Where did one buy such an ugly jacket anyway? Had the young snakehead cut the arms off himself, or had it come that way? In either case, he wore no shirt underneath it, which put the guns and roses tattooed across his chest on full display underneath two lengths of gold chain.
If K Diamond was willing to start a conversation that could lead to a gunfight in a public space while dressed in that outfit, Han highly doubted that the entitled snakehead could take out all the targets on his father’s list without it getting splashed all over the local media as soon as he did it.
But unfortunately, the little shit wasn’t just the local snakehead. He was also the son of the 24K’s Dragon.
So, Han had to keep his tone respectful as he said, “I’d be more than happy to back off and leave it to you. Just have your father give me the word. Otherwise, I’ll need you to clear out a room for me here to use as an office.”
Kuang Jr. regarded Han, his eyes blazing with hate and frustration. He even brought his hand to his gun, which he kept in the waistband of his matching neon yellow track pants like a cartoon version of a mafia leader. But he stopped just short of pulling it out.
Going against Han would mean going against his own father—the father who was known for putting down anything and anyone who stood in the way of his business.
Maybe Kuang Jr. would get a pass for being the Dragon’s only son. But he and Han both knew it would cost him. If the 24K Dragon didn’t kill him, he would most definitely resort to the old ways to make sure his son fell in line. Was losing a finger or possibly a whole hand worth saving face in front of his crew?
If Han were Kuang Jr., he’d probably have a hard time with this decision himself. But, then again, if Han were Kuang Jr., he wouldn’t have put himself in a no-win position like this in the first place.
Han supposed that was why Kuang Jr. was the little boy who’d been left to play down in Hawaii by his father, while Han was the real man who’d been sent in to handle their real mafia business.
Han stuffed his hands in his pockets, making himself the very picture of unbothered as he waited patiently for Kuang Jr. to realize he’d already lost this battle and back down.
A few more tense seconds passed. And finally, Kuang Jr. jerked his chin at one of his men and instructed him in Cantonese to clear out the manager’s office for their guest.
Then he grinned at Han as if they were old friends—not someone he’d met for the first time five minutes ago.
“We should party tonight,” he offered. “Pick whichever girl you want, and she’ll go down on you in the Champagne Room for as long as you need.”
Han stilled.
And Chen, one of the men Han had brought with him, let Kuang Jr. know, “The boss doesn’t mess with prostitutes.”
Kuang Jr. jerked his head back, looking much like a Hong Kong matriarch who had just been told a restaurant that looked perfectly respectable on the outside didn’t serve tea.
“We got the most beautiful girls on the island dancing for us,” he said, tilting his head so far to the side, it was almost comical. “You trying to say you don’t want a taste?”
Irritation simmered inside Han, along with grudging respect.
Kuang Jr. was smarter than he appeared. Someone must’ve told him beforehand about how Han felt about prostitutes. That he didn’t touch them. Ever. Hard boundaries like his weren’t exactly a thing in their world. So now Han was the one who found himself in a bad position.
He’d either have to deny his host an explanation—which would be taken as an insult—or he’d have to go into his tragic back story—which Han bet his 1970 Mercury Cougar Kuang Jr. already knew. Both options tasted sour in his mouth.
But then, as it turned out, he didn’t have to decide.
“Which one of you is K Diamond?” a voice asked.
And they all turned to see a woman standing at the transition strip that separated the bar area from the rest of the club.
She was small but not necessarily thin. A baggy T-shirt and long cut-off shorts covered but couldn’t hide entirely, the curvy body underneath. And above that…
Han found a face that held his attention and sent a rush of adrenaline, unlike anything he had ever felt before crashing through him.
Real. Everything about her struck him as real. From her long sweep of lashes to the full lips a few of his past dates had paid doctors to replicate. Her beauty was fresh and untouched. She wasn’t wearing even a speck of make-up as far as he could tell.
