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“Yes.”

“Good. I want to see Lyric now,” I insist with impatience.

“Hold on a second, Rafe. Lyric doesn’t know you’re here. He ran for a reason, right? How about we settle into the hotel first, and then send him a note,” Fig suggests.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I didn’t come all this way to wait. No. I want to see him right away,” I demand, not wasting a second of my time wondering why Fig suggested that waiting bullshit.

“Excuse me,” Ji jumps in. “Currently Mr. Kim isn’t at the hotel,” Ji admits, as he gets onto the expressway.

“Then take me to wherever he is.” I stare at the rearview mirror, hoping to meet Ji’s eyes, but he keeps them focused on the road.

“It’s impossible,” he explains. “Mr. Kim and his friends are currently at the market. The place is vast, and my tail lost sight of them a half hour ago. It’s best to wait at the hotel,” Ji advises. He glances at Fig for a second before returning his attention to the road.

Feeling slightly defeated, I take a breath and let it out slowly, telling myself that there’s time. “Alright. Head to the hotel.”

An hour later, Ji says that we are getting close. He then makes a phone call, and it sounds like he’s giving instructions. Even if any Korean that Fig had tried to teach me had sunk in, I wouldn’t have been able to follow. Ji just talks too fucking fast. I look at Fig; he doesn’t seem concerned about the call, so I let it go.

When we arrive, one of the hotel staff quickly approaches the door on my side. He opens it, greets me with a smile and bows. “Welcome to Park Hyatt Busan, Mr. D’Angelo,” he says in perfect English. It’s a little creepy that he knows my name, then I remember Ji’s call and connect the dots.

As he swings the vehicle’s door wider, I read his name tag. Lee, Yoo-Joon, Manager.

Now or never, Rafe.

“Gam-sa-ham-ni-da, Mr. Lee,” I say slowly, and the man immediately blushes. Either my greeting was good, or I totally fucked it up.

Mr. Lee bows again and steps back as Fig gets in my line of sight. “Get out of the car, Mr. D’Angelo,” Fig says with a feisty snicker.

I don’t know what crawled up his ass to make him take that attitude with me, but it must have been big. Fig’s been with the band for at least three years, and this is the first time I have ever seen the bodyguard ruffled. It has to be Ji who’s got him in knots.

I quickly flip Fig the finger and slide out of the vehicle. I’m instantly greeted by cool air scented with saltwater, which makes sense. The hotel sits adjacent to the Korea Strait, between two different seas. I read that somewhere on the web.

“Please, follow me,” Mr. Lee says and quickly declares something in rapid Korean to a couple of uniformed men standing behind him. They hustle to the back of the vehicle, while Ji opens the tailgate.

Then Fig flanks me on my right and we follow the manager inside the hotel. Talk about luxurious. I don’t think I’ve ever stayed in a place quite so nice before. Granted, the band likes comfort, so we never stay in rat trap of motels while we tour, but we haven’t ever stayed in a hotel quite like this one either.

Fig leans close and quietly utters, “Ron’s taking care of it.”

I whip my head around as my mouth drops open at Fig’s announcement. “Why?”

“Ron figured you’d say that and told me to tell you that he loves you boys like you’re his own blood, and he wants to see you happy. Don’t worry about the cost. Just focus on Lyric.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and blink away the unwanted tears. “That treatment Ron’s going through better be working.” It is all I can get out as I walk away from Fig and center my attention on Mr. Lee where he now stands at the front desk.

While the manager explains the hotel’s amenities, Ji and Fig come up beside me and stand like silent sentinels. Once Mr. Lee places the key cards in Fig’s outstretched hand, both of my bodyguards lead me to the bank of elevators. Once on one, we take it up to the thirtieth floor and my room.

Fig opens the door, and I follow him into the room’s living area. There’s a plush sofa flanked by two chairs, with a round coffee table centered between them, and floor-to-ceiling windows that give a spectacular view of the breathtaking ocean.

“Your room is there.” Fig points to the left. Looking through the room’s open door, I see a king-size bed facing a large window. “Our room is through that door.” He thumbs toward the opposite side of the hotel room.

I glance into that room as Ji opens its door. The room is not as big as mine, and it has two twin beds, a smaller window, and a console table with a small refrigerator below it, a coffee maker on it, and a flat-screen TV above it.

“Your room looks comfortable.” I chuckle, imagining how these men will get along in their small space.

“We can manage,” Ji says stiffly and drops his bag on the bed farthest from the door.

I drop down onto the sofa in the living area, exhausted from travel and lack of sleep, and I stare out the window, wondering what Lyric is doing. As antsy as I am to see him, I know I have to be patient before rushing in and surprising him with my presence in Korea.

“Why don’t you take a nap.” Fig phrased his suggestion as a question, but his tone made it more of a gentle command. “It’ll probably be a while before Lyric gets back to the hotel.”