Chapter 76: Unreliable Divination
"Ouch, ouch, ouch..."
In Kingpin's eyes, that tough-as-nails Sheriff George from the New York Police Department was grimacing as he climbed out of his car.
As soon as George got out of the car, he adjusted his crotch, his movements slightly awkward.
The stifling full-body raincoat he wore couldn't stop the mist kicked up by the torrential rain.
"Hiss—"
The dampness clung to his clothes. He put his hands on his hips, but in reality, he was quietly rubbing his sore and numb lower back.
"You've really been worked hard, old buddy," he muttered to himself.
They say that when a woman gets older, the man loses the upper hand, but Helen wasn't even forty yet, and his firepower had already been drained to almost nothing.
"Your police dogs are excellent, Sheriff George, such a fast response time."
Kingpin stooped to walk out through the broken glass window, stepping into the rain.
He stood in the curtain of rain, not caring that his custom-made suit was getting soaked.
"Hey! If it weren't for a bunch of unlicensed stray cats and dogs causing a serious public nuisance, I'd still be fast asleep right now."
George had understood the sarcasm the moment he got out of the car, and he retorted without hesitation.
He stood by the police car, rain dripping down the brim of his raincoat to form a thin curtain of water in front of him.
Kingpin narrowed his eyes.
"Then I think you've listened to some rumors; we are currently 'exterminating pests'."
"Then you've actually done a good deed," George smiled. His gaze passed over Kingpin to look at the bar, where ashes were scattered everywhere behind the glass window, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes.
"Believe me, this was a last resort." There was a hint of genuine helplessness in Kingpin's tone.
"Otherwise, I wouldn't want to dirty my hands."
"You're very straightforward."
"However, your annoyance confirms for me that you didn't initiate this operation, did you?"
"Who?"
"Could there be any other person you can think of who would trigger such a terrifying major event here?"
Kingpin subconsciously twisted his left arm, engaging the muscles in his chest. Under his suit, that hideous knife scar was still throbbing with pain, itching unbearably every time it rained.
"Owl?"
George spoke tentatively.
The first emergency call he received wasn't from here, but from residents near an underground slaughterhouse. There was more than one call; some said it was an earthquake, others said it was a bomb attack.
He knew about this vampire stronghold and had always wanted to send an informant to check it out, but before he could take action, trouble happened.
But when he arrived at that slaughterhouse, he didn't find any problems.
The factory was very clean, so clean that it didn't look like an explosion had just occurred. The floor had been washed, the equipment had been put back in place, and not a single drop of blood could be found.
The staff insisted it was a gas explosion, just a loud noise, and there were no casualties.
As for whether those staff members were telling the truth... honestly, he didn't care. As long as those vampires were dead, that was fine, but it would always be good to uncover more information.
Kingpin didn't answer, which was considered an admission. At least in his intelligence channels, it was.
"Coming out to catch bugs in such heavy rain, it's really hard on this bird of prey." George suddenly felt a bit better about that mysterious guy.
"And it's even more terrifying." Kingpin stared at him, enunciating every word.
"Don't have naive thoughts about him; be careful you don't become the prey, George."
"I will remember your advice, but let's talk about our issue first." George reached out his hand towards him.
Kingpin frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"Call-out fees, compensation for public nuisance, and damages for destroying a crime scene," George said calmly.
Kingpin's small eyes widened.
He didn't want the money when offered before, but now he's using this rhetoric to extort money?
"This guy, his mindset has changed since the last attack..."
The attack on the Stacy residence was no secret, especially after George led his team to sweep Hells Kitchen for nearly a month.
During that time, gangs of all sizes had a hard time; no one dared to challenge a furious Sheriff George carrying a loaded rifle at all times.
He lowered his gaze, his thoughts turning rapidly.
"Maybe I could add some shares of the bar and donate them to the police department as compensation."
"That would be too embarrassing." George waved his hand, a string of water droplets flying off the cuff of his raincoat.
"Please just give me what I mentioned above."
"...You're a good one, George." It seemed this old rival had become more slick and harder to deal with.
Kingpin was silent for two seconds, then pulled a prepared check from the lining of his suit and handed it over.
George took it, glanced at the zeros on the check, and curled his lip.
"Big spender, you are." He waved the check.
"Have a nice night."
He then turned around and waved the check in his hand at the officers.
"Guys! A big entrepreneur is treating us to late-night snacks tonight! Hurry up and clean the scene, go have some hot drinks, and delay work by two hours tomorrow!"
The officers cheered in coordination, their laughter echoing in the rain.
When George turned back, Kingpin had already walked away.
That massive figure climbed into the black sedan, and the door slammed shut.
The engine roared, the headlights turned on, and the black car slid into the curtain of rain, leaving only a few underlings, including Bullseye, guarding the entrance of the bar, staring at the officers with various expressions.
George glanced at the departing headlights, chuckled, turned back, and walked into the broken glass window.
"Don't block the way."
He raised his hand and pushed aside Bullseye, who was standing in the gap of the glass window.
Bullseye instinctively wanted to stand his ground, muscles tensed, center of gravity lowered, trying to use his weight to block the push.
But someone's ferocity was still engraved in his mind, so he also instinctively stepped back.
At least he learned his lesson and didn't dare to provoke him easily; the lesson of his two hands had been expensive enough.
George walked into the bar, his gaze sweeping across the surroundings.
His gaze quickly locked onto the DJ booth; under the lights, a swaying shadow was trying to hide.
He walked over there.
"Hey!"
Bullseye was about to step forward.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, are you assaulting an officer?" An officer stepped in front of him, hands tucked into his belt, looking at him with a smirk.
"Then I'm afraid we'll have a lot of work to do."
Bullseye's face twitched, his jaw muscles tightened. He stared at that officer, his eyes full of malice, but in the end, he remained silent.
Bang!
A gunshot rang out.
Bullseye's turning motion paused.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
One shot after another, until the sound of an empty chamber came.
"Can't bullets kill you things who think you're superior?"
On the DJ booth, George holstered his gun with cold eyes, looking at the black vampire whose head had been blown to pieces under the stage.
"I don't think so."
At another large vampire stronghold, a warehouse, which was also territory of The Hand.
Dim light leaked in from the narrow vents high up, casting several long, slanted beams of light onto the dusty concrete floor.
The air was filled with a musty smell, the scent of rust, and some indescribable smell of decay.
"No..."
A vampire groaned in pain, his hands clutching tightly at The Hand pressed against his chest, trying to pry it off.
But that hand seemed stuck to it, immovable no matter how he struggled.
Wisps of black aura were being extracted from his body, seeping into the pores of that hand, thread by thread.
With every wisp that went in, the vampire's skin color dimmed a fraction, gradually turning black.
He raised his hand, pointing tremblingly at Madame Gao in front of him.
The blackness spread from his neck to his face, inch by inch being swallowed by that ashen blackness. His lips turned purple, his eye sockets sank, and his eyeballs looked like two dusty glass beads.
"You... will ultimately die of... greed." He uttered his final curse at her.
He died, his expression frozen in a twisted resentment.
His body stiffened, like a charcoal statue.
"Heh, don't trouble yourself." Madame Gao chuckled, pulling her hand out of the statue's chest.
As soon as that withered hand left, the statue's arm crumbled, breaking at the shoulder, the whole stone arm hitting the ground and shattering into a pile of black fragments.
Immediately after, the whole statue collapsed with a crash, turning into a pile of ashes.
There wasn't even a spark, only the falling clothes piled on the pile of ashes.
"I will definitely live forever."
Madame Gao raised that hand and played with the jade bracelet on her wrist. It was an old-pit jadeite with a deep green color and excellent clarity.
Crack!
The bracelet suddenly broke.
Clearly, she hadn't used much force, just a gentle twist, and it snapped in half from the middle.
"?" Madame Gao's eyelids twitched.
She looked down at the broken bracelet on her hand, silent for a long time, then grabbed the broken pieces and smashed them fiercely on the ground, fragments scattering everywhere.
"Fake!"
Madame Gao glared at the pile of jade bracelet fragments on the ground with venomous eyes.
But she was still uneasy. Her fingers moved rapidly, casting a divination for herself.
The divination was surprisingly smooth and surprisingly simple: just one word—Dragon.
"Dragon bone?" She frowned, and before she could think about it in detail, the backlash rushed up, slapping her like an invisible halberd.
Pfft—
She spat out a mouthful of blood, the scarlet liquid splashing on the ground in front of her, mixing into the ashes. Her aura withered rapidly, but within a few breaths, it rose again eerily fast.
At the same time, she raised her hand to signal to the darkness emerging around her that nothing was wrong.
In the darkness, the red eyes on those dense human-shaped outlines extinguished one by one.
The warehouse fell back into dead silence.
"It actually... consumed at least 50 years of my life."
Her pupils trembled; the price of this divination was much heavier than she had expected.
Now, her supply of dragon bone was about to bottom out.
This matter must never be known to those 'fingers', otherwise, she would go from being a 'partner' to being 'food'.
Fortunately... it wasn't without gain.
She narrowed her eyes, a faint light flashing in them.
At this moment, footsteps came from outside the warehouse.
Years of poise allowed Madame Gao to quickly suppress her internal injuries.
She raised her hand to quickly wipe the blood from the corner of her mouth, took a deep breath, and straightened up.
The venomous and weak look on her face vanished, leaving only the appearance of a calm and gentle old woman.
The footsteps gradually approached. They were several people dressed as dock workers. They wore grease-stained work clothes, yellowed labor gloves, and flattering smiles on their faces.
"Madame Gao."
They bowed respectfully to her, but their eyes couldn't help but glance at the ashes all over the floor, those piles of black powder, and the clothes scattered among them.
They were secretly puzzled and a little uneasy. Their boss hadn't told them what these were, only telling them to unconditionally obey the orders of this seemingly kind old woman.
"Clean this place up." Madame Gao said gently. Over the years, The Hand had incorporated several small and medium-sized gangs into their territory as peripheral members; these were some of them, but they were also disposable items.
However, the fewer people who know about this, the better. Lest it attract the attention of the Vatican; she herself wasn't clean either.
Originally, she intended to find that 'Owl' as a thug to fight against enemies; he was also the container for the 'Black Sky' she favored. Unfortunately, the other party was very vigilant.
Wait until she finds that dragon bone, then go deal with him.
[Note: Black Sky is the source of The Hand's dark magic. The entity possesses a powerful demonic constitution. When possessing a host, it will gradually erode the host's mind, making the host extremely violent and cold.]
"Yes." Those people nodded repeatedly, their waists bending even lower.
"Heh..."
Madame Gao smiled and walked away with her hands behind her back. As her back drifted away, the large darkness lurking in the corner was also being withdrawn, and even the air became a little fresher.
It wasn't until her figure completely disappeared into the rain that the few people straightened up.
"Whew—" The bearded big man let out a long breath, raising his hand to wipe the sweat from his face.
"This old woman's aura is really scary, even though she looks like Mrs. Rotty, the old lady who lives next door to me and often brings me cookies."
"Chinese people always have some kind of mysterious power." Another thin man with glasses twisted his waist, which was sore from bending for too long.
"Isn't that Owl also Chinese? Yellow-skinned, otherwise there's no way to explain why he's always elusive and knows how to kick you with deadly kung fu."
"Shut up!" The others shouted in unison, except for him.
"Forgot the rules of the road?" An older man said sternly, his voice very low.
"Or do you want to see that person standing on the side of the road with a knife under the rain curtain on your way back?"
The guy with glasses was startled by their reaction.
"Right, right, right, my fault, my fault."
"Get to work, get to work." The bearded man waved his hand, changing the subject.
"The pay for this time is several times higher than delivering goods. I had a hard time grabbing this task. Do it well, don't mess up."
"No problem!" The guy with glasses quickly replied.
"By the way, isn't that old lady your mistress? You dare to compare her to Madame Gao?" A woman chewing gum next to him suddenly spoke, her tone teasing.
"Uh..." The bearded man scratched his head, then stiffened his neck and said,
"Can't, can't I fantasize a little bit!"
"Tsk! Coward." The woman gave him the middle finger.
"Mistress?" Another fat man carrying a large backpack widened his eyes, looking at the bearded man in disbelief.
"I saw that old lady before, she was at least sixty... you, you, you can actually get it up for that?"
"No, seventy-seven years old, she just had her birthday two days ago." It was the woman who replied.
"How do you know so clearly?" The fat man looked at the woman suspiciously.
"Because she's my aunt."
The woman picked her ear, her expression calm.
"It was me who introduced them to each other. The first time they did it, it was me who took her seventh husband out fishing."
"Clack—" The fat man's chin almost hit the ground.
"Why?" The woman looked at the fat man with a look of incomprehension.
"People are almost dead, can't you let her enjoy herself?"
The fat man didn't dare to look directly at this filial daughter's righteous gaze. He mechanically turned his head to look at the bearded man.
The bearded man was licking his lips with an aftertaste, his eyes drifting into the distance, as if recalling some wonderful picture.
"I have to say..." He smacked his lips.
"Rotty's body is really good, tank-class, especially when she's on top of you, the whole lump of meat covers your face, this feeling..."
"...Let's just get to work."
Speaking of which, are my readers perverts?
Because the next two chapters will be a bit niche, I'm worried you won't be able to accept it.
Chapter 77: Dirty Heart
The few of them worked quickly.
They threw the ashes, clothes, and some daily necessities into empty gasoline drums, then poured some cement inside.
The cement powder began to react upon contact with water, making a faint sizzling sound as tiny bubbles rose to the surface.
The fat man grabbed a long iron rod, thrust it into the drum, and stirred vigorously.
The iron rod churned the cement with a dull squelching sound; the black ashes mixed with the gray cement, gradually merging into a filthy blue-gray.
Next was a simple chemical trace removal.
Half an hour later, the warehouse looked brand new.
Aside from those large drums filled with cement, the place was indistinguishable from any ordinary warehouse.
"Load 'em up, load 'em up. Once we're done, we can grab some breakfast and go back to catch up on sleep."
Working together, they rolled the heavy cement drums one by one into the back of the truck. Once the last drum was loaded, the Bearded Man pulled down the tailgate and locked it with a loud clang.
They hopped into the cab.
The truck started up, the diesel engine roaring as a cloud of black smoke billowed from the exhaust pipe. The vehicle slowly drove out of the warehouse and into the curtain of rain.
They drove all the way to the harbor docks.
The rain continued to fall. The sea was pitch black, with only a few distant navigation lights flickering in the storm. Waves crashed against the embankment with a rhythmic splashing sound.
The truck stopped at the edge of the pier.
They jumped out, went around to the back, and opened the doors.
"One, two, three—push!"
The drums were pushed out, hitting the pier with a dull thud before being shoved into the sea.
Splash! A massive spray of water erupted as the drums bobbed briefly on the surface before quickly sinking into the dark depths, leaving barely a bubble behind.
One after another, until they were finished.
"Done." The Bearded Man rubbed his stubble.
"It's just that those drums took up too much space. I was planning to bring back a few cases of beer and one of those big barbecue grills."
The fat man stood by the tailgate and peered inside; a few large blue plastic drums were still stacked there.
He turned his gaze toward the woman, a fawning smile spreading across his face.
"I even marinated your favorite baby octopus, Lisa, using my grandmother's secret recipe," he said, lowering his voice slightly.
"Oh?" Lisa's eyes lit up, and she licked her lips.
"Then we can drink all night long!"
"Yes, exactly!" The fat man nodded repeatedly.
"I also got a portable stereo—the latest model. The subwoofer is really powerful; I've already tested it at home."
"You've finally learned, Alvin." A smile curled at the corners of Lisa's mouth. With a hint of surprise in her eyes, she looked him up and down.
"Didn't you say you were broke before?"
She reached out and grabbed the back of the fat man's head.
Her hand wasn't delicate; the knuckles were thick, and her palm was calloused. With a forceful shove, she carelessly pressed his face against the full curves of her chest.
"Ohhh~~"
Heavy, ragged breaths escaped from his nose.
The stench of sweat from physical labor mixed with the woman's hormones filled the fat man's nose and mouth, with a faint, lingering scent of milk underneath.
The woman had previously given birth to a child, but finding it a nuisance, she had simply dumped it at an orphanage.
"Heh heh heh..." The fat man's voice was muffled against that softness, slurred with the satisfaction of a lecher.
"It's worth it! Totally worth it!"
"Want some?" The woman looked down at the head in her arms as if teasing a dog begging for scraps.
"Yes, yes, yes!" The fat man nodded eagerly.
"In your dreams! Just a sniff is enough for you." The woman pushed him away.
The fat man lowered his head in disappointment, the flab on his neck folding into several rolls. He turned his head and saw Four-eyes stifling a laugh.
"What are you laughing at?" The fat man's brow furrowed, the flesh on his face bunching up.
"You spineless wimp who hasn't even seen some skin." He reached out and shoved Four-eyes.
His palm pressed against that bony chest as he shoved hard.
Four-eyes stumbled back a few steps, his feet slipping on the wet ground, nearly falling over.
He lowered his head submissively, a fake smile plastered on his face as he didn't dare speak. His eyes, hidden behind his glasses, blinked rapidly before looking down again.
The fat man snorted and turned back, his gaze falling on the woman once more with lingering greed.
The woman glanced at the fat man, sized him up, and then quietly shifted her gaze to the older man, her lips curling into a smug expression.
The older man smiled back, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes bunching up like dried orange peel.
He looked at the fat man with disdain, the look of someone sizing up a sheep for slaughter clearly visible in his eyes.
Clearly, they were doing this on purpose.
Or rather, the fat man was simply a "pig" they intended to fleece for all he was worth.
Companions? Don't be ridiculous. This was Hells Kitchen.
The woman looked away and stretched lazily.
When she raised her arms in her sleeveless shirt, the soft flesh of her armpits was squeezed outward. The thick hair there, soaked by the rain, clung to her skin in clumps like a miniature thicket.
The flesh of her armpits bunched together, creating several suggestive creases.
*Gulp!*
The fat man stared intently, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, though it felt difficult as if something were surging upward.
In truth, what he really wanted was to smell the woman's armpits.
To lean in close, bury his face there, and take a deep breath, letting the scent fill his nostrils—the smell of sweat, body odor, and the complex mixture of rain and cheap perfume.
"Smelling while... heh heh heh..."
He unconsciously put on a lewd expression again, his mouth stretching from ear to ear, eyes narrowing into slits, and eyebrows arching high.
The fat on his face bunched up, distorting his features.
Drool leaked from the corner of his mouth and dripped down his chin. He quickly sucked it back in with a slurping sound, his tongue sweeping across his lips to pull the saliva back in.
However, he failed to notice that beneath Four-eyes' rain-soaked hair, a pair of pitch-black eyes was staring at him. The pupils, reflecting the fat man's back, were motionless, like the eyes of a dead fish.
"Let's take these drums down."
The Bearded Man called out, waving a thick arm in the air.
"I know someone at this pier who can buy these. Then we'll go get Alvin's stuff."
He saw the looks they were exchanging and sensed what was going on.
But he could also choose to ignore it.
In fact, the fat man had been introduced to Lisa by the Bearded Man in the first place; after all, one shouldn't bite the hand that feeds.
Especially since Lisa was also his woman—and, of course, the older man's woman as well. They had shared her countless times.
The three of them were the real clique.
As for Four-eyes?
He was just a helper, someone the gang boss had randomly assigned.
There was nothing to squeeze out of him, and he had no utility. In their eyes, he was just a tool to be ordered around.
"Let's get to work. What a pain."
Lisa lowered her arms and blew the fat man a kiss.
The fat man froze for a moment, and then all his anger vanished.
"Heh heh heh... Lisa has feelings for me."
He trotted along behind Lisa, the fat on his neck wobbling with every step, his face plastered with an obsequious smile.
The older man followed behind him, glancing at the fat man's back with a slight, disdainful curl of his lip.
Finally, there was Four-eyes.
He kept his head down and followed at the rear, his footsteps light. Rain dripped from his glasses, leaving streaks across the lenses.
Together, they rolled the large blue plastic drums out of the back of the truck one by one.
The Bearded Man pulled the tailgate shut and locked it with a clang.
"Wait here, I'll go now," the Bearded Man said.
Lisa and the others nodded.
Just as the Bearded Man turned his head—
*Phut.*
The muffled sound of a silenced gunshot rang out.
A bloody hole suddenly appeared in the back of his head. His body pitched forward with the momentum, slamming face-first into the wet ground with a thud. The splashed rain mixed with blood, slowly spreading out beneath him.
Their pupils contracted sharply.
They whipped their heads around.
But several more rapid shots had already been fired.
*Phut. Phut. Phut.*
They only managed to catch a glimpse out of the corners of their eyes: Four-eyes, the one who always kept his head down, the most honest and unremarkable of them all, was now holding a gun.
"Heh—ugh..."
Lisa's body swayed. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open as if to say something, but she ultimately collapsed stiffly, hitting the ground next to the fat man with a splash.
The four of them lay in the rain.
The rain washed over their bodies, diluting the blood and draining away their warmth.
Their eyes remained open, staring at the gray sky as their pupils slowly lost focus.
"You actually dared to push me!" Four-eyes lowered his gun and repeatedly kicked the fat man's head until his anger was spent.
Panting heavily, Four-eyes tucked the gun back into his waistband and began moving the bodies.
His orders were to eliminate these people after the job was done. The Bearded Man and his crew's little schemes had harmed many in the gang; they had to die.
As for the fat man... he could have lived to help with the labor, but Four-eyes just didn't like the fat bastard.
"I should thank you all for helping me get these drums down; otherwise, it would have taken me some extra effort."
Four-eyes packed them in one by one. The older man, the Bearded Man, and the fat man were all stuffed into the drums.
The openings weren't large, so it took some effort to cram them in. He delivered a few kicks to pack the curled-up corpses tight before sealing the lids.
But since the rain was heavy, he drove over a forklift, scooped up the heavy plastic drums, and transported them beneath a shipping container, following the same process as they had at the factory.
However...
"A bit of a waste, you slut."
Four-eyes yanked the woman's hair, lifting her slightly out of the drum.
Lisa lay in the drum with her limbs pointing upward, the back of her neck caught on the rim. Her eyes were wide, refusing to close even in death.
Blood was still seeping from the hole in her forehead, trickling down the bridge of her nose and dripping onto the side of the drum.
The rain beat against her face, washing away the blood but failing to erase the frozen terror.
Four-eyes stared at her face, his eyes gleaming with lust.
He freed a hand and toyed with Lisa's lips.
The lips had already turned pale—soft and cold.
He pried them open with his fingers to inspect the gums and teeth, then pinched her cheek, pulling the skin taut before letting go with a snap.
He looked over at the fat man packed into the other drum.
The fat man was also staring back, his eyes wide in death.
His eyes were wide open, pupils still holding the terror and confusion of his final moments. Blood flowed from the bullet hole in his forehead, matting half his face.
"You like her?"
Four-eyes asked with a sneer, his fingers still fiddling with Lisa's lips.
But the fat man couldn't answer.
Those eyes just stared, motionless.
Four-eyes withdrew his gaze and looked back at Lisa. He leaned in close, almost touching that pale face.
"I like her too... and it turns out my hobbies are just like yours."
Chapter 78: The Imposter
The rain was still heavy, with dense threads of rain falling from the sky, splashing countless white flowers upon the ground, layer upon layer, ceaselessly.
The evil desire constantly battered the ground within the icy water; blood was diluted and washed away, flowing down the slope into the sea, and likewise, it attracted something...
Before long, a discordant sound suddenly joined the noise of the rain: Thump. Thump. Thump.
It seemed as if someone was knocking on the iron wall.
Four-eyes, who had been enjoying himself, suddenly heard that sound.
He turned around, quickly drawing his gun and aiming it in the direction the sound came from—a container to his side. The pair of Lisa's legs he had been holding clattered against the edge of the barrel.
The iron wall continued to be knocked, very regularly, very rhythmically, as if something were deliberately teasing him.
"What is that?"
Four-eyes squinted, muttering inwardly.
He spat out the hair on his tongue, held his left arm across his chest, gripped the flashlight with his left hand, and clicked it on.
The snow-white beam of light pierced through the curtain of rain, illuminating the container, while his right hand held the gun steady, aimed and ready.
He moved his feet slowly, approaching the container's doorway.
The knocking sound remained at the same pitch, unhurried, like some kind of mechanical beat.
Furthermore...
It seemed to be shifting its position along with Four-eyes' steps, right up to behind the door.
"Bluffing thing!"
Four-eyes' eyes turned fierce. He grabbed the door latch with his left hand and pulled it open. The rusted door hinge emitted a harsh, grating sound, and the door swung open.
The flashlight's beam shone inside, but that snow-white light came to an abrupt stop at the doorway, as if it had been severed by something.
However, the threads of rain in front of the flashlight were illuminated clearly.
A coldness hissed out from some unseen crack within the container, like the chill spilling out of a morgue's freezer.
The hairs on Four-eyes' body stood up, and goosebumps rose on the skin of his neck.
"What the f*ck?"
He decisively pulled the trigger.
Pfft. Pfft. Pfft.
The muzzle fire from beneath the suppressor shot out steadily, the flashes flickering in the rain.
The bullets drilled into that darkness, but there was no feedback of any impact.
There was no clinking sound of hitting iron, no muffled thud of hitting cargo, no metallic vibration of ricocheting bullets—nothing at all.
Those sounds, those sounds that should have existed, that inevitably must exist, seemed to have been rolled up by a long tongue extended from that darkness, swallowed into its oral cavity.
"Bad news!"
Four-eyes did not hesitate.
He turned sharply, his right foot stepping back, his body leaning forward, ready to bolt.
Suddenly, an embrace from behind secured his form.
Those two arms wrapped around him from behind, crossed and locked against his chest—one across his collarbone, the other strangling his abdomen. The muscles on the arms were as hard as iron, digging into his ribs and causing him sharp pain.
The strength was immense. He instinctively struggled, twisting his body, flailing his arms, but he couldn't break free at all.
He glanced in terror out of the corner of his eye at the figure behind him: it was none other than the already-dead Lisa!
She stood behind him naked, a head taller than him. Her sturdy, over 1.8-meter frame held the barely 1.68-meter-tall Four-eyes, her eyes looking down expressionlessly.
That pale face was only a few centimeters from his. Her skin was grayish-white, and her long black hair was plastered wetly against her face in strands, like seaweed fished out of a swamp.
Between the strands, one hollow, lifeless eyeball was exposed, the pupil dilated, the iris having lost its original color, turning into a murky gray.
"Wha... what's happening... how is she alive?!"
Four-eyes' lips turned purple, his upper and lower teeth clattering together, unable to even speak clearly.
Lisa made no further movements; she just held him like that, looking at him like that.
Four-eyes struggled desperately, twisting his body, flailing his arms, and kicking his legs, but she remained motionless, not even swaying in the slightest.
The skin he touched, the muscles, were stiff and icy.
There was no elasticity, no warmth, no pulse. Those two full breasts pressing against his back were, at this moment, just two lumps of dead flesh, pressing heavily against his spine; she was nothing but a corpse!
"Lisa, I was wrong, I was really wrong. Let me go, I beg you, please!"
Fear extinguished the fire of desire.
In that instant, Four-eyes felt the chill of the rain, but what was colder was the corpse behind him.
That coldness seeped out from her body, penetrating through his clothes into his skin, crawling up along his blood vessels, all the way to his heart.
He screamed in terror, his voice sounding exceptionally shrill in the rainy night.
But Lisa did not respond. She just held him, motionless; the two of them looked very affectionate.
Inside the container, that darkness made a sound.
The rain, mixed with the sound of puppet joints colliding, gradually became clear.
Four-eyes' eyelids were stretched to their maximum, beyond his control, as if something were pushing out from within, trying to force his eyeballs out of their sockets.
The blood vessels on the whites of his eyes pulsed wildly, like countless tiny red snakes slithering about.
The darkness gradually took on a contour.
No, it was like a spotlight for a performer on stage, stingily illuminating only a small patch, yet deliberately not filling in the rest, letting you see, yet not see clearly.
A man, his face caked with deathly pale powder, a thick layer like painted lacquer.
His lips were coated in blood-like lipstick, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned, frozen in an eerie smile. His eyes were lusterless, staring hollowly ahead.
He was wearing a crisp suit, walking out from the darkness, holding a blonde female puppet in front of him with his left hand.
Behind him, in the residual light, the darkness faintly revealed the outline of a tall man.
That body was wrapped in white restraint bandages, covered tightly from head to toe, with only the head exposed.
The exposed head hung down, the face beneath the black spiky hair cold and sharp, with a knife-like scar slanting down from the corner of his lip.
"Hi, I'm Billy!"
The white-faced man spoke in a standard British accent, his voice low and carrying a hint of eeriness, especially given the circumstances; the voice sounded like it was drifting out of a grave.
He raised his hand, waving it in a standard gesture, greeting him enthusiastically.
That hand was frighteningly white, the fingers long and thin, with obvious creases at the joints, like a prosthetic limb, or perhaps wood painted with white lacquer.
"Heh... hehe, hello."
Four-eyes forced out an ugly smile, wailing internally.
This man in front of him, he obviously didn't look like a human, okay? That face, those eyes, that smile—nothing about him was what a living person should have.
How could he be so unlucky to run into this?
"Thank you for your politeness."
Billy blinked. The movement was very slow, very deliberate, like a puppet blinking.
He paused, as if considering how to respond, politely waiting for the other person to finish responding.
"I like your attitude."
"I... I like you too."
Four-eyes' voice trembled violently.
"So, have you agreed to join my performance?"
"What?"
Four-eyes was terrified.
"No, of course not. I mean, you didn't even ask, so how could I have joined!"
Billy tilted his head mechanically; the movement was eerily slow, like a rusted bearing turning.
"Good."
"Huh?"
Four-eyes was dumbfounded.
Billy did not pause because of his words. He raised his hand and grabbed his own lower lip.
Under Four-eyes' horrified gaze, Billy pulled it straight down like a zipper, from top to bottom, all the way to the root. There was not a drop of blood.
During this, the suit, shirt, and tie—those garments were also pulled down, like fabric on both sides of a zipper, separating neatly.
And inside the opening, there was no flesh, no bone, no internal organs—just a mass of opaque blackness, like the darkness surrounding him.
Billy held that strip of skin and pulled one side of the flesh open a little. That crack opened up on his chest like a huge mouth.
"Please, come in."
His voice remained low, carrying a hint of eeriness.
"No... don't..."
Four-eyes muttered, losing his senses. His body went limp, like a puddle of mud.
Lisa, behind him, moved.
On that stiff face, the muscles at the corners of her mouth strained to push upward. The muscles moved millimeter by millimeter, finally squeezing out an eerie smile.
The smile twisted and deformed, making that dead face look even less human. Her lips slanted to one side, unnatural creases formed on her cheeks, and the skin at the corners of her eyes was pulled tight.
She forcefully folded Four-eyes in half.
Crack—the sound of his lumbar spine breaking was as crisp as snapping a soaked tree branch.
Four-eyes' body was folded in half from the middle, his upper body pressed against his lower body, like a folded doll.
His hands and feet were still twitching, his fingers curling and straightening like the spasming legs of a spider, his toes curling desperately inside his shoes, bulging the tips of the shoes.
Lisa's strength was bizarrely great.
It far exceeded that of a normal adult woman, even a woman who exercised regularly. Those two arms were like iron pliers, squeezing Four-eyes' ribs until they creaked.
Four-eyes opened his mouth wide, wanting to scream, but his vocal cords vibrated without producing any sound.
Only silent air surged in his throat. His mouth opened like a fish out of water, opening and closing, opening and closing, but there was only a hoarse, wheezing sound.
He turned his eyes again and saw his own tongue, which had somehow already reached Billy's lips.
Billy pursed his lips, wriggling.
There was no chewing, no swallowing motion; the tongue just slid directly into his oral cavity, slid into his throat, slid into that pitch-black hole—if that mass of black could even be counted as an esophagus.
Four-eyes watched in despair as he was treated like a piece of discarded clothing, pressed into a ball by Lisa, limbs twisted, torso folded, head lolling to one side, and then, just like that, stuffed directly into the hole in Billy's body.
The black mass opened, swallowed, and closed, as if nothing had ever happened.
Billy zipped up the zipper.
The crack vanished, and the suit returned to its original state, as smooth as if it were new. His body was not the slightest bit bloated; one could not tell at all that a person had just been stuffed inside.
He slowly stepped backward, retreating into the darkness.
Behind him, the body wrapped in bandages moved silently backward first.
It did not take steps, made no movements, just moved straight backward, like a puppet pulled by strings, or a balloon filled with hydrogen.
The white bandages flickered in the darkness, occasionally revealing the deathly pale skin underneath, as it vanished into the darkness with him.
As for Lisa, she stood dully on the spot, hands hanging down, head bowed, like a puppet whose strings had not been lifted.
The rain beat against her naked body, sliding down her pale skin. She was motionless, not even breathing.
The next moment, Four-eyes walked out from the darkness.
The night rain was gloomy, and the wharf lights blurred into fuzzy pools of light in the curtain of rain, unable to illuminate his face. The contours of his eyeballs were sunken into the pitch-black area beneath his cheekbones.
As he walked, his arms suddenly twisted backward at an anti-human angle.
His shoulder joints made a slight creaking sound, and his entire arms rotated to his back. His ten fingers groped behind him.
By accident, his fingers reached inside, like reaching into an empty bag. It was empty; there was no flesh or blood inside anymore.
His fingers groped in the empty cavity, all the way down from his lower back, reaching the coccyx. His fingertips touched the edge of the skin and flesh, pinching the root.
With his thumb and index finger, he rubbed and pulled upward. His fingers moved all the way up from the coccyx, along the midline of his spine, pulling that crack closed bit by bit. The skin adhered under his fingers, seamlessly.
His back was zipped up.
He withdrew his hand and stepped into the rain.
The rain beat against him, flowing down his soaked hair, streaming past his sunken eye sockets, across his expressionless face.
His gait was somewhat stiff, the angle of his knee bend was not quite right, and the way his feet landed was not quite right, like a living dead person who had just learned to walk and was re-adapting to the act of walking.
Lisa followed behind him.
She was naked, hands hanging down, head bowed, her rhythm of stepping exactly the same as Four-eyes'—stiff, mechanical, synchronized.
The two "people" walked toward those plastic barrels containing corpses.
How much time passed, who knows.
On the wharf, a worker drove a forklift over.
"Hey! You guys took too long to handle it this time!"
He shouted toward the four people by the truck who were loading the plastic barrels onto the vehicle.
Four people—Four-eyes, Bearded Man, Lisa, and the older man—were silently moving the plastic barrels.
No one responded to him. Not even a head was turned.
"I'm talking to you—"
The worker shouted again, but the four of them acted as if they hadn't heard, silently continuing to load.
The last barrel was loaded onto the truck, Bearded Manpulled down the rear door, and with a clanging sound, it locked.
Several people jumped into the cab, the truck started, and slowly drove away from the wharf.
The taillights grew further and further away in the rain, becoming increasingly blurred, and finally vanished into the darkness.
"Strange, they're all like they're deaf."
The worker muttered, watching the receding taillights.
He scratched his head, rain flowing down his sleeve into his clothes, feeling chilly.
"Looks like I'll have to charge a bit more for the kickback next time..."
Chapter 79: Sweet Wine
At the residence,
Green carried Lorna into the bedroom and gently placed her on the bed.
As soon as her curled body touched the mattress, she automatically rolled over, her arms hugging a corner of the quilt. Her dark green hair cascaded down from the pillow.
He turned and walked to the other bed, leaning over to pull Laura's quilt back up, covering her exposed belly, and used his thumb to wipe away a strawberry seed stuck to the corner of her mouth.
As the pad of his thumb touched her warm lips,
[You have been marked by ***]
His hand paused. Laura smacked her lips a couple of times as if she were still eating something delicious in her dream, her warm breath brushing against his fingertips.
He withdrew his hand and stood up. His peripheral vision swept over the middle bed where Gwen lay quietly, her blonde hair spread across the pillow in a tidy sleeping posture. Without looking further, he headed out.
He didn't notice that those blue eyes had quietly opened a crack.
Gwen squinted, a bit of light peeking through the gaps in her eyelashes as she stared at the figure with his back to her.
Click.
The light went out, and the door closed.
The sound of footsteps faded away.
The lights weren't on in the living room; only the light from the streetlamps outside filtered in, casting several blurry shadows on the floor.
Green walked to the sofa, leaned down, and fished his phone out from the gap in the cushions. The screen was still lit, showing several missed calls.
He remembered that while they were huddled on the sofa watching TV earlier, the phone had been passed around.
One of the girls must have pulled it out of his pocket, played with it for a while, and then absentmindedly stuffed it into the sofa crack.
On the screen, the same number had called four or five times.
The caller seemed impatient.
He opened the call log and stared at the string of digits.
The light from the screen reflected in his eyes, making the depths of his gaze look cold.
"Who marked me?"
[One whose fate is intertwined with the host, but since they have not reached the formal marking qualification, it cannot be determined.]
"Hmph." A cold sneer curled the corner of his mouth, looking somewhat sinister in the light of the screen.
"Rats hiding in the gutter will always reveal their prying eyes."
He stuffed the phone back into his pocket and turned toward the garage.
He pulled up the rolling door with a rattle. The sound of rain immediately rushed in, pitter-pattering with a damp chill.
He climbed into the driver's seat of the pickup and closed the door, shutting out the sound of the rain.
He started the ignition, the dashboard lit up, and he rolled down the window a crack to light a cigarette.
Smoke rose lazily in the dim cabin as he inhaled it into his lungs and slowly exhaled.
The white smoke drifted out of the window crack, scattered by the rain, and vanished.
He took a puff, and his brow suddenly furrowed.
"I feel like I've forgotten something."
He stared at the rain streaks on the windshield, his thoughts circling back.
He paused, and his brow smoothed out.
Forget it, whatever. Opening up new paths is more important.
He flicked the cigarette butt out the window, tracing a faint red arc that extinguished with a sizzle in the rain-soaked ground. He shifted gears, stepped on the gas, and the pickup drove out of the garage and into the rainy night.
Meanwhile, Steve Rogers was riding hard,
His chaotic, dazed eyes were fixed intently on the nightstand.
No, they were fixed on the photograph on the nightstand being pressed down by a hand.
In the photo, Carter was in military uniform, her smile bright, as if she were watching him right now.
"Carter... Carter! I love you... Carter..."
Outside the door, an older and quite charming, tall, beautiful woman leaned elegantly against the wall, listening to the decadent sounds coming from inside.
She wore a well-tailored cyan qipao that outlined her still-graceful figure. A long, slender lady's cigarette was held between her fingers, the filter in her mouth, her gaze lazy.
"Which batch is this already?" she asked, her voice lazy with a hint of raspiness.
The girl beside her leaned in, lighter in hand, and answered with a giggle, "The fourth batch."
She offered the flame, lighting the cigarette for the beautiful woman.
The firelight reflected on the woman's well-maintained face, illuminating a few shallow fine lines at the corners of her eyes—traces left by time that didn't show age, but rather added a certain charm.
The woman took a delicate puff, smoke slowly escaping from her red lips.
She squinted, her eyes a bit misty, as if she were reminiscing about something.
"He's called for Carter over four thousand times now." A mocking smile curled her lips. "That really is love~"
"Manager, how can you remember so clearly?" The girl's eyes widened with curiosity, filled with a sense of gossip.
"Hmph..." The woman gave a soft snort, smoke drifting from her nostrils.
"This big sister of yours used to be a player in the game of love too."
"And what happened?" The girl leaned in closer.
"In the end, the man who said he loved me swindled me out of all my money." She paused, her smile becoming more complex.
"That same night, I was taken by a scumbag all night long."
"That sounds... pretty tragic." The girl shrunk her neck back.
"But..." The woman's gaze softened, as if remembering something,
"It was that scumbag who helped me pay off my debt to the gang and put me in charge of this place. In just one night, I discovered for the first time how valuable my body was. This bad habit of smoking? He taught me that too."
As she spoke, she gently exhaled a smoke ring, watching it slowly dissipate in the air.
"What about the swindler?"
"Hehe, take a guess."
"This is the first time I've heard this." The girl showed a hint of envy. "I wonder if I'll ever meet that boss of yours."
The woman turned her head and looked the girl up and down. She was quite pretty, with regular features, fair skin, and twin tails—her foundation was indeed good.
But she still shook her head with a light laugh.
"You won't do."
"Why?" The girl puffed out her chest defiantly.
The woman withdrew her gaze, took another puff of her cigarette, and slowly exhaled.
"Because, you're only 1.5 meters tall..."
...
In a private office at the Stark Industries building,
Pepper was pacing back and forth in the office, clutching her phone.
Her elegant professional dress cinched at the waist perfectly, swaying gently with her steps.
The hemline stopped three centimeters above her knees, revealing a section of straight legs wrapped in sheer black stockings.
The office lights spilled down from above, and the stockings shimmered with a faint luster, like a layer of hazy mist provocatively covering the firm lines of her legs.
The clicking of her high heels on the floor echoed with a hint of anxiety in the empty office.
She stopped and stared at her phone screen.
"Why won't that bad guy reply to me?" she murmured, her voice as soft as a self-mutter, tinged with a bit of resentment.
She walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. The glass reflected her image—a slender silhouette, blonde hair falling over her shoulders, and an indefinable emotion in her eyes.
She examined herself against the blurry reflection, raising a hand to tuck a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear, revealing the small pearl earring on her lobe.
She pursed her red lips, which glistened under the lights, and her fingertips subconsciously brushed over her skirt hem.
Suddenly, she thought of something, and her gaze became a bit dazed.
"I wonder if he can... handle it."
She admitted she had been talking a bit big back then.
"That will have to be proven through practice."
A voice suddenly sounded behind her, deep and tinged with amusement.
Pepper let out a startled cry, her shoulders jerking violently as she spun around, her back pressing against the cold glass window.
Her eyes widened as she looked at Green, who had appeared in the office at some unknown time.
He was sitting on the sofa in the lounge area, legs crossed, elbow resting on the armrest, fingers interlaced over his knee, looking at her with a half-smile.
"You... when did you get here?" Pepper steadied her nerves, her voice carrying a hint of reproach, her chest still heaving slightly.
"Does it matter?" Green arched an eyebrow.
"Hmph, you're late," Pepper said with a pout.
"Do you know how precious my time is? Mr. Green, if you were my employee, I would fire you immediately."
As she spoke, she walked toward the lounge area in her heels, intentionally making her footsteps click loudly. By the wine cabinet, she picked up a bottle of what looked like very expensive whiskey.
"How terrifying~" Green drawled, his voice laced with playful amusement as he leaned forward slightly. "Then how does Ms. Pepper plan to punish me?"
"Did you bring it?" Pepper didn't take the bait, her fingertips gently stroking the whiskey bottle, but her gaze crashed straight into his, carrying an unmistakable urgency.
"Do you need it?" Green raised an eyebrow, the provocation in his tone stronger than the amusement.
"Hmph." Pepper let out a coquettish snort, and with a flick of her fingers, the cork popped open with a 'pop.'
She tilted her head back, and the amber liquid poured down from the bottle's mouth, landing in the hollow of her collarbone and winding its way down the curves of her chest.
She approached him step by step in her heels. When she reached Green, she suddenly stopped, leaned over to unbuckle her heels, and kicked them aside, stepping barefoot onto the carpet.
Then, her fingertips hooked the top of her black stockings and slowly peeled them down. The silky fabric slid down her calves and she bunched them in her hand, waving them before Green's eyes, carrying the moisture of the whiskey and the residual warmth of her body.
She draped the black stockings over Green's shoulder and sat on him. Green's eyes narrowed.
"You're actually... not wearing anything."
"Uh-huh."
Pepper's voice was thick with the sweetness of the wine.
"Now, you can drink this expensive wine of mine. Don't leave a single drop."
As the words fell, she snapped her fingers, and the office lights abruptly went out. In the darkness, the scent of wine grew even richer, and an ambiguous atmosphere coiled around them like vines, wrapping the two tightly together.
Chapter 80: A Long Phone Call
"Why? Just why?"
Tony didn't understand. Tony wasn't happy.
He looked at Stan in the opposite cell with a face full of resentment.
The old man wore an orange prison uniform and had a gloomy expression, like an old lion locked in a cage.
"You clearly had everything you needed. Why did you have to fight for more?"
Tony's voice traveled through the ventilation hole, carrying a hint of exhaustion and confusion. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his brow furrowed.
"Do you really think you have everything, Tony?!"
Stan suddenly lunged at the high-strength plastic glass, his hands slapping against the transparent partition. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, and his roar came through the ventilation hole.
"You're nothing! With that flighty brain of yours, you only know how to strike back after being stabbed in the back!"
Stan's chest heaved violently, his face turning bright red. He pointed a finger at Tony through the glass.
"The specific rights and interests of Stark Industries were won by me, bit by bit, by pointing guns and cannons at the heads of those people in the Department of Defense!"
"Do you really think high society just ends with you casually spitting a few words at a press conference?"
"No! I'm telling you, this is just the beginning! The hands working in the shadows can pin you to the ground and beat you into pulp!"
"...We've argued enough."
Tony rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking weary.
"That's it. You're retired, old man." He stood up.
"I can fulfill your daily requests hereafter, as long as they aren't too excessive."
He turned toward the door.
"Look at you, Tony, you're just too soft-hearted!"
Stan's voice chased after him from behind.
"If I were you, I would use a reactionary like me who committed insubordination to intimidate others without hesitation!"
"By doing this, you're only leaving an opening—an opening for those with hidden agendas to commit crimes without consequence!"
Tony's footsteps paused.
He stood at the door, his hand on the doorknob.
Light from outside filtered through the crack in the door, casting flickering shadows across his face. The light reflecting in his eyes actually made his gaze seem even darker.
"Think whatever you want."
Tony turned the handle and pulled the door open.
He paused for a moment and looked back at Stan.
"You know you need me far more than I need you. You just don't want to accept it."
With that, he walked out of the visitation room. The door closed behind him, leaving a stunned Stan to slowly lower his head.
Tony walked straight to the lower deck.
Yes, he was on a moving Aerial Prison. Through the porthole in the hull, he could see clouds slowly drifting by outside.
He opened the door of a Maybach and sat in the driver's seat.
The leather seat dipped slightly beneath him, carrying a faint scent of leather. He pulled out his phone and dialed a certain person's number.
This time, it took four or five seconds to connect.
"Speak."
The voice from the other side came with heavy breathing, mixed with the sound of rapid skirmishing in the background.
Tony couldn't help but show a smile that every man would understand.
"Something so stimulating so early in the morning? You're in good shape."
"No, it's been going since midnight."
"Tsk—" Tony laughed out loud.
"As expected of an Agent, not making a sound."
The other side was silent for a second, with static crackling as if he were changing positions.
"What do you want?"
"Nothing." Tony stopped smiling and leaned back into the seat, his finger lightly tapping the steering wheel.
"I'm just a bit troubled by some things and thought I'd call a heartless guy like you to see if I could get some psychological comfort."
"And?"
"The effect is remarkable."
"Heh." A low chuckle came from the other side.
"Then remember to send the money."
"You want money for this conversation? You money-grubber!" Tony laughed in exasperation, his shoulders shaking.
"Do you know how many connections people usually have to pull just to see me once? Not to mention a call I initiated myself!"
"Oh, you're very rich then. Let's say ten thousand dollars a second."
"Son of a bitch." Tony cursed with a smile, his leg propped up on the car door as he relaxed.
"Fine, fine. I don't have money, but I can help you refine that hunk of iron. I'll be your repairman for free once, how's that?"
"Then don't be stingy. I want the best."
"Fine—" Tony drawled. "You carry on. Some other day, I'll teach you some experience in bed. Don't be too monotonous."
After speaking, he hung up the call immediately.
Based on his understanding of this guy, if he waited one more second, he would definitely be mocked in the next sentence—mocked for only being good at talking, with plenty of theories but as for actual practice...
Hiss—
Tony put down his phone and looked at the rolling clouds outside the porthole.
He wondered how that guy was built.
He probably wouldn't be able to forget that startling glimpse in the cornfield on the way back to New York for the rest of his life.
On the other side, Pepper covered her mouth tightly, her eyes wide and round.
She held her breath, her chest heaving violently, barely managing to suppress her moans until they turned into a muffled whimper.
She glared at Green, her face flushed red, eyelashes trembling, and her eyes filled with physiological tears. Her gaze was both embarrassed and annoyed.
"Is this... your... twisted sense of humor... is it?!" she cursed in a low, breathless, and intermittent voice.
Green looked down at her with a faint smile.
"You didn't refuse either."
"You... really are... a hateful devil," Pepper cursed, her breathing still unstable, her chest heaving.
"But you didn't refuse the devil's temptation."
"Yeah... I guess..." Pepper's voice was somewhat ethereal.
"I almost thought... I... was in love with you!"
"Oh? Is that so?" Green felt it carefully, and the smile on his lips deepened.
He raised an eyebrow. "The body doesn't lie. You're the one lying, Ms. Pepper."
"Tsk!" Pepper looked away, not daring to meet his eyes.
Those slightly squinted eyes held an indescribable meaning in the flickering light and shadows. Was it shame? Was it surrender? Or was it something she didn't even want to admit to herself?
Just then, her phone rang.
The name jumping on the screen made her pupils shrink: Tony Stark. The profile picture was one Tony had forced her to set—a selfie he thought was handsome.
"Oh, my god!!"
---
Tony held his phone, waiting patiently for the call to be answered.
He leaned back in the driver's seat of the Maybach, his fingers lightly tapping a beat on his thigh, his gaze a bit softer than usual.
The call connected.
"Oh, Yes—!!!"
A high-pitched cry came from the receiver, carrying an uncontrollable tremor. Tony frowned slightly and pressed the phone closer to his ear.
"What's wrong, Pepper?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
"Uh-uh... just... uh..." Pepper's voice sounded strange, as if she were holding something back or enduring something.
"Just woke up... What is it, Boss? Any instructions?"
Her voice was intermittent, and the end of her sentences rose slightly with an indescribable tremor.
Tony frowned slightly, as if he had sensed something was wrong.
"You..." He drawled out the word, seemingly weighing his phrasing.
"Hmm?" Pepper's voice on the other side was a bit nervous, her tone rising slightly at the end.
"Are you sick?"
"...Yes, just a small cold. It's nothing."
"Are you in the mood to join your boss for breakfast?" Tonysaid warmly, his tone carrying a rare softness.
His fingers stopped tapping, and he leaned back into the seat, appearing somewhat awkward.
"Mm... why wouldn't I? Mm..."
Tony raised an eyebrow, a bit confused: "Are you brushing your teeth?"
"I'm... mm... drinking breakfast milk, gulp..."
Pepper's voice was muffled, as if she had something in her mouth.
"Heh." Tony smiled, his gaze softening further.
He imagined the scene on the other end of the phone: Pepper in her pajamas, drinking breakfast milk with sleepy eyes, perhaps with a ring of milk around her lips.
"Then do you still have an appetite for some vegetable salad? With extra Cherry Tomatoes."
"Wow, you actually remember my... mm... preferences." Pepper's voice carried a hint of a smile, yet she seemed to be suppressing something.
That smile and the heavy breathing mixed together, sounding somewhat strange.
Listening to those playful words, Tony's gaze was as soft as melted honey.
He paused, suddenly realizing what he had just said, and his tone took on a bit of deliberate pride:
"I'll get to know more about you in the future. Uh... I mean, it's necessary to show appropriate concern for a subordinate. After all, the work you'll be doing next will be even more."
He paused, his face feeling a bit hot.
Without waiting for Pepper's reply, he quickly added, "Say no more. Let's meet at the restaurant I usually order from."
Then, he quickly hung up the phone and threw it onto the passenger seat. He seemed to feel that the conversation just now was a bit strange, but he didn't dwell on it. Instead, the smile on his lips couldn't be stopped.
He looked in the rearview mirror and smiled foolishly for several seconds before realizing how stupid he looked.
"Burp!"
Pepper burped and patted her chest.
After doing all this, she raised her eyes and looked at Green nearby with feigned anger.
Those eyes still held the watery shimmer after pleasure, and the corners of her eyes were slightly flushed.
Her cheeks still bore two unnatural patches of crimson that spread from her cheekbones to the base of her ears, covering her exquisite makeup.
Her golden hair was messily plastered to her forehead, with a few strands dampened by sweat and stuck to her cheeks.
"I feel like I won't be able to eat any salad dressing later."
she muttered, her voice as raspy as sandpaper rubbing against her throat, completely lacking the clear tone of her usual capable professional self.
"This is the seventh time!"
Green was looking down, adjusting his shirt cuffs. Hearing this, he looked up and gave a snort of laughter.
"Go and enjoy your breakfast with your boss."
"I think I need to catch up on some sleep." Pepper leaned back, sinking into the soft sofa cushions.
As the pleasure faded, exhaustion surged like a tide and took over her brain.
Although staying up late was her usual rhythm—sleeping at 3 AM and waking up at 7 AM, with a cup of black coffee to sustain her all day—this time was different.
There were too many emotional ups and downs, wave after wave, like a roller coaster. Even the strongest professional woman couldn't take it.
She turned her head, her gaze falling on Green.
He was facing away from her, putting on his black coat. His lean and powerful body was covered inch by inch by the fabric.
First the firm muscle lines on his back, then the two faint V-lines on his waist...
She watched him perform these actions, somewhat dazed.
"When is the... next date?"
As soon as the words left her mouth, she herself was stunned for a moment.
That voice was very soft, as if afraid of disturbing something.
It carried a bit of anticipation, a bit of reluctance, and a trace of... longing that she hadn't even noticed herself.
"Next time?"
Green turned his head. Beneath his black spiky hair, those eyes held a hint of playful mockery. He tilted his face slightly, the corners of his eyes upturned.
"...Yeah." she replied, her heart inexplicably skipping a beat—a very forceful one.
"I don't like drinking the same wine often." Green curled his lips into an ambiguous smile.
"No matter how expensive it is, it's only the most mellow and delicious the first time you drink it. After that? Humph."
He walked out without the slightest hint of lingering.
Bang.
The door closed.
That dull sound echoed in the quiet room for a long time.
Pepper stared at the door, biting her lower lip until her teeth sank into the flesh, leaving two shallow marks. Her gaze was deeply resentful.
She stared for a long time.
Long enough that the light filtering through the crack in the door moved several inches.
She finally lowered her eyes, her gaze falling on the floor.
The Black Silk Stockings lay broken all over the floor, as if they had been forcibly torn apart.
She stared at the wreckage for a few seconds.
"Scumbag..."