Page 9

June

W endy and I stood in front of a four-foot-wide desk.

It squeaked every time the slender woman behind it made even the tiniest movement.

Its wonky legs protested under the workload they’d endured over the years.

After a few long minutes, the bleached blonde finally looked up at me and let out a loud, exaggerated sigh.

“Sorry, can’t help you,” she said matter-of-factly.

This was the fourth place we’d been to—and the last one.

After all, getting a fake travel document for China wasn’t exactly a business you could find advertised on the internet.

Lincoln’s guy couldn’t help us. And through Wendy’s seemingly suspicious yet surprisingly effective connections, we had managed to track down three more places that weren’t even on Lincoln’s radar.

“Do you know anywhere else I can go?” I asked, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

“Well, to be honest…” She paused as the banging from next door grew faster, accompanied by a melodic moan that could rival the best internet starlet.

“No one will help you,” she finished, only after the masseuse and her client had finally calmed down.

“Why?” Wendy tilted her head, folding her arms over her large chest. “We can pay you more. Just name your price.”

“It’s not about the money.” She took a slow drag from the cigarette in her hand and blew a cloud of smoke right in my face. “ It’s her !”

I held my breath, trying to avoid inhaling the secondhand smoke.

The room fell into an uneasy silence—well, as silent as it could be with the occasional moans still echoing down the hall.

I didn’t need to look up to know that both Wendy and the fake blonde were staring at me, waiting for a confession I wasn’t about to give.

“Thank you for your help.” Politely, I placed some cash on the messy pile of Hong Kong identity cards.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said, pushing the cash away before taking another deep drag from her cigarette.

“You can keep it.”

“Take your money, bitch.” The fake IDs and a few lighter objects bounced as she slammed her fist against the old desk. “Sorry… I don’t want any trouble, ah-sou .”

She stood abruptly and bowed, her dark brown eyes even darker—filled with a quiet, desperate plea for me to leave her and her business alone.

I stayed still, watching her tremble slightly as she took another sharp inhale. Whoever had warned her off wasn’t just issuing empty threats. Fear clung to her like a thick cloud of smoke in the room. This wasn’t about greed or pride, this was survival.

And I was a problem she wanted gone.

“I’m not asking you to?—”

“ Please. ” The word slipped out before she could stop it, low and shaky. She wasn’t just refusing. She was scared. And whoever was behind it—whoever had shut down every option I found—was someone she didn’t dare cross.

I stuffed the cash back into the pocket of my hoodie and left without another word.

No thanks. No goodbye. No more begging for help.

I walked out of the massage parlor and hurried away from the block of old, run-down shops. A hand grabbed the back of my elbow, making me jump.

“Slow down.”

It was just Wendy.

I was okay.

“Sorry,” I half mouthed, half whispered.

Wendy kept a firm grip on my elbow, gently steering me away from the middle of the sidewalk. People in Kowloon didn’t walk as fast as the New Yorkers, but they weren’t shy about giving you a hard, judgmental once-over—or barking out a curt, unfriendly hey if you were in their way.

“Let’s go inside, I can do with one of those,” Wendy said, nodding towards the rows of egg custard tarts displayed behind a glass cupboard.

My feet followed Wendy into the run-down cafe, which sold nothing but Chinese egg tarts and a few cold beverages. The air was thick with the scent of butter and sugar—comforting, but far from calming.

After a loud back-and-forth exchange of broken English mixed with Mandarin and Cantonese, an old lady finally handed Wendy a brown box.

Wendy flipped it open the moment as she paid.

“Keep the change,” she said, crumbs falling from her mouth as she spoke. With one hand on the box and the other gripping a half-eaten tart, there was no way she could take the change anyway. “This is the real deal—way better than the ones from Chinatown.”

The elderly couple behind the counter bustled around, serving a few passersby and greeting regulars by name.

But their attention never fully left us.

We settled at one of the two small tables available—not that we had much choice, one table was occupied by their makeshift workstation, piled with flattened boxes waiting to be folded.

Their eyes darted over to us every so often, as if to figure out why we were there.

They must have been in their seventies, or maybe late sixties.

When they weren’t serving customers, the wife folded boxes while the husband scrolled idly through his phone.

Yet, every time our eyes met, they offered us the same polite, awkward nod.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” Wendy said, biting into her second egg tart. But the relaxed tone in her voice told me we weren’t leaving anytime soon.

I exhaled a long, heavy sigh. “Well…I suspect my ex is behind all this.”

“Fu–” Wendy reluctantly put down her new favorite food and gulped down some water to calm her cough. “Who the fuck are you, woman?”

She screwed the cap back onto the bottle of mineral water she’d stolen from the airline catering cart this morning.

I glanced up, and our eyes met. There were questions in her gaze—I could see that—but there was more. Concern and worry, I guessed, maybe even a hint of judgement, though I couldn’t be sure.

Like her, I was feeling all those things, and more. I was worried about Kai, Lucy, Jenny, Dave and his team. I felt useless for begging my brother for help. Incompetent for needing Wendy to babysit me. And exposed—because my past, the part no one knew about, was about to be laid bare.

Could I trust her?

Would she report everything back to Lincoln and Chloe?

Most likely.

“I dated this guy…” The words came out slowly as I weighed my options—or rather, the consequences of not telling Wendy anything.

“Spill now, or I walk.”

There it was. I had no other choice.

“It’s a long story.”

“Just tell me the short version.” Wendy stuffed a custard tart into my hand before helping herself to another one.

“My ex… he’s the head of the largest and most powerful triad in Hong Kong.” I peeled off a flaky piece of pastry and nibbled on it.

She nodded, raising her eyebrows, urging me to continue.

“I think he’s behind everything.”

“You mean you think he has Kai?”

“No, I don’t think so.” I shook my head, then froze as Wendy’s question finally caught up with my thoughts. “Wait—you don’t think…? Oh God, I hope not. Mack works for Dannie.”

Wendy plucked the custard tart from my hand, as she finished off her third. “Let’s assume this Dannie boy has nothing to do with Kai’s disappearance. Because no triad boss would risk kidnapping a billionaire for a scumbag like Mack, right?”

That was exactly what I had been telling myself. The Dannie I knew wouldn’t do something that reckless—or at least the Dannie I knew back then.

“Right.” I nodded eagerly. “I think he’s the reason those people won’t help us with the fake documents—but I don’t know why…”

“Just you, honey. I’ve got my travel documents.” Wendy brushed the crumbs from her hands and the front of her yellow floral t-shirt, then wiped her mouth and fingers with a wet tissue she pulled from her backpack.

“I don’t know what to do.” I whispered, glancing outside at the people passing by.

“You do.” Wendy’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked over at me, before she took another drink from her water bottle.

I did know what to do. Dannie wanted something from me. I just had to figure out what and give it to him.

“Maybe.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew that woman?”

“What woman?”

“The one who called you some Chinese nickname.” Wendy narrowed her eyes. “Please—I might be jet-lagged and starving, but don’t think I’m not paying attention, lady. Let me tell you, the hungrier I get, the more awake I am. Got it?”

And cranky too.

“What did she call me?” I asked, my mind racing. She might have been awake and alert, but I was freaking out—and apparently not paying enough attention.

“Sounded like Aso .”

I made a noise—something between a cough and a laugh—but had no idea what to say.

“ Ah sou. ” The old woman answered nonchalantly from behind the counter. “It means she’s married to the boss.”

I froze. It struck me then—how strange it was she hadn’t spoken a single word of English when Wendy struggled to order the tarts.

And all this time, it had never crossed my mind that the cafe owners might understand us.

Why should they? We weren’t in America. And they’d understood everything. Every single word.

“You’re married?” Wendy’s voice cut through the haze of my thoughts.

“Not exactly. We just did this… cultural ceremony thing.” My head bobbed side to side in an awkward attempt to downplay it.

The old woman snorted, a dry, knowing sound.

“ Haih , that’s considered married in the eyes of our gods and ancestors. And everyone.” She chuckled softly, like she was humoring a naive child who didn’t understand how the world worked.

“Not legally. We didn’t sign anything.”

“Maybe so,” she said with a shrug, “but you’ll always be his wife in our eyes.”

Wendy’s words shot out like a bullet. “You know him?”

The woman tilted her head, giving Wendy a look that suggested the answer was obvious. “Who doesn’t know him around here? Every month, we pay him protection fees. And before him, his father—then his grandfather.”

We hurriedly left the tart shop when I realized the owners knew Dannie.

It struck me then—they weren’t the only ones. With that thought, the weight of unseen eyes settled on me. An eerie sensation crawled up my spine, prickling every nerve along the way.