Wine and Gun

The girl leaned on tiptoe close to him, and those red lips fluttered out a few words in his ear.

Then Herstal smiled and moved away from her, pulling a pen and checkbook from his suit pocket. The girl watched calmly as he filled in a long list of numbers in the amount column, and Herstal asked, "What's your name?"

"Aurelie Delphine," she replied with a smile.

"Okay, Aurelie." Herstal filled out the payee's name, calmly tore the check, folded it in half, and stuffed the paper into Aurelie's rǔ ditch. In the meantime, the plump touch swept across his fingertips, with a vibrant heat. "I hope you think I'm reliable enough."

Herstal picked up Albarino from the driveway outside the manor. The other party had changed the tuxedo back to his previous jacket, and the shirt collar had two buttons unclamped. When Herstal arrived, he was so bored he was tearing the bark from a small tree by the road.

When Albarino just got into the car, he realized that Herstal looked bad. He didn't think much about it. He just thought that the other party didn't hold back because he was being manipulated. This was a strategic mistake, but after all No one was exhausted—Herstal drove down the road for about ten minutes, crossed the fork where they had come, and after driving for a while, slammed off the shoulder of the road.

The red Chevys drove into the woods over the ruts left by the hikers, and as soon as the dense black trees covered the road, Herstal stopped. He turned to look at Albarino, who was looking sideways at him curiously.

During this period of time, Albarino did not speak. He originally wanted to tell the other party about the old Hunter who suddenly appeared, but it was better not to touch the other party's bad luck now. But apparently by now, he had to speak.

"Whatever you're trying to do," Albarino said, "the place you pick is not a good place to kill and throw corpses in the first place."

It was true: it had just rained the other day, and the ground was still soft enough to leave clear ruts and footprints. Even though what Albarino said made sense, it didn't cover up Albarino's ability to "pick out the words that Herstal didn't want to hear".

Herstal gave him a cold look, then said, "Get out of the car."

Albariño complied. No perverted murderer is as good as the current Albarino, even a perverted murderer pointed at by a gun. He got out of the car and stood in the cold forest in the morning. The ground was still soft, but not muddy.

And Herstal had already bypassed the car body, stepped forward abruptly, grabbed Albarino by the collar, and slammed him into the side of the Chevrolet.

It's nothing to them, no thicker than everything Herstal has done before, no more dangerous than the knife that used to be on his throat, but it's different: his eyes The color is just like the blue-blue flame of carbon monoxide burning, and a strange and turbulent passion in his eyes is also beating like a flame.

Albarino knew this look, but he had never seen such an expression on Herstal's face: it was an angry expression after a person's bottom line was touched. At this moment, Herstal was clutching his neckline tightly, and he could almost feel the slight tremor of the other's fingers due to rage.

"How did you know where he would be?" Herstal hissed. "Did you let me go because you knew he would be there?!"

Albarino is really confused, this kind of emotion is very rare for him, but it can't blame him. He reached out and grabbed Herstal's wrist by the collar, fearing that he would strangle him in a fit of anger: Herstal now seemed very motivated to do so.

He asked in a tone that seemed genuinely confused: "He... what?"

"Kabbah Slade!" Herstal, looking a little more annoyed, repeated the name in a terrifying tone. "How do you know he's that priest from Kentucky?"

Albarino's fingers holding Herstal's wrist tightened slightly, digging into Herstal's skin, causing slight pain; Herstal froze for a moment, and then heard Albari Nuo raised his voice a little: "Is he the priest in Kentucky? The man in charge of Sequoia Manor?"

Albarino's expression didn't seem to be a fake - but who knows, he is a real pervert - Herstal was also blanked by him for a moment, and asked: "What... ?"

Then Albarino sighed.

Then he did something very unconventional: he leaned forward hastily, his lips brushing over Herstal's cheekbones and cheeks, with the rough touch of a little pointy stubble.

It's not a very affectionate kiss, but it seems to be better than its familiarity: it's the kind of kiss that seems to change when lovers who have been together for many years wake up in the morning, and Albarino's hand is pressed on The warm fingers on Herstal's shoulders seemed to make his heart fall back into place.

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