Chapter 18 #2
Into the same hell Kai was dragged into.
A harsh thud beat at the base of my throat as I waited for her answer—half hoping she’d deny it, half bracing for the truth I already felt creeping under my skin.
“No. Yes…” Clare finally breathed.
The tremor in her voice was so sharp I could practically feel it.
“But not like that.”
My fingers twitched at my sides.
So she did betray us—just not in a way she was ready to admit.
My fingers cinched so tight my knuckles clenched white as I pictured the moment I finally stood in front of her.
The urge to shake the truth out of her—to demand, to punish—pressed hard against my ribs.
“Who are you working for?” I hissed.
“It’s not like that,” she whispered again, her tone crackling. “They held a gun to me.”
“So what?” The words came out like venom. “You just folded? Just handed him over because you’re scared of a little gun? What kind of bodyguard are you, Clare?”
“Please…” she choked out, a sharp inhale snagging in her throat. “It’s not what you think.”
”I have no patience left,” I snapped. “What excuse do you possibly have?”
A beat of silence.
Then another.
“I thought they were with you.” Clare finally said.
I froze.
Everything in my head went blank—just gone.
For a beat, I couldn’t even understand the sentence.
Then it hit, too absurd to process.
“What?” My voice came out cutting.
“The people who took them,” Clare continued, her words barely audible, “They claimed you gave the order, Dr. Bennet.”
My brain stalled.
Rebooted.
Stalled again.
What kind of sick joke was this?
“Tell me what game you’re playing.” I spat, the fury shaking through my teeth. “Don’t start lying now, Clare. I swear to God, I know exactly how to make people talk.”
“June.”
Lincoln’s tone sliced through my rage, his palms anchored hard on my shoulders.
“Chill.”
But the warmth of his palms only made the fury vibrate deeper, like a trapped animal rattling its cage.
“Please trust me,” Clare pleaded, her voice breaking. “I’m telling the truth. I didn’t believe them either, but then I saw the man you were with—the man from Hong Kong.”
“The guy from Hong Kong?” I repeated, stunned.
Who the fuck was she talking about?
And then… like a bolt straight to my spine.
A face flashed—his.
Dannie.
Sick.
Hooked up to IVs.
Burning with fever in hospital thousands of miles away.
It made impossible to reconcile.
“Dave!” I snapped, tone sharp as shattering glass. “You said one of the men wasn’t wearing a mask, right?”
“Yes,” he answered instantly. “But the footage wasn’t clear.”
“Where is it?” I demanded. “Show me the damn footage. Now.”
Dave grabbed an iPad from one of the team, swiped quickly, then handed it to me.
The moment the video played, my stomach dropped clean out of my body.
There.
Blurry.
Grainy.
Out of focus.
But still undeniably him.
Dannie.
That man should’ve been half-conscious in a hospital bed.
The man who could barely walk without help.
The man who’d smiled at me like he was dying.
Air cinched tight in my throat.
It was him.
We piled into the cars and tore through the streets, engines snarling like beasts straining against their reins. No one spoke. Even the air felt held hostage. The interior felt suffocating enough to choke on—fear, adrenaline, betrayal all simmering together in a haze.
Clare’s words breaking at the edges through the speaker, her words tumbling out in frantic bursts.
Her excuses.
Her twisted reasoning.
How she thought him taking Kai would give us a “better shot.”
How challenging Mrs. Li directly was suicide.
How handing Kai to someone “stronger” was somehow supposed to protect him.
How using me—June Bennet—as a leverage was supposed to “keep things under control.”
Her words kept spilling through the speaker, but my brain couldn’t absorb any of it.
Because the whole thing was a mindfuck, and none of it added up.
How the hell was he out of a hospital bed?
Why was he running around snatching people?
What was the point of taking Kai?
Why lie to me?
With every mile, confusion tangled tighter inside me, until it felt like barbed wire sitting just beneath my ribcage.
By the time we screeched to a stop in front of the building Clare mentioned, pressure built until it felt like my ribs might burst.
I jumped out before the vehicle even stopped.
Two thugs waited at the entrance—solid, scarred, dressed in black, guns visible. They tensed as I burst forward, but they didn’t point their weapons. Instead, one of them stepped out from the shadows.
“You can go up,” the guard stated. “Not the rest.”
Behind me, Lincoln exploded. “The hell she’s going alone—”
But I wasn’t listening to him.
I was staring at the man’s face.
The recognition.
The familiarity.
He worked for Dannie.
A sick drop twisted through my gut.
“That’s my brother,” I bit out, jerking my chin toward Lincoln. “My brother goes wherever I go.”
For one long second, I thought the guard might argue—and some part of me desperately wanted Lincoln behind me. Another part of me dreaded it. If he saw me crumble, choose wrong, cross a line… there’d be no hiding from it.
“Fine,” he gave a clipped nod.
Lincoln muttered a curse but moved closer, shoulder brushing mine. They frisked him quickly and professionally, then motioned us toward the elevator. Another man joined us—a silent guide, walking with the unhurried confidence of someone who knew this building, every room, every secret.
With every floor the elevator passed, my lungs tightened.
This was happening.
There was no going back now.
The elevator doors parted onto a long corridor.
Our escort led the way, stopping in front of an apartment entrance before knocking once.
The door yawned open.
And there he was. Dannie.
A familiar silhouette filled the doorway like he’d been waiting for me—pale, worn, dark circles under his eyes, but somehow still managing that crooked, disarming curve to his lips. The one that could take down a room. The one that made me feel safe.
He opened his arms, slow and welcoming.
And before my mind even caught up, my body moved—straight into him.
Warmth.
Relief.
Guilt.
All crashing at once, violent and overwhelming, like a wave knocking me under.
“I was worried sick about you,” I exhaled shakily, the words muffled against his chest. My voice sounded foreign—thin, wobbly, too full of something I didn’t want to name.
“I’m fine.” His voice dipped low.
“You’re burning up—don’t lie.”
I drew back, frowning at his pale face, reaching up to press my palm against his forehead. Muscle memory. Instinct. The doctor in me acting before the woman could think.
His skin burned under my touch.
“You’re too warm to be fine.”
Inside, my thoughts were tearing each other apart, clawing at my skull—Where’s Kai?
Why did you take him?
What are you doing, Dannie?
But I swallowed them down.
Not yet.
Not here.
So I forced my lungs steady, dropped my hand, and let him lead us inside.
Because whatever was waiting behind that doorway… it was too late to turn back now.
Behind me, Lincoln cleared his throat pointedly.
“Ahem… Hi, my name is Lincoln Young.”
His tone cut through the tension like someone cutting a wire under tension—grounding me just enough to remember where I was… and who I was standing between.
I pulled back from him, my fingers slipping from his arm as I stepped aside.
Both men locked gazes—measuring, weighing, calculating.
His smile was polite, maybe even friendly.
Lincoln’s was not. It was sharp, assessing, the expression of a man who’d already consider three ways to break someone’s kneecaps if he needed to.
“Oh,” he said with a casual shrug, “so you’re the scary big brother June’s been talking about.”
I almost choked on air.
When the hell did I talk about Lincoln to Dannie?
And worse—what exactly did I say?
“I’m not scary,” Lincoln replied, tone friendly but edged with a polished blade. “Just protective.”
Protective.
I almost laughed.
If he only knew how thoroughly I’d sabotaged myself in the last 48 hours, he’d wrap me in bubble wrap and ship me home to New York.
I cleared my throat. “What are you doing here?” I asked, turning back toward him.
“Because I needed help.”
A different voice—deep, worn—cut through.
It didn’t belong to Dannie.
Familiar enough to shatter the ground beneath my feet.
My entire body went still.
No.
No. No. No.
Impossible.
“Kai?” The word scraped out of me.
But I didn’t need the answer.
I felt him before I even saw him—the way the air shifted, the sudden weight of his gaze anchoring itself to me like gravity had chosen a new center.
Dannie was talking—maybe explaining something, maybe offering context—but I didn’t hear a single word.
The second my eyes found Kai, I moved without thinking.
I surged toward him.
“Kai—”
His name tore out of me like a plea I’d been choking on for weeks.
Strong arms caught me before I collided into him, arms wrapping around me with a force that felt desperate, trembling. The closeness overwhelming—too familiar, too intoxicating, too much. His scent hit me, and I almost broke right there.
My grip fisted into his shirt.
His chin rested against the top of my head.
My heart raced with reckless, stupid hope.
We were inches apart.
Breath-level close.
Then I finally lifted my face, Kai was already watching me—dark, intense, searching.
Everything inside me tightened.
A magnetic pull, slow and helpless.
We drifted toward each other.
Dangerously close.
Not enough to kiss.
Not enough to run.
Just enough to blur the line between now and then, want and need, regret and fever.
His breath ghosted over my face.
His lips were right there.
One inch.
Half an inch.
A breath away from everything I shouldn’t want.
And then…
“It’s nice to see you again, June.”
Her voice sliced through the moment like a scalpel to a throat.
Cold.
Sweet.
Deadly.
I froze.
My chest dropped.
My breath vanished.
My entire body seized like someone had poured ice water down my spine.
Slowly, I turned.
“Lucy.”
Her name left my mouth like poison.