Butterfly Tattoo

Realizing he was in a bad situation, Li Mao wanted to run; wanted to rip out every last strand of hair on the Mediterranean doctor's balding head; wanted to burn this lousy clinic to the ground.

But for now, all he could do was think about it.

Soon, he could not even do that.

As the delayed anesthetic took effect inside his body, he fell completely unconscious...

Creak—creak—

He did not know how long it had been before Li Mao's consciousness gradually returned.

The first thing to receive the outside world was his hearing.

A hand turned his face roughly rather than gently.

The man said nothing. He merely gripped Li Mao's chin and watched his expression.

Li Mao once again felt the reflexive urge to retch.

His face also changed from its formerly docile appearance into something slightly twisted.

The man released his chin, letting his head droop weakly back onto the operating table.

The scent of disinfectant, tinged with mildew, began to assault his sense of smell as well.

The creaking began ringing out rhythmically through the examination room again.

Li Mao was powerless to resist. Even his muddled brain could not form the command to resist.

What spilled from his mouth were nothing but emotionless instincts.

They were thin and weak, like a kitten barely clinging to life on a rainy day.

Hearing the sounds Li Mao made as though he might stop breathing at any moment, the man behind him grew irritated, as if the experience had lost its appeal.

There was no expression on the man's face, as though he were not the customer who had paid ten thousand yuan for this underground transaction.

His sole amusement became stroking the wing-spread tattoo on Li Mao's lower back.

The two halves of the tattoo were different, like a piece of assembled art.

The tattoo artist who had created it was clearly rather mediocre.

At first glance, it was quite eye-catching, but after staring at it for two or three hours and examining every stroke, one could spot flaws in both its lines and design.

Yet the placement of the piece was exquisitely chosen.

Li Mao's waist was lean and slender, with two dimples at his lower back and a spinal groove extending down to his tailbone.

His skin was also smooth and fair, making the black tattoo seem even more vivid.

So vivid that it seemed ready to flutter away with his spasming muscles.

Li Mao had long since lost the ability to bargain with Wan Fuqi as he had that night at Green Woods Hotel.

His body had betrayed his will.

Having lost all sense of time, he did not know how much longer passed before a coat was wrapped around him.

The hood of a hoodie was pulled over his tear-streaked face.

Only after gently wiping away the golden strands stuck to Alpha's cheek by his tears did the man lift the unconscious person into his arms.

By the time they emerged, the sky was already completely dark.

A black Rolls-Royce that did not belong in this dim alley was parked brazenly across the road, blocking every car that tried to enter it.

The man opened the rear door and gently placed Li Mao in the back seat. Only then did he close the door and take the driver's seat.

He did not drive off immediately. Instead, he silently stared at the sleeping Li Mao through the rearview mirror.

Perhaps because of the anesthetic, or perhaps because this had gone on a little too long, Alpha let out soft snores.

The man's grim expression finally improved somewhat.

He started the car and drove the vehicle that had blocked the alley all afternoon out of it.

His speed proved that he had a very clear destination in mind, without the slightest sense that the Alpha in the back seat should not have been taken away by him.

And until the car had completely left the street, no one emerged from the somewhat deserted little clinic to stop him.

The Mediterranean doctor seemed to have forgotten his rule about not wanting anyone to die. Apart from hearing Li Mao's voice at the beginning, before the anesthetic had taken effect, the Mediterranean doctor seemed to have vanished for the rest of it.

It was as if he had simply sold off a "product for use only."

Compared to that afternoon, the little clinic had gone completely dark, its interior pitch-black, as though its operator had fled and shut down for good.

The sign hanging at the entrance had always read "open," but someone had turned it to "close," seemingly confirming that this suspension of business was now a fact.