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Luis hurled him back down. Jun’s temple cracked against the concrete. The world split—half light, half static. A sound like glass breaking inside his skull. Then came the growing pressure. Jun gasped as Luis’s ground his heel into his left shoulder.

“Who are you with? Where you from?”

The shoe dug deeper. Jun’s vision shrank to a pinhole. The lights. The pressure. His heartbeat slammed against the sole of Luis’s shoe. He couldn’t think. Could barely see.

“How is it you know him and you ain’t even a fucking Garra? Who—”

“Luis,” another man’s voice cut through the room. Covey’s voice. His footsteps clipped across the concrete floor, then stopped. A tongue clicked. “I told you not to do it this harshly.”

Jun wanted to scream. His throat wouldn’t cooperate. Nothing in his body would.

“Don’t worry, boss.” Luis ground his heel deeper into Jun’s shoulder. Something in the joint screamed. “Just making sure this motherfucker learns his lesson.”

Polished shoes stopped at the edge of Jun’s vision.

Jun sucked air through the filthy gag, tears streaming. A soft shushing sound—Covey, directed at Luis like calming a dog. “Then treat him nicer, Luis. Make sure he can still talk.”

Luis’s foot lifted. The relief was immediate. But the throbbing spread, radiating through his entire shoulder and down his arm.

Another shadow fell over him.

Jun didn’t want to look up. But he couldn’t stop himself.

Covey stood over him, backlit by the garage lights—blue-striped suit, slicked hair, every inch the TV host.

Somewhere above them, bass thumped through the ceiling. Music. The party. It had already started. Jun’s stomach dropped. Everyone was already here. In this house. And he couldn’t warn them.

“Hello, Connor. How are you doing?” Covey asked with a chuckle, as casually as if they’d bumped into each other at a coffee shop.

Jun sucked in against the soiled gag. Dirt and sweat stung his tongue and made him retch. He coughed violently, his voice cracking.

“Hmm? What’s that?” He knelt until his face was directly over Jun’s. Covey’s unwavering brown eyes gazed at Jun like he was going to devour him or rip him to shreds, whichever came first. “Wondering why you’re here?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. After going through it, he flashed the bright screen in front of Jun’s eyes.

The brightness sharpened into an image. A photo—a sunny parking lot, two figures near a building wall. It took him a moment. Then the details locked into place: Snowy, hands behind her back. Alex beside her in his bodyguard disguise.

Covey’s thumb swiped. The next photo showed Alex mid-salute at the Vanquish’s passenger door.

Another swipe—the Vanquish pulling out of the lot, the windshield facing the camera.

“You wanna explain what you were doing here? Hm?” Covey spread his fingertips across the glass to zoom in.

Jun stared at himself behind the wheel, looking straight into the lens. Snowy sat beside him.

The bright flash in the parking lot. It wasn’t a lamppost. It was a camera.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Covey murmured, pocketing the phone. The apology dripped with mock sympathy. “I know this is uncomfortable. I’ll let you speak for yourself.”

He pulled the gag down.

Jun gasped. Fresh air flooded his lungs so fast it nearly choked him. Spit sprayed from the corners of his mouth. Covey leaned back to avoid the mess.

“I…” Jun’s voice came out like gravel scraped across bone. “Don’t know what you mean.”

“Playing cute isn’t going to help you here.” Covey cocked his head, lips curling into a playful pout. “So why were you taking away Snowy? Are you a cop?”

“That wasn’t the cops!” Luis barked from somewhere above Jun. Luis’s arms flailed overhead. “That was Oscar’s son!”