Navy Caddel didn't speak, just squinted his eyes and stroked his chin.
Will Caddel blocked him, "Try to chase us if you dare."
The elevator arrived.
Sylvan Cheney carried Jasmine Yale downstairs.
His car was parked in the underground garage, the black Maybach gleaming subtly under the lights.
In his arms, Jasmine Yale was already unconscious, only mumbling incoherently "uncomfortable," "so hot," "not feeling well"...
She was truly uncomfortable, as if in a desert, her back covered in sweat, and even her pants were wet, the most terrifying part.
The combination of this drug and the essential oils in the room was deadly for her.
She hadn't been with a man for a year.
Sylvan Cheney placed her in the passenger seat, his hand sliding under her clothes slightly; her entire body was burning hot, even her expression exuded a subtle allure.
"Hold on," he admonished.
As soon as he spoke, Jasmine Yale gripped his hand, lowered her head, and bit his chest.
