Swamp Murder

Swamp Murder. 67

Zhan

The day blurs quickly. By five, Wang had everything planned, reservations in one of the best restaurants in town. Two seats for Ezra and Ziyi, tucked under candlelight. Another table in the far corner, booked for three, where Wag, me and Dre could keep watch without drawing suspicion.

Ezra had already texted Ziyi the address.
The trap was set.

By six-thirty, we were ready.

Ezra surprised me the most. He'd trimmed his hair close at the sides, leaving the top just long enough to push back with a sleek shine. His suit was sharp navy, tailored just enough to fit like it had been waiting in a closet for this moment. When he caught me staring, he arched a brow like he'd been born to look dangerous and expensive.

Dre, on the other hand, looked like a storm barely leashed. He'd gone with black on black—shirt, jacket, even his shoes gleamed like mirrors. But his jaw was tight, and the way his hands kept flexing gave him away.

"I'll kill that bitch myself if she touches you," Dre hissed under his breath.

Ezra's smile was sharp, amused. "Relax, love." He cupped Dre's cheek, unbothered by his heat. "You'll be hearing me the whole time." Then, without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed him, slow, deliberate, like he was reminding Dre who he belonged to.

"Okay..." Dre muttered when they pulled apart, but his voice was soft, almost whining. Ezra just smirked.

Wang was the anchor, as always. He'd chosen a charcoal-gray suit, crisp white shirt open just enough at the collar to make him look both untouchable and human. His hair was neat, his watch expensive, but it was the calm in his eyes that drew me in. Like no matter what happened tonight, he already had the ending written.

And me? I wore the suit Wang had quietly left out on the bed earlier, a deep green that almost looked black until the light caught it. The fabric hugged me in ways that made my insecurities whisper, but when Wang looked at me, I forgot all of them. His gaze said I was the sharpest blade at his side.

We looked good.
We looked like we belonged to the kind of world we'd sworn to burn down.

We slid into the Porsche Dre had rented, its engine purring like a beast in waiting. The space bus rolled behind us, shadowing us from a distance.

The plan was simple: Ezra would handle Ziyi, escort her, talk to her, watch her. If she showed up tonight, he'd be the one to drop her back. The Porsche would carry them. The bus would bring us home.

But as we drove into the city lights, the air heavy with perfume, danger, and expectation, I couldn't shake the thought, plans had a way of breaking.

The city lights are beautiful at night. Wang was right.

Glass towers glimmer like fireflies caught in steel cages, their reflections spilling across the dark water below. Neon signs bleed colors into the streets, painting strangers in shifting blues and reds. The whole place feels alive, humming, like it's holding its breath just for us.

I lean back in the Porsche's seat, the hum of the engine under me, the leather cool against my skin. For a moment, I forget why we're here. For a moment, it feels like we're just four people dressed too well, driving into a night that belongs to us.

Wang glances at me from the driver's seat, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting near mine on the console. His profile catches the glow of passing streetlamps, sharp jaw, calm eyes, that quiet strength that makes me believe in things I shouldn't.

"You see?" he says softly, almost like he can read my thoughts. "Told you St. Tropez at night was something else."

I smile, small but real. "It's... more than I imagined."