Julie’s POV

“If you let that man slip from your hands, I will kill you myself!” I shouted into the phone.

I was on a secret mission. After working twenty-four/seven for at least a month, we finally tracked that piece of a man. We knew he would come to this drug-dealer meeting, so we were going to crash it.

My men had their eyes on him, and I’d be there in less than a minute.

As I said, I’m a secret detective. My team and I wear black — even over our faces — whenever we go on a mission. I’m their leader; they follow my orders and are my loyal chosen ones.

After every successful mission I leave a message: “H King has sent you greetings.”

It’s funny how everyone thinks H King is a man. I like that.

My other profession is boxing — everyone knows that about me.

This is our bestie-group rule. All three of us have public careers, but we each have a hidden one. We chose the name H King for our secret lives.

“Boss, we’re there,” one of my men said.

I nodded and signaled everyone to their positions.

Laura said we’d be on a chessboard — but without the King — if we didn’t act today. This was our chance to checkmate them.

We circled the whole mansion. No one would escape. Some of my detectives were on the roof; we’d checked the ground area and the basement.

I signaled two of my men to enter through the main entrance and start the operation.

They were covered except for their faces. Their suits were bulletproof and they wore caps. These two were my masterminds — I trusted they’d be okay. I prayed they would be.

Once the smugglers thought the two intruders were the only threat, my men would act unconscious after five minutes. Then we’d fire from seven directions. No one would be killed — the bullets were laced with an anesthetic. Everyone would lose consciousness in a second.

My men nodded and entered, showing fake IDs. Each of us had a microphone to stay in contact.

“H King. The meeting has started,” one reported.

“Everyone, take your stance and remember the mission. No one should be killed — everyone must live,” I commanded. They answered eagerly, “Roger that, Master.”

“Shall we start?” they asked.

“Are we ready?” I asked. No answer meant we were.

After a long breath, I said, “You shall.”

We drew our guns and moved through the mansion, getting closer and closer.

After exactly five minutes we heard the gunshots stop.

“Shall we search them?” an unfamiliar voice said.

“I don’t think so. They came alone without warning. They’re fools. Leave them,” another growled.

“On the count of ten,” I announced.

“One… two… ten!” I yelled and ran for the third floor’s VIP room.

“Queen and bishop are the main pieces in the King’s castle. Once you kick them out, the King is vulnerable — but the King is powerful because every piece works for his safety,” Laura’s words rang in my head and I smiled.

“Everything’s clear downstairs. Moving to the second,” one of my men reported.

“Okay,” I replied, smiling even more.

“Need some help, King?” one of my most trusted men called from behind me.

I smiled and signaled him to follow.

We moved side to side, changing directions to avoid cameras. Stopping at different sides of the door, we drew our guns and nodded to each other.

We banged the door open and entered, guns raised.

To our surprise, a man sat on the sofa near the fire, sipping something and looking at the floor. He didn’t even flinch when we came in.

We began to move toward him from different sides, but he raised a hand and signaled us to stop.

We exchanged glances and froze. There was no one else — just him.

He released a breath and set his cup on the table.

He looked up at us, calm, almost bored.

“You found me, H King. Now what are you waiting for? Go ahead and kill me.” He raised his hands in the air, defeated.

“I’ll kill you—but not easily,” I said, my voice lowered into a heavy, disguised tone.

“Tsk… tsk. What are you waiting for?” my partner added.

“After making me wait for one month, you want to die? Now tell me—where are the kidnapped girls?” I demanded furiously, striking his left shoulder with the back of my gun.

He groaned in pain, clutching his shoulder. “Never! You can kill me, but if you think I’ll tell you anything, you’re wrong.”

My partner grabbed him by the collar and punched him hard. The man coughed blood, collapsed again, and begged, “Please… just kill me.”

My partner kicked him in the stomach. He screamed, tried to crawl away, but was dragged back.

I checked the time on my watch and raised my gun. Enough of this drama. But before I could pull the trigger, he glanced at the clock and started laughing.

“You missed,” he said, mocking. His laughter echoed.

“For the first time—you lose, and I win. My master wins.” He laughed again, bitter and cruel.
“H King, how are you feeling? You couldn’t even recognize your true victim.”

I smiled. My partner’s eyes widened—he understood what I’d done.

“Say goodbye, dear fellow. He’s been waiting for you for ten minutes already.”

That stupid smile drained from his face. His eyes widened in panic.

I pulled the trigger. One shot, clean.

Then I ordered my partner, “Leave the note wide on the wall. Make sure everyone sees it.”

He obeyed.

In bold letters it read:
H King has sent greetings.