**
The office suddenly felt cold as Yamilet closed the door behind him. It was as if there wasn't a living soul in the room.
Sitting back down in his chair, Luis spun around and leaned back to admire his precious collection.
He didn't even look at the beautiful woman holding the knife - he was looking at the beheaded general.
The man's bare torso was positioned at an odd angle from the severed head, which had a grotesque expression with rolled-back eyes, blood splattering from the blade wound.
Suddenly, Luis remembered something and turned back to his desk. He opened a drawer and saw the hand dagger he had confiscated lying silently inside next to his other pistols.
Taking out the dagger and removing its sheath, he held it in his palm.
The size was a bit small for him; it was a knife custom-made by Yamilet.
As he held onto the knife, it seemed like he also held onto Yamilet's delicate hand that had been stained with blood countless times.
Knock knock, knock knock.
The door was knocked on and Luis threw the hand dagger back into his drawer before closing it shut. "Come in," he said.
Liang pushed open the door and walked over to his desk before putting down some account books onto it. "Mister, last month's accounts have been taken care of, but we still haven't received two final payments from this month."
"Then send someone to collect them," Luis flipped through some pages of the book casually before closing it shut again. "Who has enough courage to withhold payments for a hitman company? The client must be wanting to live longer."
"Okay, I'll arrange for someone to follow up on them."
Luis's chest was still burning with fire as he picked up a bottle of alcohol and waved Liang off with his hand. "If there's nothing else then you can go now. Close the shop in half an hour."
Liang didn't move and stood like a statue in front of the desk with a respectful posture.
Luis looked up at him and asked, "Is there anything else you want to say?"
"Mister, there's something I need to tell you, please don't get angry."
"Go ahead."
The disheveled appearance of the girl when she left earlier flashed through Liang's mind: her lips and eyes were red, water droplets still clung to her hair tips, her knees had scrapes, and there was a red and swollen patch on her left shoulder. The five finger marks were particularly visible.
He glanced at the trash can next to the desk where he saw a piece of cloth thrown away. The smell in the air also revealed what had happened here just half an hour ago.
"I think you're getting too close with her. It goes against the rules set by our ancestors," Liang said.
Luis swallowed a large gulp of red wine, slamming down the bottle loudly onto the table. He sneered, "The rules set by our ancestors? Ha! Our ancestors didn't say we couldn't get close to our own assassins."
Liang stood up straight and nodded his head, "Yes, you can sleep with her if you want. I'm not talking about getting physically too close."
"What exactly are you talking about then?"
Luis pushed his glasses up his nose bridge; behind the lenses were narrowed eyes that were sharp like dangerous knives.
"Our ancestors said that leaders must never develop romantic feelings with assassins within the organization..."
Clang!!
The red wine bottle was violently thrown towards Liang's feet; even the soft carpet couldn't protect it as it shattered into pieces along with its contents splattering onto Liang's lower body like blood, staining the Persian blue rug into a dark purple-black color.
Luis laughed heartily as if he heard one of the most absurd jokes in recent years.
He asked Liang, "Which eye did you use to see me develop romantic feelings for her?"
Liang didn't move an inch and remained standing upright, while keeping his gaze fixed on his boss's face without saying a word.
Luis raised his neglected revolver and pointed it at Liang's eye, his cold words sounding wild and maniacal, "It seems that this eye isn't very useful. I might as well destroy it."
**
Yamilet got in the car without saying a word. Jacques saw her disheveled appearance and low mood, so he immediately turned the steering wheel towards the river.
The window rolled down, letting in the hot summer breeze from East Asia. Yamilet's ear-length bob was blown into her eyes, making them sore.
The taxi drove along several intersections along Central Ring Road before Jacques finally heard Yamilet whistle.
It was that song Dorian told him about once, named 13 days in France, but he couldn't remember its French title.
He breathed a sigh of relief - things weren't too bad after all.
After whistling the tune two or three times, Yamilet spoke up: "Jack, take me to 'Glimmer' please."
Jacques frowned and didn't really agree: "You have a shoulder injury and you still want to go for a massage?"
"Well, yes. I need a master to check if I injured my muscles or tendons."
With no valid argument against this reasoning, Jacques just turned around and headed for "Glimmer". When they arrived at the spa shop entrance, Jacques habitually reminded Yamilet: "Be careful."
Yamilet burst out laughing when she heard this as she was about to open the door, she blinked : "No mission tonight."
Jacques was taken aback and scratched his facial scar awkwardly: "It's late already. It won't hurt to be careful."
Yamilet beckoned him over with her finger: "Jack, come closer."
Although unclear what she wanted, Jacques obediently leaned towards the passenger seat.
A kiss fell on his lips - light as feathers but soft as feathers of nightingales flying under moonlight.
"Thank you," Yamilet said with a smile.
Jacques regained his senses only when Yamilet walked into the spa shop.
He hadn't put up the vacant sign yet, and the meter was still running. The red dot on the meter jumped slowly in the dark night, much slower than his heartbeat.
He turned on hazard lights and sat in the car adjusting his mood, only to find a blazing fire burning in his chest that grew stronger.
It wasn't good.
Jacques pulled out a cigarette and lighter from the front trunk of the passenger seat.
The cigarette lit up with sparks between his lips as he took a big puff before exhaling fiercely. The smoke covered up the laughing Buddha pendant smiling at him from the rearview mirror.
He had almost forgotten himself - he hadn't smoked in so long.
**
Yamilet didn't know Jacques was still parked outside as she walked up to the receptionist and asked: "Is massage therapist 13 available now?"
The young Hong Kong girl at the front desk, in her early twenties, politely answered: "Please wait a moment, let me check for you."
After clicking her mouse a few times, she nodded and replied: "Massage therapist 13 is currently available. May I ask what service you would like from him? He doesn't provide some services."
"I know. I want an essential oil massage for my back."
"Okay, let me arrange that for you!"
"Glimmer" was decorated in Balinese style with exposed wooden beams and white curtains hanging down.
To avoid accidents with burning aromatherapy candles, all tea light candles were replaced with flameless ones, while humidifiers on desks diffused aromatic oils continuously into the air.
The room had an en-suite bathroom and a wardrobe with a safe. Yamilet took off her clothes and unwrapped the disposable underwear package.
But after thinking about it, she decided not to put them on.
She sat on the massage bed in a loose bathrobe, swinging her legs irregularly in mid-air. After about two or three minutes of waiting, someone knocked on the door.
It was the female attendant who had led her to the room earlier followed by a tall skinny man.
The man was in his thirties with clean-cut short hair and wore an ivory-colored therapist uniform. He looked like a mix of Asian and European features - thick eyebrows, high nose bridge but also contained subtleness and delicacy unique to Asians. His eyes were also nice looking - deep as if they were nighttime seas.
Unfortunately, there were no stars in that sea.
He held a basket of essential oils in one hand and a blind stick in the other, following the female attendant into the room. With simple instructions, he placed the bottles and jars from the basket onto a cart beside the bed, arranging them according to his personal usage habits.
Yamilet stopped the leaving attendant: "Could you add another hour for me? I want to take a nap afterwards."
The attendant bowed: "Sure, no problem. When you wake up, ring the service bell and I will bring you some refreshments."
"Thank you."
As the curtains fell and the door closed, only the sound of humidifier water flow remained in the room - gurgling like a volcano sleeping under some distant sea, its molten core rolling inside.
Yamilet untied her belt and let her bathrobe fall to the ground with soft rustles. She raised herself on her elbows and watched as 13 prepared himself.
She spoke in a coquettish voice: "I'm ready now. You can start when you're ready, 13."
His long fingers trembled slightly as he reached down into one of his cart's compartments to pull out a towel. He measured out its length with his left palm from thumb to middle finger.
Finally, he spread it across Yamilet's hips.
"Miss Yuliana," he said. "It's been a while."