With his keen eyes, Luke noticed that everybody was focused on the four tall figures in the center of the dance floor.
Even when they were talking to each other, their eyes never left them.
It wasn't until Luke appeared that he drew some people's attention.
Ignoring them, Luke walked over to a table next to the dance floor. "Alexander, it's time to settle the score."
Sitting on the edge of the semi-circular couch, Alexander asked curiously, "Who… are you?"
Luke chuckled. He was speaking in a British African accent this time. "How dare you actually refuse to sell me a suit! Do you think your rotten clothes are that great? Die, you b*stard!"
With that, he raised his left hand and fired.
Pa!
Alexander didn't react. There was a bullet hole in the center of his head, and he collapsed on the couch.
Almost the same time as Luke drew his gun, a figure lunged at him.
Bang!
