The motel sat off the side of a barely maintained highway, its faded beige paint chipped and peeling. A flickering orange neon sign struggled to spell out “VACANCY,” and doors painted in pastel shades lined the single-story building, worn by weather and neglect. The cracked parking lot was overtaken by weeds, littered with empty beer cans and cigarette butts, and the air held the stale, sour tang of abandonment.

  Inside their room, the musty scent of damp carpeting and cigarette smoke mixed unpleasantly with cheap detergent. Two sagging twin beds with faded floral covers occupied most of the space. An old TV perched on a chipped dresser, its remote long gone. Wes sat heavily on one bed, methodically tending to the shallow cuts on his arm, silent and focused. Lucas had already cleaned his own scrapes and leaned against the wall, his gaze fixed on Ryan, who paced restlessly by the window.

  Finally, Ryan let out a dramatic sigh, turning sharply to face them. “I’m gonna step out, see if any of my people got intel on those assholes who jumped us.”

  Lucas narrowed his eyes slightly. “How reliable are these ‘people’?”

  Ryan shrugged easily, flashing a careless smile. “Reliable enough to get me here alive so far.”

  Wes lifted his head, fixing Ryan with an unreadable stare but said nothing. Lucas knew exactly how he felt. Ryan was talkative, reckless even—but he’d fought alongside them during the ambush, and Lucas wasn’t ready to write him off yet.

  “Don’t be long,” Lucas finally warned. “If we’re followed—”

  Ryan lifted his hands in mock surrender, grinning crookedly. “Relax. I got this.” He slipped out quickly, the door clicking shut behind him.

  Silence descended heavily as the minutes passed. Wes stretched out slowly on the bed, exhaustion finally settling into his broad frame. Lucas didn’t move from his spot near the window, eyes scanning the deserted lot outside, suspicion gnawing at his gut as the half-hour mark came and went. Still no Ryan.

  An hour ticked by, and Lucas’s tension hardened, each passing minute confirming the unease he felt about trusting Ryan. Wes glanced at him briefly, a rare flicker of uncertainty visible in his eyes. “He should’ve been back by now.”

  Lucas nodded, his voice tight. “I know.”

  The sun began to dip lower, casting long, distorted shadows across the parking lot. Lucas felt the gnawing uncertainty grow, coiling tighter in his chest. Just as he was about to suggest they leave, the door swung open abruptly, revealing Ryan—his face uncharacteristically grim, his usual cocky expression replaced by serious urgency.

  Lucas straightened immediately, jaw tense. “Where the hell have you been?”

  Ryan shook his head, ignoring the question, eyes sharp and cautious. “It’s Red Phoenix,” he said quickly. “Some guy named Sammy Kwan. They’ve been tracking Serena’s phone since she vanished. Someone leaked our location—we can’t stay here.”

  Sammy Kwan. The name sent a chill through Lucas. He could still vividly recall the dark bruise on Vivian’s face—the silent fury that had surged through him when he realized Noah had allowed her to get hurt. Sammy had orchestrated Vince’s murder, and now he was targeting Lucas directly. Something about this felt off—too clean, too easy, as though he were being guided toward an answer someone wanted him to believe.

  Lucas exchanged a quick, meaningful glance with Wes. His suspicion still lingered, but right now their options were limited. “You got somewhere else?”

  Ryan nodded, urgency tightening his features. “Yeah. An old warehouse—secure, off the radar. Nobody knows about it but me.”

  Lucas hesitated briefly, gut instinct still prickling in warning, but finally nodded curtly. “Fine. Let’s move.”

  Ryan looked visibly relieved, already moving toward the door again, clearly anxious to leave. Wes stood silently, his presence reassuring despite the growing tension.

  As they stepped out into the cooling evening air, Lucas couldn’t shake the lingering sense that something still wasn’t right. But for now, he kept moving, filing away his doubts for later.

  ******

  Ryan guided them down increasingly isolated streets, each turn leading further from the neon glow of convenience stores and into neighborhoods shadowed by abandoned buildings and rusted-out warehouses. Lucas sat in the back seat, eyes sharp, senses alert. Wes, driving silently, mirrored Lucas’s tension, both men on edge as Ryan rattled off directions with unusual seriousness.

  They finally pulled up outside a warehouse, massive and abandoned—corrugated metal siding streaked with rust, windows broken, doors hanging partially open. Grass and weeds sprawled unchecked around the base, and graffiti had faded to ghostly outlines against the weathered walls. It felt desolate. Wrong.

  Lucas tensed instinctively. Something was off. He exchanged a quick glance with Wes, who was watching carefully from the driver’s seat, jaw tight. Lucas’s pulse quickened.

  Ryan hopped out, his usual energy subdued. “This way,” he urged, voice quieter than usual, eyes scanning the area. “Quick.”

  Wes followed silently, Lucas just behind him. Ryan led them inside through a partially rusted side entrance. The interior was dim, cold, and cavernous. High ceilings were crisscrossed with metal rafters and chains dangling eerily, while rusting equipment and wooden pallets lay scattered across the dirt-covered concrete floor. Sparse patches of moonlight pierced through grimy skylights, leaving deep shadows in corners and alcoves.

  Lucas’s instincts screamed. He shot a warning glance at Wes, who subtly tensed, silently signaling readiness. Ryan moved ahead, his footsteps echoing unnaturally loud in the silence.

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  They didn’t make it more than a few feet into the warehouse before floodlights suddenly flared to life, blindingly bright. Lucas’s hand shot toward his concealed gun, but multiple clicking sounds echoed sharply, the unmistakable sound of weapons being cocked.

  About fifteen men emerged from the shadows, weapons raised, expressions smug and menacing. Lucas stiffened, muscles coiling for a fight, rage simmering in his chest as his gaze snapped to Ryan, betrayal blazing in his eyes.

  Ryan stepped forward casually, turning slowly to face Lucas and Wes, his usual cocky smile back in full force, sharp and mocking. He spread his arms wide theatrically, his grin dripping with contempt.

  “Surprise,” Ryan said lightly, his voice a taunt. “Sorry, boss. Had to go with the winning side.”

  One of Sammy’s men moved forward quickly, roughly grabbing Lucas’s wrists and cuffing them behind his back. They padded them down, finding and tossing their guns and weapons. Lucas’s jaw clenched, murderously calm. Wes stood still, staring coldly at Ryan, his body radiating barely controlled violence, even as they restrained him too.

  Ryan sauntered toward Lucas, crouching down to eye level. He slapped Lucas lightly on the cheek, eyes glittering cruelly with mockery. “I told you right? I got a lil sister to look after. She’s gonna be great, better than all of us. So why would I be with you guys? Black Lotus is dead. You’re so smart? Why don’t you conVINCE me to stay? Huh?”

  Lucas’s gaze sharpened. Was that…?

  Then Ryan’s fist slammed into his face. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth, but he remained silent. Ryan struck again, knocking Lucas to the ground, straddling him, landing a few more punches that left Lucas’s head ringing and vision blurred. Amid the blows, Lucas felt Ryan’s fingers subtly slip something small and cold into his palm. His hand ran over the jagged edges —it was a key, the key to his cuffs.

  Ryan’s mocking laughter echoed as he stood, theatrically dusting himself off. The remaining men chuckled, clearly amused.

  Finally, one of Sammy’s men yawned impatiently, raising his weapon and pointing it directly at Lucas’s head. “Enough of this shit, let’s finish the job and go.”

  Ryan shrugged, expression casual, “Sounds good to me.”

  Then he pulled his gun and fired point-blank into the man’s chest.

  Chaos erupted instantly.

  Lucas was moving before the man hit the ground, having already unlocked the cuffs with the key Ryan had slipped him. He snatched up the dead man’s discarded gun. His aim was precise, practiced—two more men dropped immediately, clean shots to the head. Wes moved instantly, muscles rippling as he charged forward, still cuffed, into the closest attacker, bowling him over with sheer brute strength.

  Lucas and Ryan moved as one, flanking Wes, providing cover fire as Wes battered his way forward. Ryan slipped behind Wes quickly, fumbling out another hidden key, swiftly freeing him.

  “Sorry, big guy,” Ryan muttered rapidly. “Don’t have another gun for you.”

  Wes’s voice was calm, quiet but deadly: “I’ll get my own.”

  Ryan grinned, stepping back as Wes snatched guns from the fallen bodies at his feet and advanced forward, firing methodically at their attackers. Lucas moved alongside Wes, elbowing one attacker sharply in the throat, pistol-whipping another across the temple. Gunfire erupted around them, bullets grazing his arms, stinging, but Lucas barely registered them, adrenaline surging like fire through his veins.

  Ryan, staying close behind them, fought with surprising effectiveness despite his messy technique, his cocky demeanor gone and replaced with fierce concentration. He wasn’t graceful, but he was scrappy—landing punches and stabbing viciously at anyone who got too close, sometimes even biting or scratching. Lucas caught the edge of a smirk despite himself, quietly appreciating Ryan’s surprising resilience.

  Wes fought like a force of nature, silent and ruthless. He barreled into two men, grabbing one by the neck and slamming him brutally against the floor, the crunch of bone audible. He swung a stolen gun up to shoot another approaching attacker, relentless and efficient.

  As they continued firing, weaving and dodging, the numbers dwindled, until only one man remained—panicked, shaking, gun trembling in his grip as he aimed frantically at Wes and fired wildly, striking Wes in the thigh. Wes barely flinched, advancing without hesitation, seizing the man by his throat, and twisting sharply. The sickening snap echoed through the warehouse as the man crumpled lifelessly to the floor.

  Quiet fell heavily in the aftermath, broken only by their ragged breathing. Lucas glanced at Wes and Ryan, all three bloodied, battered, but standing. A reluctant, wry smile finally tugged free on Lucas’s face as he took in the two men beside him, battered but victorious.

  He shrugged slightly. “Okay, I can work with this.”

  Ryan exhaled shakily, relief obvious beneath his bravado. “Thought you’d like that.”

  Lucas shook his head, wiping blood from his mouth, his expression reluctantly appreciative. Wes only nodded silently, eyes darkly satisfied, the quiet acknowledgment enough.

  The three men stood together in the dim, shadowed warehouse, battered but alive, bound now by bloodshed and something deeper, unspoken but understood. Lucas glanced around at the carnage, suddenly realizing they’d crossed an invisible line together—there was no turning back now.

  Whatever came next, they were in it together.

  *****

  From the outside, the doctor’s surgery looked as plain and forgettable as it could possibly be. Tucked discreetly between similarly nondescript buildings, no sign or markings suggested what lay inside. Heavy blinds sealed off any prying eyes, ensuring that those who entered and exited did so unnoticed.

  Inside, the sterile scent of antiseptic cut sharply through the air, mingling with the soft hum of fluorescent lights. Lucas sat shirtless on a worn medical table, grimacing slightly as the doctor expertly sewed shut the bullet wound on his left arm. Nearby, Ryan lay back dramatically on an identical table, a neatly bandaged shoulder wound—clean through, nothing critical—earning him teasing looks from Wes, who sat across from them having his thigh carefully wrapped.

  “You know,” Ryan began, eyeing Lucas with exaggerated seriousness, “I just realised, I’m really good at this.”

  Lucas chuckled despite himself, shaking his head lightly. “I saw you bite a man’s face.”

  Ryan winced in mock hurt. “Unorthodox? Yes. Effective? Also yes.”

  Wes gave a low, quiet laugh, shifting his weight slightly as the doctor finished the tight wrap around his leg. “Effective is debatable. I still had to shoot that guy for you.”

  Ryan huffed, indignant. “Please, it was a team effort. I lined it up, you took the shot.”

  “Sure,” Lucas said dryly.

  The doctor stepped back, peeling off his latex gloves and disposing of them carefully. “You guys are all set. Try not to pop those stitches.”

  Lucas nodded, flexing his arm carefully and feeling the dull ache set in. “No promises.”

  Ryan hopped gingerly off his table, clutching his injured shoulder with exaggerated drama. “Doc, tell me straight—will I ever dance again?”

  Wes looked up slowly. “You look like the type that shouldn’t dance.”

  “Cruel, big guy, cruel.”

  Lucas felt his own smile broaden slightly, watching the interaction. Despite his initial reservations, maybe Zee had been right after all. Maybe these two were exactly what he needed.

  Lucas’s phone vibrated sharply against the metal table beside him, jolting him from his thoughts. He glanced at the screen: Zee. The easy mood evaporated instantly, replaced by sudden, heavy tension. Lucas picked up immediately.

  “News?” Zee’s voice was flat, cold, all business. “I hear you guys went to see the doc.”

  Lucas kept his tone steady. “Red Phoenix. Sammy Kwan planted Serena’s phone and ambushed us. His men are dead.”

  Silence stretched heavily over the line, punctuated only by Zee’s quiet breathing.

  Then Zee spoke again, slower this time, a quiet gravity to his words. “Then this is starting to make sense. Red Phoenix took out Vivian Jiang and her boyfriend.”

  Lucas’s breathing stopped. The world seemed suddenly muffled, distant, as Zee’s words echoed relentlessly in his head.

  Vivian was dead.