Money? Hearing the bartender's words, Jiang Hai couldn't help but smile. Of all things, money was the last thing he lacked. Without hesitation, he pulled out his wallet, withdrew a crisp thousand-dollar bill, and placed it on the table.
A thousand dollars might not seem like much to him, but in the United States, it was no small sum. Consider this: a working-class person earns just over twenty thousand dollars a year, maybe thirty if they're lucky. Even those making fifty thousand annually—solidly middle-class—bring home only about five hundred a week. For a bartender earning around forty thousand a year, a thousand dollars was equivalent to more than a week's wages.
Her eyes flickered with temptation, though she kept her composure. Without a word, she set aside her drink, stepped out from behind the counter, and met Jiang Hai's gaze with eyes full of allure.
"So," she purred, "where are we going? Your place? A hotel? Or… somewhere quick?" She pointed subtly toward the private bathrooms.
"Let's go there," Jiang Hai replied with a smile. "But I don't think it'll be quick." His true focus was the tattoo, but that didn't mean he wasn't interested in other things.
"Let's go, then." She laughed, took his hand, and led him into the bathroom.
The private suite had four bathrooms, each large and well-furnished, complete with toilet, washbasin, makeup table, and plenty of space—designed for far more than simple necessities.
The moment the door shut, the bartender slipped out of her jacket, undoing her blouse button by button with a teasing smile. Desire surged through Jiang Hai. He pulled her into his arms, tearing away the remaining fabric. With one forceful motion, he ripped her vest open, revealing her full curves. His hands explored while his eyes searched—fixated on the tattoo inked near her chest.
Yes. It was exactly as he had seen in the book. But why here, on this woman, of all places? This wasn't some popular design—it meant something. Jiang Hai's mind raced with questions.
"You really like it here, don't you?" she teased as his focus lingered. "Let me help you."
She sank to her knees. It was summer, and Jiang Hai wore light clothing—just two layers. With a quick tug, she freed him. Her eyes lit up at the sight, and after a brief, playful sniff, she leaned in and took him into her mouth. Jiang Hai, still fixated on the tattoo, let his hands roam, alternating between desire and careful inspection.
After a while, she pulled back, trapping him between her chest, using the saliva as lubricant as she moved.
"You like this, don't you?" she asked with a sly smile.
"Yes," Jiang Hai admitted calmly. "But what I really want to know is—your tattoo. Where did you get it?" His tone was casual, but his heart pounded. This was too important.
She chuckled. "This old thing? I'd almost forgotten. If you calm me down properly, maybe I'll remember."
Jiang Hai didn't hesitate. He lifted her, pressed her against the counter, and entered her with a single thrust. She cried out, clinging to him as the rhythm overtook them.
Meanwhile, outside, Pierce and the others had returned upstairs. When they noticed both Jiang Hai and the bartender gone—and one bathroom locked—they exchanged knowing looks. No one interrupted. Bradley and Turner slipped downstairs to the public restrooms, while Jordan, Smith, and Thomas occupied the other private stalls. Pierce himself was shameless enough to entertain a woman right there in the room.
Half an hour later, everyone finished and left with their chosen partners. At last, the door Jiang Hai had locked swung open. He emerged, the bartender clinging to him, flushed and exhausted. His phone buzzed with messages from Pierce and the others, but Jiang Hai ignored them. His mind was on the tattoo.
Carrying her to the sofa, he sat with her across his lap, still studying the mark. "Now," he said softly, "do you remember?"
She laughed breathlessly. "You're really strong. Fine, fine. I remember. My master gave it to me. When I was sixteen, in California, I met a man who ran a bar. He taught me how to make cocktails. When I was eighteen, I got drunk one night and woke up with this tattoo on my chest. Not exactly my fondest memory."
Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction. She'd earned money, enjoyed herself, and—even if her dignity took a hit—how much was dignity worth compared to this?
Jiang Hai leaned in. "Who was he? Did he tell you what the tattoo means?"
"His name is Bruce David. He said he'd retired from the Navy. Once, during a mission in Antarctica, he claimed he saw a totem like this. That's all I know." She shook her head.
Jiang Hai's eyes narrowed. He carefully noted the name. Bruce David. A Navy man. Antarctica. This was no coincidence. His instincts told him the man was tied to the truth he sought.
"You've been a great help," Jiang Hai said, slipping a few more hundred-dollar bills into her hand. "Rest now."
Then he left, his mind already racing. Compared to searching blindly, he finally had a lead—something concrete for Azarina and the others to investigate.
This time, Jiang Hai didn't return straight to Winthrop. Instead, he drove toward downtown Boston. Technically, it was drunk driving, but he wasn't worried—getting him drunk was nearly impossible.
Soon, he arrived at the villa rented by Aleer Sara and her companions. As his car pulled in, the garage door opened. Aleer Sara stood waiting in a black apron and leather shorts. The moment Jiang Hai stepped out, she rushed into his arms.
Without a word, their lips met in a passionate kiss. When they finally broke apart, she smiled mischievously.
"Hmm, your mouth tastes of alcohol… and a hint of another woman. Where have you been?" she teased.
Jiang Hai only swatted her playfully on the rear. With a squeal, she darted upstairs like a startled rabbit, and he followed.
Inside, the others were already gathered: Relis Carter, Belyak Trotsky, Valentina Alalaykaya, and Aleer Sara. For once, the whole group was together.
"Boss, you're here!" Relis Carter cried happily. She jumped up, then sat Jiang Hai down in her seat, only to settle into his lap herself. Guiding his hands to her chest, she grinned. Jiang Hai blinked, momentarily confused.
"They said on TV that if a man keeps touching like this, it'll grow," she explained cheekily.
Belyak burst into laughter. Jiang Hai rolled his eyes—what nonsense these women believed. He knew only one thing: pregnancy made them bigger, and that was plenty.
"Alright, I'll stay here tonight," Jiang Hai said, still holding Relis. "But more importantly—how's the mission progressing?"
His sudden shift in tone sobered the group. They exchanged glances. This was the first time Jiang Hai had asked directly.
Valentina answered first. "We've made some progress, but nothing definitive yet. We're still digging."
The others nodded, their expressions turning serious.
(To be continued.)