Chapter 82 Don't Shoot
Chapter 82 Don't Shoot
\[MERRYLAND HOSPITAL\]
It's late in the night, but in Dr. Reuben's hospital he dared not think about night.
Despite the soft hum of the air conditioning, he still sweated. His tie was loose, shirt roughly kept, and his glasses couldn't even sit well on his bridge.
His fingers typed, scrolled while his eyes read through the screen like he was burning the midnight candle.
Cassian—he found out about who he is when he looked up on the internet. Cassian gave him until tomorrow evening to provide the requested record. He still hasn't gotten rid of the gun feeling against his neck, he wouldn't want to imagine the thing he'd do if he fails to provide it.
"Death records..." He tapped on it, and the names of people who died that year and were brought to their hospital reflected.
He heaved a small sigh of relief as he switched next to finding out about the mortuaries they took the dead bodies to.
"What an honest man?"
Dr. Reuben heard a voice, strangely inside his office.
His head went up sharply, and he saw someone standing, face, and body completely covered in black.
All colors disappeared from Dr. Reuben's face, his eyes hooking on the illegal toy that he still hadn't recovered from.
Without being told, his hands went up in the air. "D... don't shoot."
The assassin ignored him, walked to his table, and turned the laptop to himself.
He read the reports, and punched something on the keyboard.
Facing the screen back to Dr. Reuben, the assassin's thumb met the trigger.
"Too bad I'm not here to listen to sorry."
Boom.
\[QUILLY CLUB\]
Loud jazz music blared from the speakers, bottles were clinking violently, voices were loud, and some strippers were performing on stage with people cheering for them.
At a corner, not paying attention to the chaos, smoke curled dangerously around Lance as he took the uncountable drag.
His face was soaked with tears. His eyes were puffy, and he could barely feel himself again.
He gulped a large amount of vodka, the rejection from Lalissa stinging so much.
"I love you," he muttered, gulping another shot. "I really do." He took in a cigarette, his head feeling so heavy.
It's too much. The cigarette and vodka, his head—he smokes once in a while, and it never goes more than two sticks, but now, he has finished the first pack and on the second planning to request for a third one.
No matter how high he is, Lalissa wouldn't leave his mind.
"She chose her stepfather over me," he pointed at himself with a mocking smile as if he's a failure.
The noise caught his attention, and his eyes found the stripper's even though his vision was blurred beyond his own, he could still see the stripper performing away their selves all for the money.
He shut his eyes and opened them only to find Lalissa ogling at him. She had a different type of smile—not charming, rather flirty.
She used her two fingers and beckoned him to come.
He shook his head, and looked at the stripper. She was going to the stage, her ass bouncing dangerously behind her.
He didn't know when his feet carried him from the chair, and he staggered his way to her.
His hand slid behind her waist. "Y... you're here?" He tried to maintain a strong balance.
The lady placed her hand on his chest, rose on her toes and captured his lips.
All remaining screwed nuts unscrewed from Lance's head as he took up the opportunity.
They pulled each other like they'd been craving for each other since the beginning of time.
His hand cupped her ass, and squeezed.
She moaned into his mouth, and that ignited the fire in him, coupled with the cigarette and vodka, he's so high.
Still kissing hotly, they squeezed themselves out of the main club hall, and found themselves in a quiet corner.
Their backs hit a wall which happened to be a door. Her back opened the door, and his closed it as they fought madly in each other's mouths.
He slammed her back to the door. Clothes came off, flying around, underwear followed next, and soon she was on the floor with him positioned between her thighs.
He gave her a deep thrust.
Her nails dug his back. "Ah!"