At Cloudscape Community, Jimmie Tate, Harold Houston, and Melvin Steele sat in a neat row on the sofa. Jimmie’s face was a mask of cold fury, Harold was clutching an ashtray, and Melvin was brandishing a club thicker than his arm. The living room was terrifyingly silent, the air thick with murderous intent.
“Juniper, come here.” Seeing the pair arrive together, their fingers intertwined, Melvin immediately barked the order.
Juniper was genuinely exhausted and had no energy to deal with the three of them. Her eyes shifted to Shanley. “Take off your shirt.”
“Huh? Oh.” Shanley, momentarily stunned, obediently began to unbutton his shirt.
“What are you doing?”
The three brothers were completely thrown by this sudden development. They were here to settle a score. Why was he taking his clothes off?
The next second, Shanley’s shirt came open, revealing a muscular chest. Under the bright lights, the bloody wound was especially jarring.
All three of them frowned in unison. The guy was injured?
“What happened?” Jimmie asked, his brow furrowed. “That looks serious.”
“Gunshot wound,” Juniper yawned, speaking nonchalantly. “My people did it.”
“What?!”
Jimmie and Harold’s eyes flew open in shock, while Melvin audibly gasped. Did a little lovers' quarrel really need to get this violent?
“I’ve already taken my revenge,” Juniper said with a slight smile, her tone unhurried. “If you aren’t satisfied, feel free to take another shot.”
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