The husky voice reached Keane Lowell's ears, pulling him back to his senses.
He stopped his hand, gradually retracting the killing intent in his eyes.
The white shirt he wore was stained with blood, the red color looking eerie.
He wiped the blood from his hands with a handkerchief, then walked over to Claire Prescott, and without a word, picked her up horizontally.
Claire said softly, "I can walk by myself."
Keane pretended not to hear, his whole body faintly emitting a cold and terrifying aura.
One lamp after another cast shadows on his face, those deep eyes no longer held the gentle light they used to, the corners of his eyes still stained with a bloodthirsty red, like he had walked out from hell, devoid of any warmth.
This was the first time she had seen him in such an intimidating manner.
Taking the elevator, they exited the club, drawing the gaze of many.
