

Witnessing the extensive death and suffering these past few days allowed rage to grow inside of Trish. In her father's right hand was the gun and she pried it loose.

"Where are you going?" Isaak uttered while loosening his grip on the gun.

"I'll be back, Daddy. Mac has to pay for what he did," she stoically answered, running up the stairwell.

The roof hosted a gun fight reminiscent of an Old West shootout. Mac fired at Roth to acquire the deeds. The automatic weapon spraying bullets made Mac's efforts difficult. His own shots struck the metal briefcase filled with paperwork. Roth could not withstand the bullet impact and dropped the case before the chopper swooped away, Mac to collected the coveted deeds. Suddenly, Mac pulled out his gun, which was kicked out of his hand. He saw Han Sing, the protagonist in the whole football arena endeavor.

Han also suffered a recent, family tragedy. His kid brother Po was slaughtered, also because of Roth. Po's shady lifestyle never stopped Han's love. At the moment, he believed Mac ended his sibling's life.

"Why did you murder my brother?" Han urgently asked.

"I didn't. That Chinese shit was in house. Blame your own people for that."

Mac lifted the open briefcase. He knew was no match for Han and threw it. Han caught it but faced a gun that Mac held to his head. Even Han believed he could not dodge a bullet.

"Sorry, Romeo, you won't get a chance to. You've got to die." Mac said through a grin.

"Forgive me, Po," Han thought.

A loud gunshot echoed. Mac's leather coat spurted blood. He stared at the wound in his chest. They saw Trish near the door, smoking gun raised.

"That's for Colin," Trish said through gritted teeth.

"Damn, that's some cold shit!" Mac aimed his weapon toward her.

Trish defended herself and fired again. The bullet struck Mac in the chest and propelled him over the ledge. She dropped the gun and profusely trembled. Han jogged over to her. Her well being was a priority.

"I'd never once touched a gun before." She massaged her temples

"Stay with me, Trish. It's all right. Thank you for saving my life. Now, where's your father?" Han gently grasped her hands.

"Downstairs; he was shot." Her trembling ceased when she looked into Han's eyes,

While Maurice was her bodyguard, she felt no safer. Issak's pleas to be part of her life assured no security. Han clasping her shaking hands was a sanctuary she never felt before. She sensed Han's pure heart and soul during their first meeting less than two days ago. The horror she endured during them was easier to swallow, thanks to his presence.

They sprinted downstairs to check Isaak. The bartenders blanketed him and elevated his feet. Police and ambulances were en route, but Trish had to be certain of her father's condition. She knelt beside him and kissed his forehead.

"I'll be fine," he weakly said.

"You'd better be. We've still got catching up to do," she said.

"Yeah, we sure do," Isaak smiled. With slightly blurred vision, Isaak noticed the young Chinese man beside them. "You're Han, the one who's been causing all this trouble."

"I guess I am, sir," Han chuckled. "Please save your strength."

"Just let me shake your hand." Isaak requested, as Han tucked his right hand into his. "You've got a firm grip. I respect that."

"Thank you, Mr. O'Day. Now, if you'll both excuse me," Han began to leave, but Trish grabbed his wrist.

"Han, I heard everything Mac said. Let me help you!" Trish begged Han.

"Trish, you've helped me more than you even realize. Stay with your father," Han calmly said for her safety, rather than it sounding like an order from a police officer. He darted out of the room.

"He's way shorter than I expected. I'm on the floor and he's still a little guy," Isaak quipped as sirens were heard.

"What am I gonna do with you?" Trish lightly chuckled.

The E.M.T. and Oakland Police were on the scene immediately after Han departed. Isaak was given an intravenous drip on the gurney in the elevator. Once its doors parted, they hurried him thru and Trish followed.

"Are you in love with Han?" Isaak meekly asked her.

"Oh, Daddy, now isn't the time," she answered.

"It is so the time. I saw the look in your eyes while he left. He's going to Chu's house to avenge his brother's death."

"You knew."

"Only after I investigated; it wasn't relevant to me, except now Han is of your concern."

"Oh shit," Trish exclaimed while they passed thru the lobby toward an ambulance.

"You deserve a person like Han. Go to him with my blessings. Tell the police about Chu."

Trish smiled. For once, Isaak deferred to her. She kissed his forehead once again. Issak was hauled into the ambulance that then sped away. Police cars were strewn in the street. Officers tried to make sense of the upstairs melee. Trish searched for an unoccupied police officer.

"Please stay behind the line," one of them ordered her while driving in.

"I'm a witness who was upstairs when all of this went down," Trish mentioned.

"In that case, you'll have to come with us for questioning," he answered.

"I know who murdered Po Sing, Officer Higgins," she stated after reading his nameplate. "I'll give you his name. You look up his address. But you take us to it. You'll get that huge collar. Hell, you'd get a more huge commendation."

The young officer tried to make the ends of her request meet. "Who are you claiming did it?"

"Chu Sing," Trish answered

"Chu Sing? His own father? Are you kidding?" Higgins tapped in the information.

"I have no reason to lie to you. Han Sing, his eldest son, is my friend."

"In case you haven't noticed, this is a war zone!" An elder officer grunted out to his younger partner.

"I'm perfectly aware of that, Sergeant. This young woman has a lead for a suspect in the Po Sing homicide," Higgins answered.

The older officer stared at Trish smiling and waving beside the squad car. The gray-haired officer rolled his eyes, and reluctantly opened the back door so she could enter it. Trish never was in a police car, although she has seen her dad in one a few times. Thankfully, she was only there to put a murderer in prison, unless Han got to him first.

They drove to the real estate of Chu Sing, bearing lush trees and fields and a long bridge leading to a grand mansion. A plume of smoke rose from the rear of the house. The officers contacted fire, E.M.T., and backup. Minutes later, more squad cars drove deeper into Chu Sing property.

"Listen, Han is likely to be inside, and he's one of you. Please don't shoot him." Trish said to Officer Higgins.

"We can't make assurances like that, Miss O'Day." he noted.

Suddenly, everyone heard one gunshot.

"No!" Trish exclaimed.

"Shots fired," announced from all cars. Several policemen emerged from their vehicles to see rising flames. With weapons drawn, they entered the house. Han Sing appeared from the shadows with burned hands raised high above his head.

"My name is Han Sing. I'm an unarmed, off duty, Hong Kong police officer. My father just committed suicide in his office. I fought a man in the yard and may have killed him in self defense. I didn't check his pulse."

"Is there anyone else on the premises?" a random officer asked.

"Not to my knowledge," Han answered.

All saw his cloth-draped hands. He appeared weak with labored breathing, but they frisked him anyway. Once cleared, they directed him to the ambulance. Han limped down a small flight of steps.

"Please let me out of here, Officer Higgins. Please, let me see him." Trish saw his battered state from the distance.

Higgins sighed and unlocked her door. Trish jogged up to greet the bloodied, burned and broken Han. She hardly believed he stood upright and gently held his scalded hands.

"What are you doing here?" Han actually was relieved to see a friendly, caring person right now.

"I couldn't let you be alone with this. Oh my God, what did they do to you?" She placed her right hand on his face, gently caressing his cheek with her thumb.

"It doesn't matter, Trish. It's over." he answered.

"Are you going to be okay?" Trish quietly asked.

She ran her fingers through his short, black hair. Han ran his arm across the arch of her back. Their lips pressed together in a long, pleasant, and needed kiss William Shakespeare himself could not imagine. He paused to stare into her soulful eyes, slowly curing his soul-permeating sickness. His emotions defined the kiss he gave her.

They did so much for each other in the past two days that seemed like years. They both lost family. In their periods of mourning, they found a new family of love, of understanding. It would be this kiss that began it. Even after they completed their kiss, she would not tear her gaze away from him.

"Let's go," Han said.

They strolled in each other's arms to the ambulance. They did not want to let go. They did not wish the moment to end.

Love would not die. Honor would not die. They existed all along in Patricia O'Day and Han Sing.