Wine and Gun

Albarino continued as he walked: "Westland pianists don't solve problems that way, do they? Because the best way to solve a problem is murder, and the serial killer knew from the very beginning. To this point: I don't know if he killed the people who caused him harm, but he killed at least two people in connection with that incident. And for many years to come, he also killed many people who could sink him The guy who entered the dark memories of the year. Some criminal psychologists believe that the pianist's killing was the result of his childhood trauma, his madness drove him to commit the crime, and by killing these sinful people, he felt safe. ...but I'm afraid I can't agree with that."

He paused, and even as the two of them walked in tandem, Herstal could hear the smile in his voice.

They had already walked between the shadows of the buildings. Since the ground after the snow looked extraordinarily white, the shadows between the dazzling reflections of the sun also seemed particularly dark. It was even colder where the sun could not shine, and Albarino let go of his wrist in the cold and turned to look at him.

Those mint green eyes were almost gray in the shadows, so cold, so sharp.

"Why didn't you kill me?" he asked, almost murmuring.

Herstal didn't answer—because the question seemed crazy, but it went right to the heart of everything. Albarino looks almost like a láng in the shadow, some kind of exotic but fierce wild shòu, his mouth still has a sharp smile, and uses this smile to cut other people's souls.

"You know this very well: I will do you harm as well as those people do you." Albarino sighed softly, "The Sunday gardener is a natural pervert, he does not have the ability to move The ability to love, and the ability to love people. Since my genes limit me to love you like a human being - I will definitely hurt you, and when my interest in you finally collapses, everything will happen."

- when the flame goes out.

Novelists write stories like this: If someone's line is "Why didn't you kill me? I'm bound to hurt you," then it's usually a grief-stricken love story, Romeo and Juliet-style, where the protagonists because The gap of identity cannot end in marriage, and a rose is not called a rose, nor does it detract from its fragrance, and so on.

But not Albarino, he said it almost provocatively, as if he was watching an animal he had never seen before, lured it with prey, and waited eagerly for the moment it came to bite the bait . This curiosity borders on cruelty, and it is the source of Herstal's indecision.

"Why didn't you kill me?" Albarino repeated. "Or did you really eat the apple with that forbidden joy?"

The next second—actually Herstal didn't really think about what to do, but he obviously didn't need to think about it—the next second Albarino shoved him against the dirty wall of the alley, Rough bricks pressed hard against his back through the coat.

Albarino grabbed his elbow with one hand and his shoulder with the other, and just pressed him there, not really hard. Herstal knew that if he wanted to break free, he would do so easily.

"That kind of pleasure is very strong, like heroin?" Albarino asked next to his ear, the heat brushing against his skin, "It's like doing something he knows he shouldn't do: Whether it’s the first time killing someone, writing a letter to the police for the first time, or showing a body in public with much fanfare—we’re all dancing on the tip of a knife, touching the edge of taboos that shouldn’t be touched. "

"Including yourself," Herstal whispered, sounding gritted.

"—including myself, as it should be for you," Albarino replied leniently, moving his finger upward, brushing Herstal's chin with the tip of his finger, touching the stubble that was beginning to emerge; Starr turned his head slightly to one side, but didn't open his hand. "So think about it, pianist, what are you looking for in me, and whether that makes you feel like home."

He narrowed his eyes, raised Herstal's chin slowly with his fingers, then leaned in and licked his neck.

- He has a small, inconspicuous white scar on his neck, which is usually hard to see when the tie is on. But today was just for Anonymous Mutual Aid, and for the first time he didn't wear a tie. Albarino arched the tip of his nose over the loosened necklines and licked the old scar.

He could feel Herstal's entire body stiffening, and the other party was obviously struggling with his own instincts with great difficulty. But even though he was tense, there was still no movement, even though Albarino was sure that the knife was within reach of him with a raised hand.

"You're not really mad at me for what I did today, not at all." Albarino buried his head in his neck and said vaguely, "You're mad because of that boy named Billy— You saw something in him, and that stuff... evoked something unpleasant, didn't it?"

"It's really impressive what you said," Herstal said ambiguously, and Albarino doubted that he really got to the heart of the matter.

Search [Book Reading Assistant] official address: www.kanshuzhushou.com Millions of popular books are free to read for life without advertisements!