The lights were spinning rapidly in the pub, rhythm of the live band reached its peak.
The dance floor was buzzing as usual, those high on drugs had no time to worry about others, worn out yet jubilant.
No one noticed, the smell of gunpowder fire was already in the air here.
Flossie Wright stood next to the bartender, her tall figure contrasted in the dim light, leaving only a silhouette of black shadow. Her slender hand with prominent joints was holding a gun firmly, the pitch-black muzzle staring at the forehead of the bartender.
Behind her, flickering lights of blue, green or red fell on her black leather jacket, as if she was covered in a layer of dancing halo, making her look more mysterious and enigmatically alluring.
Her exquisite features were dimly lit, her narrow, clean eyes were calm and serene like a deep, unseen pool.
In this moment, she was straightforward, cold, dangerous, yet, incredibly attractive.
