Chapter 12
Kai
I had thought it would be nothing more than a simple meal. June wanted something real—something she could choose for herself instead of packaged food from the penthouse or another order from a delivery app.
Something familiar. Something that belonged to her world, not mine.
After what I had done—drugging her without warning—it made sense that she no longer trusted anything I placed in front of her.
So I followed.
Not because I agreed with her decision, but because every instinct in me refused to let her out of my sight again.
The shop sat in a part of the city that didn’t feel like mine.
Old. Cramped. Worn down. Nothing matched, nothing gleamed, and nobody seemed interested in fixing what had been broken for years.
I hated it. But I stayed.
The moment I sat down, I knew I’d made a mistake. My back faced the street. The entrance was out of my sight. Dave was sitting instead of standing guard. Every instinct I had was telling me to leave.
But June had wanted egg tarts.
I glanced across the table at her. She looked peaceful. Maybe that was why I hadn't stopped her.
But the moment her eyes changed, I knew something was wrong. Her body barely moved, but her eyes shifted toward the window, then the door, then somewhere behind me. Quick. Controlled. She looked back at her food as though nothing had happened.
I knew that look. She was trying not to react.
My body went still. I didn't ask what she'd seen because I already knew she wouldn't tell me.
Instead, I reached for the faded laminated menu and picked it up casually, glancing at the drinks. “Used to drink this,” I murmured, tapping a picture of soya milk.
Dave looked over. I didn't need to explain.
We spoke quietly, almost lazily, as though we were discussing breakfast, while beneath the table I mapped the room: the entrance, windows, narrow corridor at the back, distance to the street, and the people outside.
I fed Dave what I noticed without letting my voice change. He shifted slightly.
To anyone watching, nothing had happened.
But we both knew something had changed.
I looked at June again. Her pupils had widened slightly. Her breathing remained steady, her hands still. She even took another bite of her egg tart, but the calm wasn't real. It had cracks in it, and I could see every one.
The strange thing was, I wasn't angry that she'd noticed something before I did. If anything, I was relieved. She was paying attention. What angered me was that she still felt she had to do it alone—that she could sit across from me and still believe she couldn't tell me what she was seeing.
I wanted to ask her. I wanted to reach across the table and tell her that whatever she'd noticed, I had it under control. But I knew better. The last thing she needed was another man telling her what she could and couldn't do.
So I waited and watched.
Then the air changed when a man stepped inside.
June's skin prickled. A faint line of goosebumps rose along her arm, and my attention shifted toward the entrance.
He didn't hesitate or look around like someone entering a strange shop. He walked in as though he already knew the place. That was what caught my attention.
It was the confidence. He wasn't nervous or hurried. He already knew who he'd come for.
I didn't turn fully. Instead, I caught his reflection in the glass display: dark clothes, sunglasses, too deliberate, too calm. I kept my shoulders relaxed and my expression neutral, but every muscle in my body had already tightened.
June hadn't moved, but the tiny change in her posture told me everything. She knew him, or at the very least, knew something about him.
Suddenly, the egg tart didn't matter anymore. Neither did the shop or the mistake I'd made by sitting with my back to the street. I had only one job now: keep June alive.
Whatever happened next, I wasn't going to let her face it alone.
My instincts screamed at me to move—to flip the table, break the angle, take him down before he got any closer. But on what grounds? A feeling? A look? That wasn't enough. Not yet. My team was gone. There was no perimeter, no backup in sight. Just Dave.
The man continued toward us and stopped close enough that I felt his presence before I looked up. He didn’t seem particularly interested in me.
I turned slowly until our eyes met. Up close, he looked even less threatening than he should have, and somehow that made him more dangerous. Neither of us moved. The first person to react gave the other control, and I wasn't willing to give him mine.
Outside, cars honked, engines idled, and tyres scraped against the wet pavement, filling the silence in uneven waves.
It wasn't normal traffic. The road was blocked and slowed because of them.
Through the glass, I could see people gathering along the pavement.
Not a crowd, not random. They were spread out, leaving enough space between them to look harmless at first glance.
It was merely a distraction.
A way to create pressure without making a scene.
“Can I help you?” I asked, deliberately not looking up. “This table is taken.”
My gaze drifted briefly toward the counter.
The old man was gone.
“Hello.” The man's voice carried a slight foreign edge, his English practiced but not quite natural. “Long time no see.”
A soft chuckle followed.
I finally looked up. “Who is this?”
“Tony.”
He extended his hand. Tattoos disappeared beneath his sleeve, while the ink across his knuckles was harder to miss.
I stood and took his hand. His grip was firm and measured. Neither of us tried to overpower the other.
“And you are?”
“Her protector.” I smiled a little wider. “Whatever she needs me to be.”
June shifted beside me, her expression suggesting she had several things she wanted to say, but she didn't. Her attention had moved elsewhere, tension settling into her shoulders.
“He's…” she said quietly. “Mack's brother.”
Mack.
The name wiped the smile from my face.
Threatened June. Kidnapped Dave. Disappeared before I could make him pay for either.
“Ah. An old friend.”
I reached back and tapped Dave lightly on the shoulder. “And yours.”
Dave didn't smile. Didn't even try.
Good.
I shifted my weight and glanced past Tony.
The street had become busier. More men had appeared, spreading farther along the pavement rather than gathering in one obvious group.
The edges were widening, slowly closing off the street around us.
Some had moved farther into the road, forcing cars to crawl past while drivers leaned on their horns.
I turned back to Tony. “Your friends?”
He didn't look outside. He didn't need to. “They're just making sure the conversation stays…” His gaze moved toward June. “Private.”
He said it as though I wasn't even sitting there. That irritated me more than it should have. Then his attention settled fully on her.
“You should come with me.”
June stared at him. “Why?”
“Because it'll be easier that way.”
“For who?” I cut in.
Tony finally looked at me. It was the first time since he'd entered the shop that he'd given me his full attention.
His eyes flicked toward June again. “I wasn't talking to you.”
Something hot moved through my chest, but I kept my smile in place. “Unfortunately for you,” I said quietly, “she came with me.”
“Come with me, June.” There was no threat in Tony's voice, no raised volume. Just certainty, as though the decision had already been made.
My jaw tightened. “She isn't going anywhere.”
There it was. Deliberate. Dismissive. Calculated. I stepped half a pace closer—not enough to provoke him, just enough to make it clear I wasn't going to be ignored. “She isn't leaving with you.”
This time, Tony smiled. It wasn't friendly or amused. It was knowing.
Behind him, the curtain covering the back door shifted slightly. A shadow passed behind it. Someone was there.
I didn't turn or react, but I'd seen enough.
We had a way out.
I let out a slow breath and relaxed my shoulders, just enough to make Tony think I was backing down. “Egg tarts?”
He blinked, confusion crossing his face.
Good.
I reached for the box on the table and opened it. The pastries were still warm, the custard soft. Completely ridiculous in the middle of a confrontation like this, but I picked one up anyway. “Best in the city.”
Then I threw the entire box. Not at his face. I wasn't trying to hurt him. I just needed to break his rhythm. The box hit him awkwardly, sending warm custard and flaky pastry flying as Tony swore and lifted an arm to shield himself.
I caught June by the wrist and pulled her toward me. “Move.”
She didn't argue. We squeezed through the narrow space behind the counter and pushed through the curtain. The passage beyond was cramped and dim, cardboard boxes stacked almost to the ceiling. Behind us, I heard a chair scrape.
Then Dave moved.
I didn't look back. I didn't need to. He knew what he was doing. He would hold them and buy us whatever time he could. I tightened my grip around June's hand and kept moving. There was no time to argue, explain, or ask whether she trusted me.
We simply ran.
“Squirrel!”
June's voice cut through everything—sharp, bright, almost disbelieving.
For a moment, the noise and danger faded. She had found him. Not by accident or luck. She had led us here. And for the first time since we'd entered the shop, something changed in her expression.
Relief.
It was small, almost hidden beneath everything else she was feeling, but I saw it. She'd been looking for this man. She'd needed to find him, and she'd done it.
“Is the back clear?” I asked, already moving toward her.
“Yes,” the old woman replied, remarkably calm considering what was happening on the other side of the curtain. “This way.”
I hesitated for half a second. My instincts hated unknown exits. They liked maps, plans, and knowing exactly where every door led and who stood beyond it.
June didn't hesitate. She was already moving.
“You can trust her,” Squirrel said quietly as he passed me.