This is for killing Chu Hua

Chaoxiang, a feared triad hitman, had awakened two days earlier in a rundown motel—naked, alone, and in a woman’s body.

Someone had left a note beside the bed.

“This is for killing Chu Hua.”

He had read it over and over, searching for an explanation or a name. There was nothing else.

The only clothing in the room was a black leather jumpsuit. He slipped into it, unsettled by how closely it fitted his unfamiliar curves.

With nowhere else to turn, he made his way to the place where his gang usually gathered. These were men who had known him for years, men who had watched him kill without hesitation.

Now he wondered whether they would even let him through the door.

His tattoo was still there. He kept glancing at it as he walked, rehearsing what he would say.

He could only hope they would accept it as proof of who he really was.