Wine and Gun

"If you like any of them, you can take them to the back room, all of them are done. Of course, if you like being in the spotlight..." Slade's voice dropped even lower. , with some obvious hints.

Herstal felt a headache that could barely see what was in front of him, a tension headache, a stress response—of course. But now wasn't a good time to stop taking aspirin, and he couldn't risk letting the other person see the clues. He still needed the truth about Sequoia Manor, otherwise it would be pointless for him to sneak in.

Herstal took a deep breath, wishing that his mask was still attached to his face. He looked at those young people with serious eyes, as if he was very picky, but in fact it was difficult to concentrate.

Those young people looked from the legal twenties to the not-so-legal seventeen or eighteen, but no younger. No, there weren't any of the young children in the morgue of the Medical Examiner Service.

Hestal still had an uncomfortable feeling in his throat that he wanted to vomit, but now he had to focus on the business: he was considering whether to ask, maybe Slade would give him an answer. But if he first came and asked them if there were younger children in the club offering sex, it seemed like an easy start.

Stryder didn't have to be smart, but he must have been sharp, or he wouldn't have gone without a trace before his two colleagues were hung on the church ceiling.

If he accidentally made the other party notice-

His heart was still beating uncontrollably. But it was at this moment that a little interlude interrupted the battle between heaven and man in his heart.

The golden liquid in the champagne glasses glistened in blinding crystal chandeliers as a waiter walked past them with a tray. Herstal didn't pay much attention to the other party before, and just glanced at the other party's back: Although the owner of this club has really bad taste in decoration, this bad taste may not extend to the way they dress the waiter: the tuxedo Outlining the waiter's waist is exaggeratedly thin, and it also sets off the other party's buttocks.

If this is a serious dinner party, it might seem a little too frivolous for the waiter to wear such tight pants, but since this is a yín party for the rich, there is no need to care about these details. And obviously, Slade thought so too.

Anyway, when the waiter walked past them, Stryder put on that smiling face and slapped the waiter on the buttocks. The waiter shuddered in shock, and the champagne glasses on the tray rattled.

Then the waiter turned to them—

Herstal glared at Albarino Bacchus' bashful face.

No, in fact he doesn't even look like Albarino: he must be wearing contact lenses, hiding the bright green color of his iris; His forehead was exposed; his shoulders were slightly shrunken in a cautious and nervous manner, and under the subtle visual errors caused by his movements, his entire body looked smaller than usual.

Albarino's face was originally young, but now with that nervous expression, no matter how he looked, he looked like a young man in his twenties who had just stepped into society, looking alert and immature. He winced nervously before Slade's greasy smile, and said quickly, "Sir, you—"

"I haven't seen you before, young man," said Slade, still smiling.

"I'm here for Frederick's class. He broke his leg in a car accident today." Albarino still said in that tense tone, Slade hadn't taken his hand off his ass. Not only did he not take it away, but he even twisted it intimately, and Albarino trembled in disbelief, "...Sir!"

Yes, the "I don't actually want to fuck with you" in the huáng film, sadly, Stryder probably did eat this one. And Herstal was quite sure that the bastard on the other side was obviously doing this when he guessed that Slade would do this, and he never mind hooking up with his enemies. This is Albarino, crazy and reckless, and he doesn't care.

Hestal's throat was smoldering with scorching flames, making his throat gritty, and the sun was aching. That stabbing thirst came to his fingertips again, and it made him want to tear something, Slade's throat or Albarino's smiling face.

At the same time, a series of barks came from outside the window. Harsh, sharp, and very ferocious sounding.

"That's it?" Herstal asked, not even thinking about it before he spoke, desperately needing a pretext to change the subject.

"It's late at night, and we let the dog out." Slade introduced, and he took his hands off the other's buttocks in a daze, then turned to look at Herstal, and keenly noticed the other's face It doesn't seem very good. Then he laughed again: "What? Don't you like dogs? That's a loyal animal."

Albarino still looked at them with that fake, nervous smile, fake dark eyes like bottomless cold pools.

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