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Though my Cantonese was limited, I caught bits of their conversation.

Military Hair was flexing his chest muscles, complaining that he was bored and wanted to beat us up.

Hair Gel disagreed, arguing that unless they called for backup, they couldn’t both leave their post. They mentioned something about their boss.

A smartly dressed couple arrived. The short, bald man nodded at the guards and mentioned his name.

Immediately, the guards transformed, offering warm smiles and a welcoming demeanor that we didn’t witness earlier.

Hair Gel opened the door wide for the couple, while Military Hair stood firmly in our way.

Preventing us from sneaking past the door.

Taking advantage of the situation, Trevon and I tried to sneak a peek inside. We continued our drunken act, bouncing on our toes and flailing our arms as if we were trying to climb over the guards.

“Let’s find another party. This one isn’t fun,” Trevon said, tugging me away from the door.

“But I want to go to this one,” I pouted, digging in my heels.

“I’m Mr. Chen Gong.” I shouted in Mandarin.

I had no proof that Jenny’s husband had been invited to this party, but he was a notorious party boy. If anyone could get into an exclusive event, it would have been him. Name-dropping was worth a shot—even if, at this very moment, he might not be breathing.

“Mr. Chen?”

“Yes.” I was starting to think my trick had worked.

“This is your…?” Military Hair asked in his not-very-fluent Mandarin.

“New toy,” Trevon added, as he planted a kiss on my forehead.

“Ah ha, you like it strong and black,” Hair Gel quipped, his tone laced with casual racism. Military Hair laughed. I wanted to tell them to mind their manners, but this wasn’t the time to lecture uncultured people about respect and diversity.

“Wait, I don’t think you’re on the list,” Hair Gel said, his suspicious gaze scanning us.

“Impossible,” I snapped.

“This is a very private event,” he continued, “I don’t think?—”

For a moment, I questioned if these guards actually had some brainpower. They weren’t just here to intimidate people.

“Look, I just happened to be in Hong Kong and heard about this party?—”

“Honey, I’m sad,” Trevon interrupted, raising his voice to an exaggerated, high-pitched whine that sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. I silently prayed he wouldn’t do it again.

“Look what you’ve done. Now my baby is sad. I’m leaving tomorrow. If he’s not happy, then I’m not happy—and if I’m unhappy, your boss won’t be happy,” Trevon added, his words an illogical mess. But two drunken idiots weren’t supposed to make sense.

“Yeah, the boss is going to be pissed if you make a scene,” Military Hair mumbled to Hair Gel before switching to a mix of English and Mandarin. “His wife is back from America, and he won’t let anyone ruin this party. Not even someone like you.”

“June.” Her name escaped my lips before I realized it.

“You heard?” Hair Gel’s eyes narrowed with interest.

“Let me in,” I demanded, attempting to push past them. Trevon, surprisingly, was the one who held me back this time. Both guards stared at us like we were some kind of absurd puppet show.

“Let’s go,” Trevon said firmly.

I couldn’t fight him. One, he was remarkably strong. Two, I hadn’t properly slept in days and was too exhausted to resist. When he finally loosened his deadly grip on my arm, we were in a quiet corridor, away from the guards.

“Listen to me, buddy,” Trevon said, slapping my face. Hard.

“What the hell was that for?” I rubbed my stinging cheek, the burn spreading like a trail of ants.

“You’re not listening!”

“Fine,” I growled.

“Did you see those guards?”

“Yes. Didn’t you? What’s your point?”

“They aren’t just any guards. Can’t you tell?”

Now that he mentioned it, things started to click.

Military Hair had a jagged scar across his scalp, and Hair Gel sported a neck tattoo that no tailored suit could fully conceal.

Plenty of people had scars and tattoos, but here, in this hotel, it meant something else.

I had been so eager to get inside that I missed the danger standing right in front of me.

“What are you implying?” I asked, though I already had a sinking suspicion.

I thought I knew what Trevon was saying, but I needed to hear it from him.

This was the last place I ever wanted to be.

I’d avoided anything to do with criminals since the day I was kidnapped.

Every time I worked with these people, I wrestled with my inner demons.

Some of them could be nice, sure—but I couldn’t shake the feeling that one day they’d turn on me.

Betray me. Stab me in the back when I wasn’t looking.

“I think you know,” Trevon said.

“The host. The boss,” I murmured, realization dawning. “Someone powerful in the triad.”

“Exactly my thoughts,” he confirmed.

If the guards were telling the truth, then June was in serious trouble. “The American girl. The wife… It’s June.”

“Or coincidence?” Trevon offered weakly.

I refused to believe in coincidence. Not here. Not now.

“Are you kidding me?” I raised my hand, ready to slap him back for his earlier assault.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “I was trying to be optimistic, but you’re right. I think that’s your June.”

“We need to get her out.”

“And Wendy,” Trevon reminded me.

“Yes,” I agreed, feeling guilty because I kept forgetting that Wendy had been swept into this whole mess because of June, and I couldn’t leave her behind.

“We need to get back to our room,” he said urgently.

“Why?”

He held up his phone. A text from Wendy blinked on the screen. See you in five.