The basement of Club Elysium always smelled the same. Bleach, copper, and the sweetness of whatever liquor Yifei happened to be nursing at the time. Tonight it was a Yamazaki 18.

"—and see, this is the part I don't understand, Ah-Keung." Yifei's voice was bright, almost singsong, as she circled the man zip-tied to the folding chair. Her Louboutins clicked against the concrete with each step. "You had... how long? Six weeks? Six whole weeks to come up with what, forty grand? That's like... seven grand a week. My handbag costs more than that, sweetie."

She stopped in front of him and crouched, elbows on her knees, tilting her head like a curious bird. The bastard's left eye was already swollen shut. His lower lip was split so badly it flapped when he tried to speak. A thin ribbon of blood-tinged drool hung from his chin.

"Yifei-je, please, I— my daughter, she's—"

"Shh." She pressed a finger to his lips, gentle as a lover. Her nail dug into the raw split until he whimpered. "We don't do the daughter thing down here. Do you know how many guys have told me about their sick mother, their dying auntie, their poor little baby girl this week? Ah-Fung, how many was it?"

From the shadows near the stairs, the enforcer she'd brought down with her cleared his throat. He was a wiry kid, barely twenty, still trying to prove himself. "Uh. Four, je."

"Four. You're not even original. And that hurts my feelings, Ah-Keung. It really does."

She straightened, brushing a strand of hair out of her face for what must have been the fifteenth time that night, and reached for her tumbler. Took a long, slow sip. Set it back down with a satisfied little ahh.

"Okay. New game." She clapped her hands together. "I'm gonna ask you where the money went, and every time you lie to me, Ah-Fung over there is gonna break something. We'll start with your fingers and work our way up. Sound fun?"

"I—I'm not lying, I swear on my—"

"Ah-ah-ah." She held up a finger. "Save it. Where's the money, baby?"

"I gave it to Timothy, he said he'd double it in a week at the tables, I swear—"

Yifei's smile stretched wider. She turned to Ah-Fung and gave a lazy little wave. The kid stepped forward with a pair of pliers.

...

The scream that followed was muffled by industrial soundproofing. She'd had it installed twice. The first time, the contractor did a shitty job, and one of the VIPs upstairs complained about the noise. She'd broken his nose and the contractor's.

"See, we're getting somewhere," she cooed, sipping her whiskey again while Ah-Keung sobbed. "Uncle Tim. That's a name I know. Now tell me where—"

Her phone buzzed.

She fished it out of the back pocket of her shorts and glanced at the screen. Vincent.

The smile disappeared so fast it was almost funny.

"Wai."

"Je, you're needed upstairs." Vincent's voice came through the speaker. "Got a situation. Some asshole was poking around the office. Caught him with his hand somewhere it shouldn't have been."

"...Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"I'm in the middle of something, Vin—"

"I know. Sorry, boss."

She exhaled sharply through her nose. Ended the call without another word.

Ah-Keung, sensing the shift, started babbling. "Je, please, I'll get the money, I swear, just give me — give me a week, three days, I'll—"

She looked up.

The bubbly warmth was gone from her face. What replaced it was a dead-eyed nothing. She chewed the inside of her lower lip.

Then she smiled. Very brightly.

"You know what, baby? I don't have time for this tonight."

Her hand slipped under her fur coat and came back out holding a small Japanese kaiken. A gift from Wei-Lin on her twenty-third birthday and the thing she'd developed an almost obsession with.

"Je — je, wait, wait, wait, I can get you the money, I can—"

"Shh, shh, shh." She stepped behind him, one hand tenderly cradling the top of his head, tilting it back to expose his throat. She leaned down and murmured right into his ear. "Tell Timmy I said hi."

The blade moved. One clean line across his throat.

There was a wet squelch. Then a gurgle. Then the patter of blood hitting concrete in a spreading pool beneath the chair.

She stepped back before any of it could splash onto her heels.

She stood there watching him twitch, head tilted, that same curious-bird expression on her face. She smiled, rolling her shoulders with a satisfied little hmph.

"Ah-Fung." She wiped the blade on Ah-Keung's shirt collar, then slid it back into its sheath at the small of her back. "Clean this up."

"Y-yes, je."

"And don't touch my whiskey."

"No, je."

She grabbed the tumbler on her way past him, drained the last inch of Yamazaki in one swallow, and set the empty glass into his shaking hands with a little pat on the cheek. "Good boy."

She crossed to the mirror bolted next to the basement's steel door and took stock. She had had this thing installed specifically for this.

A black corset bodysuit, obscenely tight, layered beneath a cropped black fur coat that hung off her shoulders. A pair of knee-high Louboutin stiletto ankle boots. The black denim shorts she'd picked out were a bit too short, but fine. Stacked rings on nearly every finger. Diamond studs the size of peppercorns. Two thin silver chains at her throat.

Her hair was a little mussed from the exertion. She ran both hands through it, shook it out, tucked one side behind her ear. Checked her teeth. Smiled at her reflection.

God, she was hot.

She tugged her shorts back down, buttoned the single button at the waist, and headed up the concrete stairs two at a time.

The VIP mezzanine was a different world. Low amber lighting, black velvet booths, the pulse of music thudding up through the floor from the main dance floor below. The air smelled like Cuban cigars and cocaine and money.

Vincent was waiting at the top of the private stairwell, arms folded across his massive chest, flanked by two other enforcers. Kwok and some other guy she already forgot the name of.

Between them, on his knees, was a man.

They shoved him forward the moment she appeared, and he hit the polished black marble at her feet with a graceless thud.

She looked down at him.

"Aiyaaa," she breathed out. "And what do we have here."

"Caught him trying to jimmy the office door," Vincent rumbled. "Had a USB on him. Kwok checked. The fucker was gonna copy the back office server."

"Nooo." She pressed a hand to her chest in mock horror. "Not the server. Not my precious little server full of things I don't even look at."

"Want us to take him downstairs, je?" Kwok asked, cracking his knuckles. "We already have the hose out."

"Mm." She chewed the inside of her lip, considering, walking a circle around the man's kneeling form. One of her heels came down close to his fingers. "Fuck, Kwok, you're always so eager to get your hands dirty. It's so sweet. But look at him."

She crouched suddenly, right in front of the stranger, elbows resting on her knees, face inches from his. Her breath smelled like whiskey.

"Look at that little face. All bloody and sad. Vin, did you have to rough him up this much before I got to say hi?"

"He fought back."

"Did he?" Her eyebrows lifted, genuinely delighted. "Really? With what?"

"Bit Bobby."

"Bobby. That's his name." She snapped her fingers. Then, back to the stranger, cooing: "Baby, you bit him? That's disgusting. I love that, actually. Do you know where Bobby's been? Bobby's been in some places, sweetie. You're gonna want to get tested."

Bobby, somewhere behind her, muttered "fuck off, je" under his breath, quietly enough that he thought she wouldn't hear.

She heard.

Her head turned, very slowly, and she pinned him with a look that could strip paint. He went pale.

"—sorry, je."

"Mmhm." She held the stare for an uncomfortable beat. Then, brightly: "Okay, boys, out. Shoo. Mama wants to play with her new toy."

"Je," Vincent started, "you sure you don't want one of us to—"

"Vinny." She flashed him a smile. "I said out. I've got him. And someone go check on Ah-Fung, he looked like he was gonna throw up on my whiskey glass."

The three of them exchanged a glance. Vincent gave the smallest shrug and they filed out, the velvet-curtained door swinging shut behind them.

She turned back to the stranger.

For a long moment, she just looked. Head tilted.

Then she smiled and sank gracefully onto the nearest booth, crossing one long leather-clad leg over the other. She patted her thigh.

"C'mere, baby. Up. Head goes right here."

Her hands found his head and she gently guided him up. Dragged him, really, up off the marble and laid his bloodied head down against her lap. Her fingers immediately sank into his hair.

"What's your name?"

The basement of Club Elysium always smelled the same. Bleach, copper, and the sweetness of whatever liquor Yifei happened to be nursing at the time. Tonight it was a Yamazaki 18.

"—and see, this is the part I don't understand, Ah-Keung." Yifei's voice was bright, almost singsong, as she circled the man zip-tied to the folding chair. Her Louboutins clicked against the concrete with each step. "You had... how long? Six weeks? Six whole weeks to come up with what, forty grand? That's like... seven grand a week. My handbag costs more than that, sweetie."

She stopped in front of him and crouched, elbows on her knees, tilting her head like a curious bird. The bastard's left eye was already swollen shut. His lower lip was split so badly it flapped when he tried to speak. A thin ribbon of blood-tinged drool hung from his chin.

"Yifei-je, please, I— my daughter, she's—"

"Shh." She pressed a finger to his lips, gentle as a lover. Her nail dug into the raw split until he whimpered. "We don't do the daughter thing down here. Do you know how many guys have told me about their sick mother, their dying auntie, their poor little baby girl this week? Ah-Fung, how many was it?"

From the shadows near the stairs, the enforcer she'd brought down with her cleared his throat. He was a wiry kid, barely twenty, still trying to prove himself. "Uh. Four, je."

"Four. You're not even original. And that hurts my feelings, Ah-Keung. It really does."

She straightened, brushing a strand of hair out of her face for what must have been the fifteenth time that night, and reached for her tumbler. Took a long, slow sip. Set it back down with a satisfied little ahh.

"Okay. New game." She clapped her hands together. "I'm gonna ask you where the money went, and every time you lie to me, Ah-Fung over there is gonna break something. We'll start with your fingers and work our way up. Sound fun?"

"I—I'm not lying, I swear on my—"

"Ah-ah-ah." She held up a finger. "Save it. Where's the money, baby?"

"I gave it to Timothy, he said he'd double it in a week at the tables, I swear—"

Yifei's smile stretched wider. She turned to Ah-Fung and gave a lazy little wave. The kid stepped forward with a pair of pliers.

...

The scream that followed was muffled by industrial soundproofing. She'd had it installed twice. The first time, the contractor did a shitty job, and one of the VIPs upstairs complained about the noise. She'd broken his nose and the contractor's.

"See, we're getting somewhere," she cooed, sipping her whiskey again while Ah-Keung sobbed. "Uncle Tim. That's a name I know. Now tell me where—"

Her phone buzzed.

She fished it out of the back pocket of her shorts and glanced at the screen. Vincent.

The smile disappeared so fast it was almost funny.

"Wai."

"Je, you're needed upstairs." Vincent's voice came through the speaker. "Got a situation. Some bitch was poking around the office. Caught her with her hand somewhere it shouldn't have been."

"...Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"I'm in the middle of something, Vin—"

"I know. Sorry, boss."

She exhaled sharply through her nose. Ended the call without another word.

Ah-Keung, sensing the shift, started babbling. "Je, please, I'll get the money, I swear, just give me — give me a week, three days, I'll—"

She looked up.

The bubbly warmth was gone from her face. What replaced it was a dead-eyed nothing. She chewed the inside of her lower lip.

Then she smiled. Very brightly.

"You know what, baby? I don't have time for this tonight."

Her hand slipped under her fur coat and came back out holding a small Japanese kaiken. A gift from Wei-Lin on her twenty-third birthday and the thing she'd developed an almost obsession with.

"Je — je, wait, wait, wait, I can get you the money, I can—"

"Shh, shh, shh." She stepped behind him, one hand tenderly cradling the top of his head, tilting it back to expose his throat. She leaned down and murmured right into his ear. "Tell Timmy I said hi."

The blade moved. One clean line across his throat.

There was a wet squelch. Then a gurgle. Then the patter of blood hitting concrete in a spreading pool beneath the chair.

She stepped back before any of it could splash onto her heels.

She stood there watching him twitch, head tilted, that same curious-bird expression on her face. She smiled, rolling her shoulders with a satisfied little hmph.

"Ah-Fung." She wiped the blade on Ah-Keung's shirt collar, then slid it back into its sheath at the small of her back. "Clean this up."

"Y-yes, je."

"And don't touch my whiskey."

"No, je."

She grabbed the tumbler on her way past him, drained the last inch of Yamazaki in one swallow, and set the empty glass into his shaking hands with a little pat on the cheek. "Good boy."

She crossed to the mirror bolted next to the basement's steel door and took stock. She had had this thing installed specifically for this.

A black corset bodysuit, obscenely tight, layered beneath a cropped black fur coat that hung off her shoulders. A pair of knee-high Louboutin stiletto ankle boots. The black denim shorts she'd picked out were a bit too short, but fine. Stacked rings on nearly every finger. Diamond studs the size of peppercorns. Two thin silver chains at her throat.

Her hair was a little mussed from the exertion. She ran both hands through it, shook it out, tucked one side behind her ear. Checked her teeth. Smiled at her reflection.

God, she was hot.

She tugged her shorts back down, buttoned the single button at the waist, and headed up the concrete stairs two at a time.

The VIP mezzanine was a different world. Low amber lighting, black velvet booths, the pulse of music thudding up through the floor from the main dance floor below. The air smelled like Cuban cigars and cocaine and money.

Vincent was waiting at the top of the private stairwell, arms folded across his massive chest, flanked by two other enforcers. Kwok and some other guy she already forgot the name of.

Between them, on his knees, was a woman.

They shoved her forward the moment Yifei appeared, and she hit the polished black marble at Yifei's feet with a graceless thud.

Yifei looked down at her.

"Aiyaaa," she breathed out. "And what do we have here."

"Caught her trying to jimmy the office door," Vincent rumbled. "Had a USB on her. Kwok checked. The bitch was gonna copy the back office server."

"Nooo." She pressed a hand to her chest in mock horror. "Not the server. Not my precious little server full of things I don't even look at."

"Want us to take her downstairs, je?" Kwok asked, cracking his knuckles. "We already have the hose out."

"Mm." She chewed the inside of her lip, considering, walking a circle around the woman's kneeling form. One of her heels came down close to her fingers. "Fuck, Kwok, you're always so eager to get your hands dirty. It's so sweet. But look at him."

She crouched suddenly, right in front of the stranger, elbows resting on her knees, bringing her face obnoxiously close. Yifei's breath smelled like whiskey.

"Look at that little face. All bloody and sad. Vin, did you have to rough her up this much before I got to say hi?"

"She fought back."

"Did she?" Her eyebrows lifted, genuinely delighted. "Really? With what?"

"Bit Bobby."

"Bobby. That's his name." She snapped her fingers. Then, back to the stranger, cooing: "Baby, you bit him? That's disgusting. I love that, actually. Do you know where Bobby's been? Bobby's been in some places, sweetie. You're gonna want to get tested."

Bobby, somewhere behind her, muttered "fuck off, je" under his breath, quietly enough that he thought she wouldn't hear.

She heard.

Her head turned, very slowly, and she pinned him with a look that could strip paint. He went pale.

"—sorry, je."

"Mmhm." She held the stare for an uncomfortable beat. Then, brightly: "Okay, boys, out. Shoo. Mama wants to play with her new toy."

"Je," Vincent started, "you sure you don't want one of us to—"

"Vinny." She flashed him a smile. "I said out. I've got her. And someone go check on Ah-Fung, he looked like he was gonna throw up on my whiskey glass."

The three of them exchanged a glance. Vincent gave the smallest shrug and they filed out, the velvet-curtained door swinging shut behind them.

She turned back to the stranger.

For a long moment, she just looked. Head tilted.

Then she smiled and sank gracefully onto the nearest booth, crossing one long leather-clad leg over the other. She patted her thigh.

"C'mere, baby. Up. Head goes right here."

Her hands found the woman's head and she gently guided her up. Dragged her, really, up off the marble and laid the bloodied head down against her lap. Yifei's fingers immediately sank into her hair.

"What's your name?"

.