Consequences

Fang Lang awoke in Lucy's bed, finding it late at night. After their moment of fun, they had drifted off to sleep. Turning over, he saw Lucy nestled against him, her cleavage partially covered by the blanket, her face resting on his chest, and her leg draped over his. With a sigh, he realized he had stayed longer than intended.

'Oh well. Time to go.'

Carefully extricating himself from the bed, Fang began dressing. His movements stirred Lucy, who rubbed her eyes and peered at him sleepily.

"K-9…?" she murmured.

"I gotta go, Luce," Fang replied, continuing his preparations.

Watching him, Lucy smiled sleepily. "I scratched up your back pretty good."

Feeling the lingering sensation, Fang nodded, chuckling softly. "Yup."

Lucy reclined back, her arm draped dramatically over her head like a distressed damsel. "Ohh, I'm in love with the dick."

They shared a laugh as Fang finished dressing, signaling his readiness to leave. Turning to Lucy, he inquired, "Where can I find your pictures?"

Midway through lighting a cigarette, Lucy looked up. "Hm?"

"Your modeling pictures," Fang clarified. "I want to see them for myself."

Laughing, Lucy gestured towards her phone, an iPhone 14. "Instagram, honey. You ain't got no social media, do you?"

"No," Fang shook his head. "I had no need for it in Hong Kong."

"Perhaps that's a different story here, love," Lucy suggested, taking a drag from her cigarette. "You should make an account! Post your kung fu!"

Fang chuckled. "Maybe I will. Take care, Lucy."

"Bye-bye, K-9," Lucy smiled. Exiting Lucy's room and her house, Fang walked down the driveway to the curb. Surveying the dark and quiet street, dimly lit by streetlights, he began walking towards more traffic, hoping to find a taxi. In the silence of the night, the events of the past two days replayed in his mind, accompanied by the fleeting images of his Miami Dogma companions.

Lost in thought, memories of his childhood friends began to surface out of nowhere, followed by thoughts of his parents, their frail forms haunting his memories. He recalled their sunken eyes, stuttering lips, and fragile minds.

"Māma… Bàba… you didn't deserve me," Fang whispered to the night sky, his gaze drifting to the moon shining amidst dark clouds. 'But that's okay. Because you had me — and now, your son is going to make something of himself.'

Suddenly, the street illuminated with headlights, casting Fang's large shadow in front of him. Turning around, he spotted a green truck rolling down the street, moving at an unnervingly slow pace. Instinctively, he reached for his weapon, only to realize he had left it behind at Mr. Hehrb's mansion in his haste. Caught off guard by his oversight, he cursed under his breath.

"Shit," Fang growled.

As the van pulled up beside Fang, its doors swung open forcefully. Three Hispanic men, clad in blue-jean jackets over bulletproof vests and adorned with tattoos and scars, emerged from the vehicle. Fang had no time to react. A blow landed on his jaw, followed swiftly by another striking his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Doubling over on the sidewalk, Fang coughed, spewing drool and blood.

"How you like that, fuckin' chink?" One of the assailants taunted, their laughter echoing around Fang.

They proceeded to rain down kicks on him from all angles, their steel-toed boots inflicting agony upon his ribs, back, and head. Despite his attempts to defend himself, Fang couldn't escape the onslaught, the pain searing through his entire body. When the merciless beating finally ceased, Fang lay on the ground, curled up in a fetal position, trembling with pain.

"These Miami Dogma bastards are pussies," one of the men spat, lighting a cigar. "Load him up in the truck. We're taking him back to the Boss, just as he ordered."

With callous disregard for Fang's well-being, two of the men seized him by the arms and hoisted him up, tossing him into the truck without concern for further injury. They followed suit, piling into the vehicle before the door shut. Once again, the streets of North Bay Village were enveloped in silence and tranquility.

One of the men leveled a gun at Fang's head. "Try anything funny and you're done, amigo."

Fang emitted an exhausted, painful grunt, resigning to lean his head against the truck's window. His sole focus was on enduring the excruciating agony. Vision blurring and hearing muffled, he tasted blood in his mouth, unable to rid himself of it. As he coughed, a splatter of blood stained the window.

"Ay, don't get the fuckin' windows bloody, motherfucker!" The man holding the gun snapped. Fang paid no heed, his eyes struggling to stay open as he felt his world slipping into darkness.