Chapter 26

Time flew by, and the next day arrived. Wesley soaked in the medicinal bath to recover, and with his insistence, Fire Fox also got the treatment. What pissed him off was that Russell stayed behind under the pretext of watching Fire Fox, sitting in a chair and staring at the two of them in the bath.

After all, soaking in a medicinal bath required being completely unbound, embracing nature in its most primal state—meaning... no clothes!

The Cross showed restraint, since Wesley was his own son, unlike Russell who had no sense of measure. So Wesley recovered quickly, while Fire Fox soaked all night and still wasn't fully healed.

Watching Russell fiddle with a modified Desert Eagle he'd never seen before, Wesley feared he might try something shady with Fire Fox in the bath. Not that he hadn't thought of it himself—no, wait—he decisively demanded to take over the watch.

Russell ignored him, set the gun on the table, and pointed at the clock on the wall: "The Cross is waiting for you. Says he has a surprise. Personally, I don't think you should get your hopes up—it's probably a belated birthday gift."

You just said it out loud, so where's my surprise?!

Wesley fumed inwardly. Maybe it was because Russell's sinister image from before was too deeply ingrained, but he felt a bit intimidated by him: "Really? Where is he?"

"Right across from your place. His apartment's there—the one directly opposite your bedroom window. Fatherly love is always so deep, not shown on the surface but put into action. He spends day and night watching your every move through a telescope. Truly touching!"

Wesley: "..."

Shit! Then he's seen everything!

Face green with anger, Wesley left, planning to give The Cross a piece of his mind. Even if it was for protection, this was way out of line. No matter what, they had to settle it today—no more spying on him, especially at night!

Not long after Wesley left, Fire Fox finished recovering and stood up from the medicinal bath. Water droplets slid down her alluring curves, strands of hair clinging to her cheeks as she brushed them behind her back.

Fire Fox stepped out of the bath without a hint of shyness, grabbed a towel for a quick wipe, and changed into the clean clothes Wesley had prepared for her.

Russell's eyes were wide open the whole time. Not to brag, but he took his responsibility seriously—when he said he'd watch, he didn't blink... Come to think of it, Fire Fox's tattoos were pretty cool.

Stretching her stiff limbs, Fire Fox noticed Russell standing guard and let out a mocking snort. She strode toward him and reached for the Desert Eagle on the table.

Russell grabbed her wrist and shook his head: "Sorry, you can't touch the gun yet."

"Our deal's already made. Until I confirm whether Sloan is guilty, I won't make a move against you." Fire Fox shot Russell a challenging look. "Or do you have no trust in your ally?"

"No, no, you've got it wrong. I'm not letting you touch the gun because your mental state is unstable. I'm afraid you'll kill yourself!"

Fire Fox's eyes went cold as she shook off Russell's hand: "Don't worry about that. If Sloan really is guilty, I won't die until I've taken him out."

Russell shrugged and stepped aside wisely, but the moment Fire Fox grabbed the Desert Eagle, she aimed it at him.

"Heh, women!"

"That's right. Women are vengeful creatures. I've kept your warm hospitality in mind. If I don't let off some steam, I can't maintain a peaceful alliance."

"That's too dangerous. One shot from a Desert Eagle and I'm done for—even the medicinal bath can't fix that..." Russell kept pushing his luck, raising an eyebrow.

"Hmph!"

Fire Fox snorted and fired at Russell's thigh—a retaliatory shot. She was confident in her aim; it wouldn't break his leg, just graze him and take off a chunk of flesh, still agonizing.

Click!

Fire Fox pulled the trigger, but the Desert Eagle was locked tight, even with the safety off.

Russell helpfully explained: "It's a fingerprint-recognition pistol. See that blue recognition button? Without the owner's fingerprint, you can't fire. A principled gun, just like me—low-key and restrained..."

Listening to Russell's shameless self-praise, Fire Fox had enough. She grabbed his hand and pressed it to the fingerprint scanner, then pulled the trigger.

Click! Click!

Fire Fox's eyes were bloodshot: "What the hell is this?"

"Uh... I'm not the owner of this gun!"

Russell scratched his head with an embarrassed grin, looking a bit sheepish.

Fire Fox was so furious her chest felt like it would burst. She hurled the Desert Eagle to the ground, grabbed Russell's shoulders with both hands, and dug her fingers in. Her twisted face screamed her rage as she gathered all her strength and drove her knee up between his legs.

Thud!

Another scream rang out as Fire Fox hopped in place, clutching her knee, then fell back into the medicinal bath.

"Fuck!! Wearing iron underwear all day—are you some kind of pervert?"

"What's wrong with a man being perverted?"

Fire Fox: "..."

At that moment, she suddenly missed Wesley the simp. Compared to Russell, Wesley was practically perfect—he wouldn't stuff iron in his crotch, so you could kick him anywhere!

At noon, Wesley brought lunch. Now a rich second-generation, he splurged—steak, veggie salad, ham-and-egg sandwich, and pumpkin soup. Very lavish.

But it was Fire Fox's lunch. Figuring she'd be starving after the medicinal bath, Wesley ordered plenty. Taste aside, it was definitely filling.

Russell's meal was much shabbier—the standard Colonel Sanders, which made him want to puke.

Fire Fox finally got a win. She rewarded Wesley with a kiss, and the simp trembled with excitement.

"This kid's hopeless!" Russell muttered, biting into his super jumbo burger with a look of disgust.

The Cross's gift to Wesley was a leather jacket. Not that valuable, but Wesley loved it. He'd dreamed of this day for ages, put it on with a grin, and refused to take it off.

This kid was starved for love!

After lunch, with his beloved goddess's approval, Wesley stood behind her and massaged her shoulders. Russell studied a watch-type Plastic Explosive nearby, intrigued by the Miniature Bomb that could be strapped to a rat. Too bad he hadn't drawn any related Character Cards or Skill Cards yet—he had to rely on self-study.

Oh, right, while watching over Wesley's medicinal bath, Russell had drawn his Character Card.

Character Card: Wesley (a gifted second-generation killer whose veins contain nothing but adrenaline)

Fire Fox watched Russell as he studied, plotting her revenge in her mind. She was petty—if she didn't strike back, she'd feel off-kilter all over. She refused to believe Russell wore iron underwear 24/7!

Cross walked in and saw Wesley massaging Fire Fox's shoulders. He found it utterly disgraceful. Had this kid never seen a woman before?

"Folks, our plan might need to move up! According to my informants, Sloan has recalled the Brotherhood's assassins scattered everywhere. They're gathering at Spinning Mill 17. If we wait for them to make the first move, we'll be on the back foot..."

"What do you want to do? Spit out the plan!"

"Overtime to whip up Plastic Explosive, and tonight, we need to catch at least a thousand rats... Wesley, you're on rat duty!"

"What!?"

I'm your own flesh and blood!

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