Constantine has a problem. No matter whether she is familiar with him or not, as soon as someone dies, she will forget the other person's face. It's like being washed away by water. The form, face, body, voice... will all ebb from her memory.
She remembered the statue of the Virgin because she recalled the coolness of her bare feet on the floor, the heavy feel of her coat when she grabbed it, and the sound of throwing it onto the man.
Yes, there is indeed a statue of the Virgin on that bare (don’t look at the brackets) arm——
Just when she was distracted, the makeup chair was suddenly kicked hard and hit her leg.
The young man used all his strength, as if he wanted to smash her calf bones and knees apart and knock them out of joint. Constantine suddenly felt pain, and before she had time to pull the trigger, a shadow had already struck back, and the hand knife cut into her body.
her wrist bones.
The small pistol flew away from his hand and landed a few steps away. It was in tandem with the Scorpion submachine gun that had been kicked away just now, as if they were about to touch each other across the carpet.
Unlike him, Constantine never glanced at the gun again.
Sitting in her position as a woman means that she is faster, more ferocious, and more ruthless than her male counterparts - and more difficult to kill; she has already practiced fighting instinctively.
As soon as the gun left his hand, Constantine turned around and took two steps to meet him, blocking his way to grab the gun with his own body.
In the quiet and small dressing room, the two of them were so close that they could smell each other's breath.
...This child must have been lying, just to distract her. The statue of the Virgin should have been seen when he committed the murder.
Constantine thought almost with satisfaction.
His naked upper body (don’t look at it in brackets) twisted; the clean and slender muscles tightened and twisted under the sweaty skin. A fist sank deeply into Constantine’s lower abdomen, sinking again.
And swift and fierce.
Constantine snorted slightly from his nose, but his feet remained motionless.
In her life, she had been assassinated, stabbed, and used force countless times. She didn't know when it started. She found that the harder, heavier, and closer the attack she received, the more she was able to... enter the state.
She likes pain.
The pain was like electricity, clashing and climbing in her blood vessels, vibrating her nerves to buzzing and vibrating like strings, making her whole body tremble and excited.
Before he could retract his fist, Constantine opened his arms.
She was half a head taller than him, with slender limbs, and she gently and effortlessly took him into her arms. She pressed one hand on the back of his head, and quickly slid down with the other hand, grabbing one side of his belt.
On the fingers on the inside of the belt, a small piece of skin above the nails is stuck in the dark warmth.
She suddenly exerted her strength, and with the help of a tug on her belt, she grabbed his hair with her other hand and pulled him down, asking him to bend down like he did during a tango dance, and quickly pulled the boy towards the ground - his body.
When he fell, Constantine couldn't hold back and let out a song from his throat.
The boy hit the ground with a muffled sound.
If you love me, don't let go. Grab, grab me...
In the half-breathed, half-murmured voice of Constantine, she didn't even look back. She turned around and held the legs of the makeup chair and waved it through the air - the chair swung across the dressing table, splattering white mist of loose powder.
The light red perfume and golden eye shadow powder all splashed into the air and light - and hit the wound on his thigh heavily.
The boy couldn't suppress his scream of pain, which echoed in the small dressing room.
Seeing him curling up unconsciously and still trying to roll away, Constantine took a step forward and stood astride him with the makeup chair.
He also realized that something was wrong, and immediately stood up and punched her calf bone.
Although he looks like a young boy who has not yet finished growing up, his fists are as solid as stone, and his singing voice has changed in tone.
Her legs were so painful that she couldn't stand upright. As soon as she fell to the ground, she knelt down and sat up. She raised the chair high and hit his head and face.
The boy reluctantly turned over, his head narrowly avoiding the chair; the chair made a "bang" sound next to his ear.
His reaction was extremely fast, and he grabbed the chair leg with his backhand. They stared into each other's eyes tightly, never letting go for a breath; their strength was locked on the chair, and they were incomparable.
Grab, grab me, I'm a little unsteady on my feet...
Constantine stretched out her left arm and reached with her fingertips towards the hangers full of clothes on the other side of the dressing room. Without looking, she grabbed the first silk bathrobe that her fingertips touched and pulled it off; her right hand
He let go of the chair and immediately covered the young man's eyebrows and face with the silk bathrobe.
She felt a little lost.
The chair hit her waist, and Constantine groaned, cutting off her singing. However, her hands were still like nails, firmly nailing the bathrobe to the ground, suppressing the person underneath.
Perhaps realizing that hitting him would have no effect on Constantine, the boy threw the chair. Even though he couldn't see and couldn't breathe, two hands came up from below.
His body is narrow and thin, but his hands are unexpectedly big.
He closed his fingers on Constantine's neck. The fingers were tight and cold, pricking deeply into her trachea and blood vessels.
For a moment, both sides tried their best to completely crush the other's breath. The wound on his thigh began to bleed again, and the gurgling hot and wet blood stained Constantine's legs and nightgown.
He was far more difficult to deal with than Constantine thought; she was the first to be unable to bear it, loosened her bathrobe, raised her hand in suffocating pain, and took off an earring - she fumbled with her backhand
Then, with a sharp thrust, the earring needle pierced through the fabric and into the wound on his thigh.
The young man let out a low cry like a wounded animal, and involuntarily loosened his hand a little.
Constantine seized the opportunity and hurriedly stood up, still stumbling a little, and threw herself in the direction of the gun. The young man pressed up from behind, hugged her legs, and dragged her to the ground.
"Where are your subordinates," he asked hoarsely, "Why haven't they come to rescue you after so long?"
As the two gasped, rolled and struggled, Constantine couldn't help but laugh.
"Black ink?" She punched the boy and gasped, "Why don't you think of a more common excuse?"
He evaded hastily, his black hair fluttering, then fell down again; the next attack was paused.
"it is true."
Costinette also paused. "Really?" The smile on her face still hadn't dissipated.
"That's why I blew up half of the second carriage." He was obviously dragged down by his injuries, and probably had to talk for a while - the blood had already stained the clothes tied to his legs, and his words
The forced breathing could also be heard clearly.
In the dark and damp mind, there were still waves of alcoholism. Constantine laughed, licked his broken lips, and whispered: "The second time I heard it, it wasn't surprising enough."
The young man opened his mouth and was about to speak, but suddenly stopped.
Constantine tilted her head and looked at his face almost tenderly, without being distracted by his performance in the slightest. Her peripheral vision had already locked onto the location of the Scorpion submachine gun.
He was so courageous that he turned his eyes away without warning in front of her; his neck was exposed under the light of the makeup lamp, looking smooth and fragile.
Even her subordinates are usually reluctant to turn their backs to her, just like the survival instinct of animals.
"You just..." The boy didn't seem to notice her hand gradually sliding towards the gun. He just stared at the door and murmured: "Didn't you lock the door?"
Constantine stopped.
The warm and scalding alcohol dripped from her skin, her cheeks, and her blood; she sat on the ground and looked at the young man opposite her, gradually becoming as cold as a statue.
He wasn't trying to distract her; she saw it out of the corner of her eye.
The door of the dressing room slid open silently at some point, and a black gap opened between the door and the wall. She knew that the lights in the club had been turned off; but she still felt that the narrow gap was
Black, really too dark.
Shouldn't there be night lights, emergency lights, and moonlight outside the corridor window? At this time, there seemed to be a long strip of thick ink stuck in the crack of the door, holding my breath.
The most important thing is that she had clearly locked the door just now.
I just like to write/read the dark and twisted personalities of perverts. I don’t know if they are written properly... Inmaru Tsugumi is already a pervert with no filter in his mind, and Konstina is an even bigger pervert. She sang that
I heard a song called Unsteady. When they were fighting, I stood at the door and searched it out using a song search software.
