King and Vincent Galvani made their way through the crowds of people with purposeful strides. Glancing around at the sumptuous surroundings, King couldn't help but be mesmerized by the opulence that surrounded them. The ornate gold filigree and lavish crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling were a sight to behold.

An announcement blared from the ship wide speaker system.

"Okay, that was the second announcement that they would be administering the ship wide safety instructions soon. Why are we heading to the Leto Deck again?" Vincent asked as they made their way through the bustling crowd of passengers. The scent of chlorine from an Olympic-size swimming pool wafted through the air, a testament to the luxurious nature of the ship.

Vincent was insistent, "Almaerifuh will be receiving the data transmission soon, and I want to make sure we're there to intercept it." He said, a reminder to King of their mission.

King chuckled, still amazed that someone as wealthy as Vincent had so little experience with maintaining the appearance of it. "People skip the safety and evacuation instructions all the time. When they do, they're hiding out on the Leto Deck." he said, flashing a mischievous smile.

As they arrived on it, the Leto Deck provided an even grander display of wealth and sophistication. With its infinity pool that merged seamlessly with the horizon. The air was thick with the scent of delicious food being prepared, wafting from nearby cafes and bistros, mixed with a faint mist of sea salt from the surrounding ocean.

Suddenly, two familiar faces caught King's attention. They were Can-can dancers, a duo that King had remembered from the Met Gala. They had caught his eye then—not just for their sultry dancing and vibrant costumes—but also because of their juxtaposed appearances. One was tall and lithe, with a lean masculine appearance and ebony skin, the other was petite with a soft feminine grace and ivory skin. Somehow, they had landed on this luxurious cruise ship docked in Stockholm, Sweden set to embark across the Baltic Sea.

Galvani noticed his nostalgic gaze and followed it to the stage, where the taller Can-can dancer was leading warm-ups for their routine. The woman's strong features caught the light as she moved with a natural grace.

King's eyes trailed over the sinewy muscles, flexing and relaxing under ebony skin. He let out a shrill whistle, causing the woman to look up and meet his gaze. A sly smile spread across her face as she recognized him, the same thrill in her eyes as the night they first met.

Galvani shot King a playful glare before shaking his head.

King was unfazed. "Evening ladies, you're looking as captivating as ever." He said, leaning against a nearby pillar. The taller dancer’s smile widened, a playful twinkle in her eyes as she sashayed over to them, her muscular hips swaying seductively.

"Well-well, if it isn't two of the daring quartet who robbed the Met Gala with such style and panache," she said, her voice husky and deep. Her partner followed close behind, nibbling on her lower lip with a coy smile. "What brings you two here?" she inquired; her eyes locked onto King's. She leaned in, closing the distance between them as she caressed his bicep with her free hand.

King, in his signature charm and quick wit, responded, "Business; with some pleasure penciled in for afterwards. Why are you two here? I thought you worked in New York." He added, intrigued by their presence on a Swedish cruise ship.

The petite dancer replied, her eyes showing some irritation, "We were let go. That tends to happen when somebody robs your place of work." She shot a glance at King, her partner's arm still draped around his neck. "We couldn’t afford to stay in New York without work, so we took this gig on the ship..." The petite dancer was interrupted by a long, ebony finger on her lips.

"An effing long story short. We follow the money, honey!" The taller dancer declared; her eyes gleaming with excitement. "That said, if you're ever looking for a partner in crime that’s more than a pretty face, hit us up!" She winked, pulling away from King and gesturing to her partner.

As she did, King's gaze followed the curve of her arm, tracing the muscles and tendons that defined her athletic physique. His mind wandered back to their encounter at the Met Gala, remembering her joyous catcalls as he lifted her, her dance partner, and the motorcycles they were posing on, over his head in a display of strength.

"Why not now?" King asked with sincerity, "Looking for a man. Goes by the name of Abdul-Qadeer Almaerifuh, so let's just say he would stand out on this ship. Seen him?" He asked.

The dancers shared a look, before the petite one spoke up. "Yeah, we've seen him around the ship. He's a bit hard to miss with that jet black hair and beard. He's at the Casino lounge; over there." She said with a nod, pointing towards the direction of the casino.

King gave the dancer a nod and a wink, his gaze lingering for just a second. "I'll need two drinks. One for me, one for our good friend Almaerifuh." He ordered.

The petite dancer hesitated, then replied, "The bar is closed until we embark. I can't..." She was again interrupted by the taller dancer taking position behind the bar.

"I'm not on the clock yet. Besides, I haven't had breakfast and I doubt the crew will serve that any time soon. What'll you have?" she asked King with a wink, pulling out two glasses and placing them upright onto the bar.

"Whiskey for me. I doubt he'll actually drink anything we offer him, so something you fancy." King replied with a smirk, locking eyes with the tall dancer as she poured the amber liquid into the glasses and put them on a single serving tray, which she carried with the intent to follow King and Vincent.

Galvani couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease as King flirted with the dancers, but he quickly shook it off. He knew better than to question King's methods. The two of them had been through too much together and had always come out on top.

As they made their way towards the Casino lounge, King couldn't help but cast a glance over his shoulder. The tall Can-can dancer was following them with a determined stride, her hips swaying seductively. He could feel her eyes on him, and his body reacted instinctively. His muscles tensed, desire pooling.

They may have been on a mission, but that didn't mean King couldn't indulge in a bit of pleasure. The tall dancer was the embodiment of danger and allure, her body hinting at a strength and dominance that mirrored his own. And the petite one, what he and the tall dancer wouldn't do to that poor little creature was almost too much to think about. That thought alone made him bite his lower lip and give her a playful smile that made her blush.

Upon entering the Casino lounge, King was instantly drawn to Almaerifuh. He was indeed easy to spot with his jet-black hair and beard, as described by the Can-can dancers. He was also flanked by an entourage of two heavily armed men, dressed in sleek suits.

King approached, with Vincent trailing closely behind. He extended the tray towards Almaerifuh. "Care for a drink, Mr. Almaerifuh?" he asked with a charming smile that never seemed to leave his face, regardless of the situation he found himself in.

Almaerifuh didn't raise his head, "No, I don't drink alcohol. It is forbidden." He replied, his voice a low growl.

"Well then," King started, leaning the tray to the taller dancer, who swiftly took both drinks off it. "Maybe your men would!" He yelled as he swung the tray with deadly force at the guards nearest him. The tray connected with one guard's head, sending him to the floor in a heap, while the other man dove to the side, narrowly avoiding getting his neck broke by the makeshift weapon; only to be stunned by an energy discharge leaping from Vincent's arm.

"Now," King roared, as he tossed the tray aside and began to unbutton his suit jacket. "Where were we?" His voice had dropped an octave, low and menacing. His piercing yellow eyes locked on Almaerifuh's narrowed black ones. The tall dancer handed King his glass of whiskey, which he took with a pleased nod.

"I'm afraid we are nowhere gentleman; and whores." Almaerifuh hissed, his hand drifted down to the concealed weapon strapped to his ankle. His eyes flashed with irritation as he spat his words at King and Vincent. "I have locked my receiver so that it will never receive the data. Also, Mr. Ivanov has been warned that I have been compromised, so he wouldn't send such data to me anyway."

However, King was unperturbed. He lifted the glass of whiskey to his lips, savoring the rich burn as it slid down his throat. His gaze never wavered from Almaerifuh's, "Vincent, explain the situation to him, please." King requested, taking another sip of his whiskey.

Vincent tapped a command on his wrist computer, "Okay, with that, your receiver is now unlocked again. Oh, and that warning you sent, I wouldn't count on that reaching Ivanov," Vincent finished.

King smiled predatorily, "You see, you’re not the only people with cute technical tricks,” he raised his whiskey glass, toasting the now trembling man. "Here's to technology and its many charms."

As Almaerifuh realized he was caught in their trap, he desperately fumbled for his weapon, but King swiftly moved in closer, engulfing Almaerifuh's hand and gun entirely with his own massive one, squeezing it in a tight grip. Almaerifuh's eyes bulged with frustration and fear as he felt King's hot breath in his ear.

"Normally I would negotiate," King hissed, his breath moist, "I would have offered you a mountain of money for that data. But then you went and shot at my man Vincent. That was a terrible idea." King's voice dropped to a growl, his grip tightening around the weapon. When King let go, Almaerifuh's hand and weapon were pulverized, an amalgamation of metal, blood and bone. Almaerifuh screamed in agony, collapsing to his knees.

"Vincent, let's make sure he remains conscious." King nodded to Vincent as he resumed sipping his whiskey.

Vincent obliged, swiftly injecting his special brew into Almaerifuh's neck. His hand seemed to reassemble, as if it was reconstructed from the inside out. It was raw, it was pink, but it was most definitely his hand again. Abdul-Qadeer Almaerifuh's breath hitched, his gaze turning to meet King's. He was trembling uncontrollably, a mixture of pain and fear flooding through his veins.

"Good, that means you can once again feel this," King growled in his ear. His grip tightening around the broken appendage, not to inflict more pain—though it certainly did—but to remind Almaerifuh of their position: King in control, Almaerifuh completely at his mercy. "Now, we can negotiate."

The tall dancer climbed and straddled King's broad shoulder, crossing her legs while holding her glass of whiskey in one hand, close to her full lips. "I'd take the money, honey." She said, addressing Almaerifuh with a smoldering gaze.