Chapter 25
THE DESPERATE HOUSEWIFE
QUINTON
“Go over the plan one more time,” I grunt, my temples pulsing at the absolute ridiculousness of Damon’s proposition.
The man is utterly mad. He’s got some unwarranted idea that we’re super spies capable of trickery and theft.
The buffoon ignores me, texting away on his phone as the jet descends into Han’s private airfield. “Damon! The plan.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Damon grumbles, acting as if I’m the one causing the collective headache. “How many times do we have to go over it?”
I glower at him. “As many times as it takes me to believe that we won’t end up rotting in a Macau jail cell for the rest of our lives.”
Damon pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “You’re so dramatic, Q. No one is going to jail.”
“The plan,” I spit through gritted teeth. “Again.”
“Alright.” Damon releases a long, exhausted breath.
“When we arrive in Macau, Han’s assistant will meet us and take us to the resort.
There, we will meet the Li’s. Javier confirmed that we’ll be their guests of honor.
Han’s party begins promptly at 8 p.m., that’s in two hours.
The jewels, based on my sources, will be displayed in the middle of the ballroom.
No, they will not be in a case, but they will be heavily guarded.
Javier tells me there will be four guards manning the display.
“At around 11 p.m., when everyone is nice and drunk, you’re going to meet Chang Li Ma, he’s the chief engineer at The Golden Lotus.
He’s disgruntled and hates the Li’s. We’ll pay him a handsome fee for his services.
Chang is going to bring you down to the controls room where you’ll switch off the lights to the ballroom.
Han’s guards will immediately fall into protocol and leave their posts to secure the Li’s.
In that split second, I’ll take the diamonds from the display and pass them off to a server we’ve hired to transport them to a secure location. ”
Damon draws in a sharp, annoyed breath, continuing, “You’ll turn the lights back on after three minutes.
I’m sure the police will be called, and we’ll all be interrogated, but out of everyone in that room, we’ll be the last people Han expects to steal the diamonds.
We’ll spend the night as planned and, in the morning, meet my buyer. There. Happy?”
I shake my head repeatedly, bewildered. “You are certifiably insane. This plan is insane. There are far too many variables, and if one piece is out of place then the entire thing collapses and we’re fucked.”
Damon sighs. "Quin, you need to relax. Your anxiety is going to be the thing that derails the plan, not the plan itself."
He's right. I know he’s right. I need to calm down. This plan requires precision and confidence. I can't afford to let my nerves get the best of me. I’ve trusted Damon before. I can trust him again. I’ve got no other choice.
The jet touches down in Macau, and as we disembark, we're met by the Li Brothers' assistant, a young man with styled black hair and an expensive suit.
“This way please,” he says, guiding us to a waiting SUV. We slide into the plush seats, and he gives us a polite smile. “Han and Pei Li are very much looking forward to seeing you. We all hope your stay at The Golden Lotus will be enjoyable.”
“As do we,” Damon coos.
Christ.
The drive to The Golden Lotus Casino and Resort is short but it feels like hours. Damon and I attempt to keep the atmosphere inside the SUV light, giving the illusion that we’re here for a good time—to gamble, to drink, and definitely not to rob Han Li completely blind.
Despite the artificial smile on my face, on the inside, I’m a bloody mess. The Li Brothers are notorious figures in Asia and crossing them can’t lead to anything enjoyable.
Regardless of the risks, Damon seems to full-heartedly believe that this plan is our only shot at getting Emery back.
He went along with my plan, so it’s only fair I trust his.
Plus, if I knew any other way to secure half a billion dollars without raising suspicion or risking law enforcement intervention, I’d go a different route.
But that’s a lot of money, and no one with that much wealth is ever keen to part with it.
As we approach the casino, the neon lights reflect off the sleek surface of the black SUV. The Golden Lotus is a loud piece of architecture, closely resembling the glittering towers scattered up and down the strip in Las Vegas—shiny on the outside, shady on the inside.
The assistant leads us through the casino's grand entrance, past the ringing slot machines and bustling tables.
We're ushered into a private lounge, the scent of cigars soothing my racing pulse. The moment we come into view, Han and Pei wave at us, grinning. Both brothers are sporting diamond encrusted suits, their expressions almost giddy, and for a moment, I have faith in Damon’s plan.
“Damon Cavanaugh, our dear friend,” Han extends his hand.
Damon eyes it warily before shaking. Damon has told me bits and pieces of their history, and ‘friend’ wouldn’t be a word I’d choose to describe their relationship.
Either Han is attempting to come across as connected, or he’s completely delusional.
Han turns to me. “And Doctor Marquis, it’s an honor to have you at our casino. ”
“Quinton is fine,” I say, shaking Han’s hand and then his brothers. “What a wonderful establishment you’ve built for yourselves. I take it business is good?”
Pei grins. “Business is always good.” He motions toward a table surrounded by four lounge chairs. “Please, let us have a drink.”
Damon stiffens. “Perhaps later—at the party. Quinton and I have had a rather long flight, and we should get cleaned up.” He checks his watch. “It starts at eight, correct?”
Han waves him off. “Nonsense, you both look fine. Let’s have a drink now. The party can wait. It is not every day we get to be in the presence of America’s top talent.”
With a sigh of resignation, Damon tosses me a confirming nod and we take our rightful places around the table. With a snap of Han’s fingers, a server arrives with a platter of single malt scotch and passes us each a glass.
Damon’s jaw locks. “Unfortunately, I no longer drink alcohol,” he says, pushing the glass aside. “But you go ahead.”
Han’s eyes widen in horror as if he’s just committed a cardinal sin.
“I am so very sorry, Mr. Cavanaugh,” he sputters, snapping his head at the server.
In his native tongue, he reams the poor woman out, nearly leaving her teary-eyed.
He straightens his posture, clearing his throat as he looks back at Damon.
“Apologies for my idiot staff, they never remember my strict instructions. She will bring you something more appropriate.”
I press my lips into a thin line to stop myself from laughing. At no point did Damon inform the Li’s of his sobriety, but it’s amusing to watch Han scramble. I doubt he does it often.
When Damon has his tonic water in hand, the four of us raise our glasses. “To a prosperous friendship among equals,” Han says, his toothy smile somewhat obnoxious. I swear I hear Damon snort at the word equals. “Ganbei!”
“Cheers,” Damon and I say in unison, and then the real torture begins.
Pei and Han are overly zealous in their quest for corporate domination, and they want us to be very well aware of their ongoing success. They thank Damon countless times for allowing them to expand into the States, to which Damon replies with a polite yet expressionless nod.
As the conversation drones on, Damon and I exchange a look.
These two men are quite arrogant and pompous, two qualities that seldom make a fine businessman.
But they create the ultimate drunks. When the fourth round appears at the table, the doors to the lounge slowly open, and a soft feminine voice floats toward us.
“Honey?” the woman says. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but your guests are waiting.”
Our heads turn toward the entrance, toward the sound of heels clicking against the polished marble floor.
Damon's reaction is immediate. The glass he’s holding slips from his grasp and shatters against the floor. I frown. The woman smiles at us politely as she strides toward the table, wearing a fitted red evening gown with a sweeping train.
As she approaches us, my heart plummets. Damon's gaze, like mine, traces the jewels draped around her neck, pinned into her ears, and wrapped around her wrists. The Parlaut diamonds gleam and shimmer under the overhead lights, and my gut clenches as if I’ve been sucker punched.
Fuck!
She’s wearing the diamonds?!
I shoot Damon a withering glare.
What now, you buffoon?!
Han Li rolls his eyes, a cringe of annoyance crossing his face as he introduces her. "Gentlemen, please meet my wife. This is Sherri Li." He scowls at her. “We will be out when you are ready. What did I tell you about interrupting me?”
Sherri looks down at her feet, clearly embarrassed. I’m more embarrassed for Han. His wife is stunning, far more beautiful than he deserves. Damon stiffens at Han’s tone, evidently in agreement with my assessment.
I glance over at Damon, and he’s staring at Sherri. Sizing her up. I’ve seen that look before countless times. And then he snaps his eyes toward me and smirks.
Oh, Christ.
He’s already got another plan.
My gaze drifts between Sherri and Damon, and in the split second her eyes flick up to look at Damon, her cheeks blush with a color a shade brighter than her makeup.
“Why don’t we join the party? I’m sure your guests are eager to wish you a happy birthday,” Damon suggests, standing up. He keeps his predatory gaze on Sherri. “Perhaps Mrs. Li would care to share a dance later?”
Han snorts, wobbling as he and Pei stand up. “She would be honored to dance with you.” He glares at his wife. “Isn’t that right?”
Sherri nods, swallowing. “Of course, Mr. Cavanaugh.” She gestures toward the exit. “This way, please. The ballroom is on the mezzanine.”
As we follow Sherry into the ballroom, the crowd erupts, clapping and cheering for Han. I seize the moment and grab Damon's arm, pulling him aside. "Don't do something stupid, Cavanaugh," I grunt. "I know what you're planning. It's dangerous."
“Oh, relax,” Damon scoffs, waving me off with a dismissive hand. “This plan is even better than the last. Did you see how she looked at me? That's a desperate housewife if I've ever seen one."
My lip twitches. “What you're planning to do is unethical, Damon. Fuck her and then rob her?”
Damon rolls his eyes, scoffing. "Let's not talk about ethics, Q. I'm going to get the Li's a little more drunk first, and then when the time comes, meet me in my suite. I figure the main closet is large enough for you to hide out in.”
I blink. "Pardon?”
Damon shrugs. "The instant those diamonds are off, you grab them and get out, is that clear?"
I glare at him. “And then what? She's going to know it was you."
A sly smirk creeps onto Damon's face. "She's the wife of a notorious wannabe gangster, Quinton. You honestly think she'd admit to an affair?" He pokes my forehead. "Use your brain, Doctor. She'll come up with some sort of explanation. We can deal with that later."
“I—”
“This will work,” Damon says, so confident his head might explode. “Trust me, Q.”
“How are you so certain that she’ll even want to come upstairs?” I ask the obvious question. “Like you said, she’s a gangster's wife. She might be more cautious than you give her credit for.”
Damon snorts, chuckling as he pats me on the shoulder. “You’re funny, Quinton. Sometimes, I miss your humor.”
And with that, he disappears into the party.
The rest of the evening is terribly tense as I subtly watch the Li's get more intoxicated, their speeches slurring, their gaits uncoordinated. At one point, Han and Pei sneak away with two young ladies. I don’t need a grand imagination to discern what they’re doing.
Damon hunts his prey like a goddamn expert. Poor Sherri falls right into all of his traps, and then, when the party is at its peak, my phone buzzes with a message from Damon.
Now.
Following the plan, I head upstairs and into Damon’s suite.
I stare at the closet doors for several long seconds, contemplating the choices that brought me to this exact moment. How utterly ridiculous. I am a grown man about to hide in a fucking coat closet?
My introspection doesn’t last long as the doorknob jangles, and I throw myself into the wardrobe, the hangers chiming against my head as I duck down.
That motherfucker.
With a deep breath, I crouch down and listen for my cue.
But that’s not all I hear.
Sherri’s moans are deafening as they stumble into the suite. Various vases crash and shatter on the floor. Heavy breaths. Damon’s signature growl.
“Strip,” he commands. A few minutes pass, and his tone drops to a wolfish drawl. “Everything, Sherri. Every little thing. I want to see you completely bare. Only skin.” A pause. “That’s a good girl. Now…” I hear his bedroom door creak open. “Crawl to me.”
I smirk, almost wishing I could watch.