Wandering through the casino, Thanh Van was hyper aware that his shirt was no longer white. The blotches of dark crimson had obscured the DADDY CREATOR plastered across his chest. How the little hearts over his black pajama pants gleamed like rubies beneath the crystal chandeliers.
Or no matter how he slipped through the mass of players, gaining enough distance to a certain pesky CEO, he could still feel those burning embers fixated on his back, over the sea of heads, through the crowd of bodies, just out of sight, always watching.
But it was not the only pair of eyes on him as Thanh Van turned sideways in time to evade a player flopping to the ground like a dead fish, his eyes two large black and bloody caverns, mouth open, the red, fleshy tongue missing.
Thanh Van's gaze merely washed over the dead body before he pushed forward. None of the other players in the table with the game of craps even looked the dead player's way.
