Ethan was dragged down the corridor, struggling against the men's grip.He shouted, demanding to speak to someone in charge—but his voice was just a cover.While he twisted and resisted, his eyes moved constantly, mapping the place: the layout of the hallway, the position of security cameras, the number of guards. Every detail mattered.
They hauled him down a flight of stairs.This lower level wasn't for gamblers anymore—it was where debts got collected.
The "collection rooms" weren't cells. Cells didn't have racks, irons, or saws.This place did.As they passed, Ethan caught glimpses through half-open doors—men bound in cages, screams tearing through the air.
One of the guards shoved him through an iron door.Ethan stumbled into the room and was strapped tightly to a chair.
Outside, someone screamed again—a raw, hoarse sound that didn't stop.Ethan closed his eyes and began replaying every hallway, every corner, every escape route he'd seen.
It was well past midnight.
Across town, inside a luxurious villa, Lucas Langford sat opposite his mother—a poised woman in her forties whose expression could freeze steel.
"Mom!" Lucas shouted. "That bastard beat me up! You're seriously not going to do anything?"
Mrs. Langford gave a cold laugh. "And what exactly do you want me to do? You caused the mess. Now your father needs someone to clean it up—and that bastard kid is the perfect tool."
Lucas clenched his fists. "What if he actually pulls it off? The Boss himself is watching this deal. If that kid succeeds—"
"Succeeds?" she sneered. "You think some street rat can succeed where professionals have failed? Tell me, Lucas, why do you think Mr. Kun's been waiting months for a chance to move against Jack Zhao?Zhao's an ex-enforcer—three men can't get within ten feet of him. His casino's packed with loyal guards. You really think anyone could get in there, lay a finger on him, and walk out alive?"
She jabbed a knife clean through an apple on the table.The blade hit wood with a wet, metallic crack.
"Michael doesn't expect that kid to survive," she said flatly. "He's just offering the Boss a gesture of good faith. His son crippled during Mr. Kun's operation—that's what loyalty looks like."
A rusted door screeched open.
The sound was harsher than the creak of the old wooden door back at Ethan's house.This one sounded like iron grinding bone.
A broad-shouldered man entered the room, muscles rippling under a sweat-stained tank top. His short hair was slicked back, his movements precise and unhurried.He didn't even glance at Ethan.Instead, he crossed to a workbench lined with tools: tongs, branding irons, saws—each one clean and ready.
A moment later, the door opened again.Serena He stepped inside.
"Boss," she said evenly, "it's confirmed. The check's fake."
Her words told Ethan everything he needed to know.This man—the one at the bench—was Jack "Two-Finger" Zhao, the target.
Zhao picked up a pair of tongs and approached.He caught Ethan's pinky between the metal jaws, smiling faintly."Fake check's well made. You're young, but you tried to look older. Not many kids your age come to gamble with forged checks. So tell me—who sent you?"
"No one," Ethan said, his voice steady. "Just wanted to play a few hands."
"I don't buy that." Zhao tightened his grip.
Pain exploded through Ethan's hand.The nail bed darkened instantly, purple and black. His entire arm shook with the effort not to scream—but the agony tore a sound from his throat anyway.
"I don't like hurting kids," Zhao said mildly. "But enemies—don't come with age limits."
Ethan forced a breath between his teeth. "You really don't know who you pissed off, do you?"
Zhao raised an eyebrow. "Hard to say. I've pissed off plenty. But none of them would send a kid with a forged check for just a hundred grand. If someone wanted me dead, it'd be over millions."
Ethan spat blood onto the floor. "Right. A smaller check's easier to cash. You lose a hundred grand, I end up here—with you."
Zhao's smile didn't fade. "So you were after me."
He grabbed Ethan's arm, testing his muscle. "You've got some strength. Maybe you train. Doesn't matter. You're not walking out of here until I know who sent you."
Ethan said nothing.
Zhao sighed, turned back to his table, and picked up something new—a scalpel gleaming under the flickering light.
"You know," he said conversationally, "this is my favorite tool. So sharp it can slice skin like silk."
He ran his thumb along the blade's edge, then held it up for Ethan to see.Light danced on the metal, cold and clean.
Ethan drew a deep breath. "Michael Langford sent me."
Zhao froze."The Langford from the Dynasty Club? He sent you? Why the hell would Michael Langford pick a fight with me? We've got no beef."
Ethan smirked. "Who said he sent me here to fight you? I told you—I just needed to meet you. And if it wasn't for him, you'd already be dead."
"Oh?" Zhao's grin widened. "Now I'm curious. Go on."
Ethan's eyes flicked to the scalpel in Zhao's hand. The way Zhao twirled it—effortless, playful—told him the man was no stranger to using it.
"Two weeks ago, at the Dynasty Club—you remember the brawl between your Lansway crew and Langford's men? The one that got everyone spooked?"
Zhao nodded slowly. "Yeah. I remember. Some spoiled brat started it."
"Lucas Langford," Ethan said. "Michael's son. He started it on purpose. Because someone's planning to take you out—and this was the only way to get your attention."
Zhao chuckled. "That story's got holes, kid. If Michael wanted to warn me, he could pick up a phone. No need for all this theater."
Ethan met his gaze. "What if he couldn't say it out loud? You know who he works under. The Boss."
Zhao's smile thinned. "I don't have beef with the Boss."
"You don't," Ethan said. "But his partner—Mr. Kun—does."
That wiped the amusement off Zhao's face. His brow furrowed."Even if that's true, Michael could still reach out to me directly."
Ethan let out a short laugh. "Jack Zhao, the infamous Two-Finger—calls himself a kingpin but doesn't even realize Mr. Kun's already planted a spy in his own house."
The words hit the air like a gunshot.
Behind Zhao, Serena He stiffened.Her pulse hammered in her ears. Slowly, she turned—and found Ethan's gaze locked on her.
His eyes were sharp, unyielding, and certain.