Hank walked away from the hotel check-in desk, the plastic keycard feeling anonymous in his hand. He bypassed the elevators leading to the rooms, drawn instead towards the pulsating heart of the resort… the casino floor. The noise level ratcheted up instantly as he stepped onto the vibrantly patterned carpet: a chaotic symphony of electronic chimes, spinning reels, distant shouts from a craps table, and the low, constant murmur of countless conversations blending into white noise. Lights flashed rhythmically from rows upon rows of slot machines, casting shifting patterns across the faces of hopeful gamblers. Despite the underlying weariness pulling at his muscles, Hank felt a flicker of sharp focus return. He needed this, a simple distraction, a game of pure chance and basic strategy to occupy his mind before sleep claimed him.

  He scanned the felt-topped tables, eventually settling on a Blackjack table nestled slightly away from the main thoroughfare. It wasn't too crowded, just a couple of other players, and the dealer, a woman likely in her late thirties with expertly applied makeup and tired but professional eyes, managed her cards with swift, practiced efficiency. Hank slid onto one of the empty stools, the plush velvet slightly worn.

  He caught the dealer's eye and offered a polite nod. Pulling out his wallet, he extracted five crisp hundred-dollar bills… and laid them flat on the green felt beside the betting circle.

  The dealer’s gaze flickered down, then back up to meet his. “Changing five hundred,” she announced clearly, her voice carrying easily over the ambient casino noise. As she spoke, Hank noticed a man in a suit standing nearby… the pit boss… give a subtle nod, acknowledging the transaction. The dealer deftly scooped up the bills, slid them into the metal slot embedded in the table with a soft thunk, and counted out an assortment of chips… reds, greens, a few blacks… stacking them neatly before sliding them across the felt towards Hank. He gathered them, appreciating their smooth, cool weight in his hand. Efficient, professional security. He approved.

  He selected a single green twenty-five-dollar chip, and placed it neatly in the betting circle before him. The dealer, her movements economical and precise, finished a quick shuffle and began dealing. Two cards slid face-up in front of Hank: a four of clubs and a six of spades. Total ten. Not bad. He glanced at the dealer’s up-card: a queen of hearts. Dangerous.

  He tapped the felt lightly with his index finger. “Hit me,” he said, his voice calm.

  She slid another card from the shoe towards him. An ace of diamonds. Perfect.

  “Twenty-one,” the dealer announced flatly, moving on to the next player. Hank felt a small smile touch his lips, a tiny spark of satisfaction. He leaned back slightly as the dealer completed the round for the other players, then turned back to her own hand. She revealed her down-card: a five. Total fifteen. She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before drawing another card according to house rules. A nine of clubs.

  “Dealer busts,” she declared, her tone unchanging, as she swept the losing bets towards the tray and began paying out the winners. She pushed a matching green chip alongside Hank’s original bet. A small win, but a win nonetheless. It felt good, a brief, clean moment of success amidst the complex chaos of his life. He nodded his thanks, leaving his original bet and the winnings in the circle, ready for the next hand. Maybe Lady Luck was on his side tonight after all. He settled deeper into the chair, letting the simple rhythm of the game wash over him.

  ---

  The hours bled together under the relentless, hypnotic glow of the casino lights. Hank found himself lost in the simple rhythm of Blackjack, the clatter of chips a soothing counterpoint to the electric buzz of the floor. Luck, it seemed, had decided to make his acquaintance tonight. His initial five hundred had blossomed, chip stacks growing steadily higher in front of him until they represented well over a thousand dollars. He wasn't playing recklessly, just smart, catching good cards, riding the occasional hot streak. His success hadn't gone unnoticed. A few sidelong glances from the other players at the table, a slightly raised eyebrow from the pit boss making his rounds.

  Then, the attention became more direct. A tall young woman, perhaps twenty-one or twenty-two, detached herself from the periphery and slid gracefully onto the empty stool directly to Hank's right. Her beauty was immediate and striking: deep, flawless ebony skin that seemed to absorb the casino lights, large, dark brown eyes framed by thick lashes, and a smile that was both dazzling and calculated. Her dress was a statement… impossibly short, clinging tightly to generous curves, fashioned from some shimmering, champagne-colored fabric that left very little to the imagination. She leaned towards him, giving him an unnecessary but potent whiff of expensive, slightly heavy perfume.

  She caught his eye and offered a slow, deliberate wink. "Having a good run, handsome?" she purred, her voice smooth and practiced. "Maybe some of your incredible luck can rub off on me a little."

  Hank chuckled softly, acknowledging her presence with a polite nod but keeping his focus on the cards. He recognized the approach instantly. A gold digger, drawn by the growing mountain of chips in front of him like a moth to a flame. He couldn't deny she was stunning, objectively beautiful with a body that screamed sensuality. Hell, she could definitely be fun to fuck, a fleeting, primal thought flickered through his mind, but… He immediately shut it down. His mind flashed to Corleen… the fiery red hair, the piercing blue eyes, the sharp intellect beneath the bombshell exterior. That was captivating. This felt… superficial. Easy. He saw no future here, not even for a single night. His life was complicated enough.

  Just as the dealer began a new shuffle, another presence settled onto the stool on Hank's left. He glanced over casually, and his interest immediately piqued. This woman was different. Asian, her features delicate yet possessing an underlying strength, her long, dark hair styled simply, falling like silk past her shoulders. She wore a simple, elegant black dress, tasteful and understated compared to the woman on his right. Her smile, when she offered it to him, was quiet, almost shy, yet held a genuine warmth. Her figure was leaner, her chest perhaps a little smaller than his usual preference, but on her tight, perfectly proportioned Asian frame, Hank found it utterly perfect. He felt that familiar pull, the deep appreciation for her specific kind of beauty, reminiscent of Yuna, yet entirely distinct. He felt a hell of a lot more genuine attraction flicker towards her than the overt display beside him. She simply offered him that small smile, then turned her attention to the table, placing a modest bet in the circle before her.

  Hank felt his luck surge again. He slid out a black hundred-dollar chip, placing it decisively in his betting square. The woman on his right raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow but said nothing. The dealer’s hands moved with practiced speed, sliding cards across the felt. Hank looked down. An Ace of spades and a King of diamonds. Blackjack. He smirked, leaning back slightly.

  “See?” the woman beside him sighed dramatically, looking down at her own hand… a hard twenty. “You truly are a luck charm tonight.”

  Hank glanced to his left. The Asian woman had a nine and a ten… a strong nineteen. She looked tense, biting her lower lip slightly. The dealer revealed her up-card: a nine. She paused, then flipped her hole card… a four. Thirteen. House rules dictated she had to hit. As her hand moved towards the shoe, Hank noticed the Asian woman beside him subtly holding her breath, her knuckles white where she gripped the edge of the table. Clearly not used to playing, Hank thought, finding her nervousness strangely endearing. The dealer slid out the hit card. It landed face up. A King. Bust.

  “Dealer busts,” the dealer announced, her voice unchanging as she began sweeping the losing chips towards the tray and paying out the winners. Hank smiled, collecting his winnings, including the satisfying payout for his Blackjack. Perhaps his luck hadn't run out just yet.

  ---

  As Hank stepped into the elevator, he was followed by the two women… the petite, with sharp features and sleek black haired Asian beauty, and the tall and statuesque ebony girl, her dark skin contrasting against a striking champagne-colored blouse. They didn’t speak, didn’t even glance at each other, but something about the timing felt… off.

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  Hank pressed the button for the fourth floor, then leaned against the wall, trying to ignore the prickle at the back of his neck. Neither woman moved. They didn’t press a button, didn’t indicate their own destination. That alone set off a quiet alarm in Hank’s mind… what were the odds they both had rooms on his floor?

  The elevator dinged. The doors slid open to the fourth floor.

  Hank stepped out, glancing briefly behind him. The women remained inside, neither making a move to follow. Maybe he was just being paranoid, he thought, shaking off the unease as he walked toward his suite.

  He slid the card key into the reader. A click.

  And then… a sharp sting at the base of his neck.

  He started to turn, confusion rising, but the world tilted. His balance gave way. The door swung inward as his body collapsed against it. The last thing he saw before darkness crept in was the statuesque woman standing over him, a gloved hand slipping something into her pocket.

  “Sorry, love,” she murmured, her voice soft and mocking. “You were just too easy.”

  Hank tried to speak, but his tongue wouldn’t move. His body refused to obey. He was conscious… barely… but paralyzed. The edges of his vision blurred, and all he could do was listen.

  “He’s prettier in person,” the Asian woman added with a chuckle.

  The other woman stepped inside the room, closing the door behind them with a quiet click. “Should we prep him for transport now?” she asked, her voice calm, detached… like discussing a piece of luggage.

  “Give it a minute. Let the serum run its course.”

  They moved quickly… methodically. One pulled a small black case from her purse and unzipped it, revealing restraints, syringes, and a set of small tools. The other began searching Hank’s belongings, removing his phone, laptop, wallet… anything that could track or identify him.

  All Hank could do was watch… and listen, his body frozen, his thoughts pounding with a rising dread. He wasn’t just being robbed. This was bigger. Professional.

  This was a takedown.

  The door burst open without ceremony. Two large men in dark clothing stepped into the hotel suite, moving with the precision of professionals who had done this before. Their faces were cold, emotionless… one bald with a jagged scar tracing down his temple, the other thick-necked and silent, his eyes scanning the room like a hawk.

  Without a word, they moved to Hank's limp body and lifted him with ease, one grabbing under the arms, the other at the legs. Hank, still paralyzed but partially conscious, could feel their grip… rough, impersonal. His vision remained hazy, but the ceiling lights above spun slowly as he was hoisted off the ground.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t…” the Asian girl began, her voice hesitant, almost cracking.

  The bald man moved with lightning speed.

  Crack.

  His backhand connected with her cheek hard enough to knock her into the wall. She gasped and clutched her face, tears instantly welling in her eyes.

  “You speak when spoken to,” the man growled, looming over her. “Your sister stays breathing only as long as you keep doing what we say. Don’t forget that.”

  Hank heard every word, and the realization hit him like a second drug… she was being forced, just like him. She wasn’t part of this by choice.

  “Hey, easy,” the ebony girl said, stepping forward, her tone more defiant. “She just wanted to…”

  Another slap. This time it was the other man, who struck her across the mouth. She staggered back, stumbling over the edge of the bed and landing hard on the floor, stunned.

  “Both of you… shut up,” the bald man barked, his voice a low snarl. “Downstairs. Now. Into the van. We’ll deal with you both at the warehouse.”

  There was no more argument.

  The two women, shaken and silently crying, did exactly as they were told. The Asian girl wiped her mouth and stood shakily, casting one last look toward Hank. Her eyes weren’t cold now… they were full of guilt. Regret. Fear. The ebony girl met Hank’s eyes too, her lip bleeding, her confidence shattered. Neither said a word, but Hank understood.

  They were victims in this, too.

  The men carried him out of the suite and into the hallway, heading for the service corridor. Hank’s head lolled slightly, his eyes catching glimpses of sterile hotel lights above and patterned carpet below. His body was still useless, his limbs heavy as stone, but his mind was beginning to sharpen… painfully aware of his surroundings.

  They reached the service elevator at the end of the hall, a steel door marked “Staff Only.” One of the men swiped a keycard. The doors slid open with a mechanical chime.

  As they stepped in, Hank’s room door… still ajar… let out a faint sound from behind.

  His phone was ringing.

  It echoed from inside the suite, shrill and distant. His lifeline… just out of reach.

  The doors closed with a heavy thud, swallowing the sound as the elevator began to descend. The air was thick with tension, and Hank, trapped in his own body, could do nothing but listen to the hum of the machinery and the muffled, broken breathing of the two girls standing silently beside him… carried by the same tide, pulled under by the same monsters.

  ---

  “He’s not answering…” Mona said softly, her brow furrowed as she set her phone down on the table. The worry in her voice was subtle but unmistakable. Her fingers lingered over the screen, as if willing it to light up with a return call.

  Constance sat on the edge of the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, her arms folded tight across her chest. She didn’t say anything at first, just glanced toward the clock on the far wall. “What time did he say he’d call?” she finally asked, her tone cool.

  “He didn’t,” Mona admitted. “Just that he’d check in before bed.”

  “Maybe he’s asleep?” Courtney offered from her spot by the minibar, sipping on sparkling water and trying to sound optimistic.

  Constance turned to her with a dry look. “Asleep? In a casino? Surrounded by lights, music, and half-dressed women?” Her brow arched. “Come on, Court, we both know Hank better than that.”

  Courtney grinned. “He did say he needed rest.”

  Constance laughed… a short, ironic sound. “He said that, yeah. But we all know that man doesn't rest unless he's dead or forced.”

  Just then, a faint sound… like fabric brushing against glass… came from the direction of the window. Instinctively, all three women looked over.

  The curtains stirred, and from the shadows emerged a figure… tall and graceful, her silhouette limned with moonlight. Maerisa stepped into the room, her white hair cascading down her shoulders like liquid light, the red stripes a stark contrast in the moon light. Clad in a leather cloak that shimmered with subtle enchantment, she moved with the silent elegance only an elf could command.

  “There’s a situation,” Maerisa said, her voice soft yet edged with urgency.

  Constance stood immediately. “What kind of situation?”

  “Hank has been taken,” Maerisa replied, stepping further into the light. “Kidnapped less than an hour ago. Drugged and carried out of his room through the service elevator. He is alive… but not conscious. They plan to move him again before dawn.”

  Mona gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh no… by who? Why?”

  “He’s not the only one,” Maerisa continued. “There are others being held in the same location. Girls… some women, some still children. Most were taken under false promises or threats. It’s a trafficking ring.”

  Constance slowly sat down, her face pale. “Is he hurt?”

  Maerisa shook her head. “Not physically. But he is under the effects of a paralytic compound. He cannot move or speak. He knows what’s happening but cannot act.”

  Courtney clenched her jaw. “Then we have to go. We can’t wait…”

  “The elves will handle it,” Maerisa said. “But there’s a complication. The compound isn’t cloaked. If we move in, the girls will see us… see what we truly are.”

  Constance looked up sharply. “What are the consequences of that?”

  Maerisa’s expression grew grim. “Two of them will speak. Publicly. They will describe what they saw… our magic, our presence. The other two… they will not leave Hank’s side. They were the ones forced to lure him in. They’ll refuse to abandon him unless he sends them away.”

  “And the child?” Mona asked softly.

  Maerisa hesitated. “She is only six. Her sister is one of the two girls who helped bait Hank. They used the little one’s life as leverage. If we do nothing… she’ll disappear into that darkness forever.”

  Constance looked down at her hands, then at Mona. “Can the two that would talk… be silenced? Without harm?”

  Maerisa nodded. “Yes. A memory spell. Gentle but permanent. They’ll forget what they saw… what we are. Their memories of the rescue will be altered.”

  Courtney crossed her arms. “And the other two? The ones who want to stay with Hank?”

  “They’ve grown attached,” Maerisa explained. “Not out of manipulation or seduction… but desperation. One has no home to return to. The other has lost everything. They believe Hank is their only hope. And the girl… she trusts him already, even in her frightened state, even in his paralyzed state.”

  Constance’s mouth tightened. “And we’re supposed to just accept that? That they were victims and not willing accomplices?”

  “They were used,” Maerisa said quietly. “And from what I saw… they were punished for even questioning their orders. They’re scared. But they aren’t enemies.”

  Silence settled over the room for a long beat.

  Then Mona reached out and took Constance’s hand, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Dad would save them. If it was you in that warehouse… he wouldn’t stop at just rescuing you. He’d bring every last one of them out, too.”

  Constance closed her eyes for a moment. She remembered Hank’s words… his fierce loyalty, his unwillingness to leave anyone behind. Even the broken. Especially the broken.

  She looked up at Maerisa, her expression firm. “Go. Get him. Save them. And make sure the bastards who did this pay in blood.”

  Maerisa gave a single nod. Then, with a swirl of her cloak, she stepped back into the shadows. In the blink of an eye, she was gone.

  Mona let out a slow breath. “How do they do that?”

  Courtney leaned back, eyes wide. “I swear, I’ll never get used to it.”

  Constance just stared at the dark window, heart pounding. Somewhere out there, Hank was alone, surrounded by monsters. But not for long.