Sammy Kwan was running. Sweat poured down his flushed face, soaking into his collar as he desperately barreled through the narrow, winding paths of Orchard Alley. His heavy body betrayed him, each gasp rasping painfully in his lungs. He cursed himself, his thick frame, his indulgences—everything that slowed him down as footsteps echoed ominously behind him.

  He stumbled sharply around a corner, slipping into a shadowy gap between two buildings where the late afternoon sun couldn’t reach. His lungs screamed for air, heart pounding against his ribs, praying that the maze-like alleyways would swallow him and hide him from whatever chased him.

  Instead, he slammed headlong into something solid and immovable, staggering backward from the impact, his legs giving way beneath him. He hit the ground hard, pain jolting through his spine. Shakily, Sammy looked up.

  Standing before him was a massive young man, his imposing presence made all the more threatening by the defined, rigid muscles across his broad back and shoulders, visible beneath a tight-fitting shirt. A crew cut framed a hard, expressionless face, eyes dark and unwavering.

  “Don’t move,” the man said simply, his voice flat and devoid of any warmth.

  Panic surged through Sammy, overriding any logical thought. Of course, he scrambled to his feet and turned to flee in the opposite direction—only to freeze instantly, heart sinking into his gut.

  Two more figures emerged from the gloom at the opposite end of the alley, blocking any hope of escape. The first man was tall, broad-shouldered, a jagged scar slicing down his cheek, dark eyes glittering with clear, murderous intent. Beside him stood another man, shorter and wiry, moving with casual confidence, hands tucked loosely in his pockets, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

  “Good work, Wes,” said the scarred man softly, a quiet menace in his tone that sent chills racing through Sammy’s body.

  “You move pretty fast for a big guy,” the wiry one smirked, looking Sammy up and down mockingly. “I’m surprised you even fit in this alley actually.”

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  “P-Please,” Sammy gasped, hands raised in desperate surrender. His voice trembled, fear robbing it of its usual strength. “I can give you money. Lots of money.”

  Before he could blink, the scarred man lunged forward, seizing Sammy’s wrist with an iron grip and yanking him sharply forward. Sammy crashed face-first onto the ground, the wind knocked painfully from his lungs.

  He screamed—a raw, gut-wrenching sound—as a heavy black boot slammed mercilessly onto his right hand, shattering bones with sickening precision. Pain exploded through him, blinding and nauseating.

  “Is this the hand you used to touch her that night?” the scarred man asked softly, dangerously calm.

  Her? Who? Sammy’s mind raced frantically. He’d hurt countless women, exploited and betrayed dozens more. He’d known deep down that his habits would haunt him eventually, but not like this. Not in some filthy alley, at the mercy of these ruthless, terrifying young men. He sobbed, shaking his head desperately, falling back on his practiced ignorance.

  “Fuck!! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he wailed, tears streaming down his face. “Look, I don’t know what you want, but seriously—I can make you rich. I can make you powerful—”

  “I don’t want money,” the scarred man interrupted coldly.

  Sammy stared up at him, vision blurred by agony, terror overwhelming him. “I want answers,” the man continued evenly, tilting his head slightly. “…but before that—I’m going to remove some of your body parts.”

  He’s insane, Sammy realized with sickening dread. Completely fucking insane.

  “N-No,” Sammy whimpered, voice barely audible, pleading and pathetic.

  Ignoring his pleas, the scarred man effortlessly hauled Sammy up by his hair, lifting him despite his considerable weight, forcing Sammy to look him in the eyes. Those dark eyes, devoid of mercy or hesitation.

  “Just so you know, this isn’t just for Vince.”

  Vince. Vince Ma. Recognition flooded Sammy’s features, his face draining completely of color. Black Lotus. These men—these ruthless, deadly young men—were from Black Lotus. That damned cop, that stupid fucking cop had set this nightmare in motion.

  “P-Please! I didn’t want to. I was blackmailed—” he sputtered desperately, choking on his own terror. A vicious punch to his gut ended his pleading, agony doubling him over, bile spilling violently from his mouth.

  “It’s also for her. And when I burn your parts to send down to her, I’ll make sure to carve my name into every piece—so she knows exactly who sent them.” the scarred man continued, his voice disturbingly matter-of-fact.*

  Lucas dragged the sobbing, broken Sammy Kwan roughly from the alley, Wes and Ryan trailing silently behind, their expressions unreadable. Jo had given clear instructions: find the real person behind all of this, and then Lucas could do whatever he pleased with Sammy Kwan.

  Lucas couldn’t have asked for a more perfect deal.