The basement was dark, a cold and lifeless cavern of concrete and metal. Dim lighting cast grim shadows across the barren hallway, illuminating the stark lines of heavy black doors set at intervals along the walls. Each room, sealed behind imposing steel, held promises of whispered secrets and unspoken violence.

  Ryan leaned casually against one cold wall, the blue glow from his phone screen casting ghostly illumination onto his bored expression. His thumb scrolled idly, uninterested in the muffled shouts echoing softly from behind thick steel.

  A sudden commotion came from the stairway nearby, breaking the silence. Two men dragged another between them, struggling. The captive’s eyes darted frantically, wild with panic above the gag sealing his mouth. His wrists and ankles were tightly bound, rendering him helpless.

  “Where do we put this one?” one of the men asked, adjusting his grip as their captive squirmed in terror.

  Ryan glanced up briefly from his phone and clicked his tongue, mildly annoyed at the interruption. “There’s no space yet. Wait here a bit. I think he's nearly done with number three.”

  As if on cue, the heavy black door of room number three burst open, slamming against the wall. Lucas stepped out, muscles rippling beneath skin slick with sweat, each step rigid with contained fury. Blood dripped steadily from his knuckles, stark crimson against pale skin, his breathing controlled but audibly heavy.

  “That one’s out,” Lucas growled, his voice as cold and unforgiving as steel. “Take him back to the room and throw water on him till he gets back up.”

  Ryan nodded to the two men, who swiftly dragged the captive inside. Moments later they emerged again, hauling another prisoner between them. The man was slumped, barely conscious, face a brutalized, swollen mess. His fingers were mangled grotesquely, bent at unnatural angles. Ryan couldn’t suppress the wince that crossed his face before quickly masking it.

  Lucas didn’t pause, already moving towards door number four. He grasped the handle with bloodied fingers, resolve clear in every harsh line of his body. Someone was going to tell him where Sammy Kwan was by the end of the day. He was going to make damn sure of that.

  ***

  In stark contrast, Zee lounged comfortably in his opulent bar, a haven of polished wood and gleaming gold accents. Soft lighting bathed the room in a luxurious glow, casting warmth on shelves lined with rare liquors and crystal glassware. He poured himself a delicate porcelain cup full of rice wine, savoring the rich fragrance with practiced ease.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  A trusted associate stepped forward, voice low and respectful as he whispered discreetly in Zee’s ear, “He’s still looking for Sammy Kwan.”

  Zee smirked faintly, unsurprised by the revelation.

  His thoughts drifted back to a few days prior, when Lucas Cheng had stormed back into San Francisco fresh from Chicago, bursting into the bar with barely contained fury, demanding answers. Zee vividly recalled Lucas’s pale, taut face when he'd told him clearly, hands off.

  “What do you mean this has nothing to do with me?” Lucas had seethed, rage vibrating through his entire frame. Zee's men had stiffened, ready to intervene, but Zee himself had remained unconcerned. Lucas Cheng was not the type to lose control—not here, not now.

  “We can’t risk a war, Lucas,” Zee had mimicked Jo’s measured tone, forever the pragmatist. “Wars are bad for everyone.”

  “They deliberately lured us out there,” Lucas had insisted, eyes burning with barely restrained rage. “They deliberately used Serena’s phone. You’re just going to let them do that?”

  Zee had shrugged, deliberately indifferent. “Look, the heads of Red Phoenix already sat down with ours. Sammy is rogue, they said. Gone under, no one knows where.”

  “So we’ll find him,” Lucas had said, voice dangerously quiet, determination unwavering.

  “Upstairs have already told us to back off,” Zee countered smoothly. “It’s a new world, Lucas. We need to co-exist with these guys.”

  Lucas had stared, disbelief stark on his features, exactly as Zee expected him to. Zee fixed his gaze firmly on the younger man, adopting the carefully crafted expression of an empathetic leader—stern yet understanding.

  “I know,” Zee had said evenly, maintaining the facade. “Your loyalty to Vince is a good thing, Lucas, and I don’t like this any more than you do. But my hands are tied. This girl, Vince, Serena—they’re no longer our problem. Let it go. That’s an order.”

  Lucas had lowered his head, fists clenched tightly at his sides. Zee had watched eagerly, anticipation burning behind his calm demeanor.

  Do it, kid. Do it. Light the match.

  When Lucas finally lifted his head, his face was a tightly controlled mask, emotions sealed carefully behind rigid muscles. “Understood,” he’d said stiffly.

  “Good,” Zee had replied dismissively, signaling with a wave for his man to open the private room door—Lucas’s cue to leave.

  As Lucas had exited, seething rage trailing after him, Zee finally allowed his hidden grin to surface.

  Do it. Set this whole fucking thing on fire.

  Because Black Lotus might want peaceful co-existence, might want everyone to have their piece of the pie. But Zee didn’t share. A war was exactly what he wanted—a firestorm that would consume Red Phoenix, burning them all to ashes. And despite their stupid name, the only thing that was going to rise from those ashes, would be Zee, taking it all, unshared.

  And Lucas Cheng was going to start it all for him—for free.