Roy glanced at the blue screen of the car radio; it was currently 12:45 PM.
The interstate highway was silent, boundlessly extending forward under the irradiation of the high beam. Both sides were flanked by dark wilderness, and occasionally, the shadows of some tree clusters drifted by. If he didn't see the white lines on the road pass him by from his peripheral vision, he would've been convinced that the car stayed motionless.
It was too quiet; this silence brought the man a sense of unease. He reached out with his arm and pressed on the radio button to turn it on-there was no sound; he didn't know when it broke.
Just when he was going to hum a song to himself, a silhouette suddenly appeared in front of the windshield.
He instantly slammed on the brakes, issuing a sharp screech. Roy's body bounced harshly against the driver's seat, he hit the steering wheel too fast, and the centrifugal force made him feel as if the whole world flipped upside down, but fortunately, the car eventually came to a stop.
This guy who nearly created a disaster was plainly visible before the headlights. He was a burly and tall black brother wearing a hooded long-sleeved shirt emblazoned with shambolic patterns. At first glance, it looked like an abstract design, but after studying it carefully, he found that it was a group of mangled skeletons without arms or legs. However, Roy felt that compared to his lower half, which sported a pair of appalling jeans decorated with metal chains, the t-shirt he wore was quite normal.
The man walked a couple of steps, bent his head over the car window, and then rapped his knuckles on it.
Roy warily rolled the window not even halfway down. Still traumatized, he accusingly reproached, "Don't you know that's dangerous?! If you want to commit suicide, then trouble another car! My car's been repaired three times already! One more time and off it goes into the junkyard!"
The man grinned, his teeth shined brightly underneath his hood, "If I didn't stand in the middle of the road, your Chevrolet would've rushed passed me, just like the previous cars."
That's because you're standing on the roadside, in the middle of the night, without any lights around; that's like a dark coffee bean existing inside a coke bottle. Roy roasted the man in his mind, but because he was raised with good manners, he still kindly asked, "Need some help?"
"Of course! Is there anyone in the world who needs more help than I do-I was kicked out my car by a group of drunk assholes whose drunk-ass brains thought it was just a joke! Fucking hell, they even drove my car away! Damn, I'll probably have to go tomorrow to look for it, and I bet I'll find it in a pond or between two trees! That's exactly how my last car got scrapped! Honestly, these sons of bitches..."
Roy frowned; he wished that the window had an added function that could block all that vulgar swearing. Obviously, compared to his asshole friends, this guy who went on swearing from beginning to end the moment he greeted another wasn't any nobler.
He wanted to step down on the accelerator and drive away; unfortunately, his intention was noticed before he could actually do it.
"Hey hey! Man, come on, don't be like this! I've been waiting so long at this damned place and only two cars passed by me in the past hour; I don't want to stay in this countryside for the whole night...How about giving me a ride? I'll get off as soon as I see a gas station or a motel." The man pleaded.
Through the window, Roy saw the contours of his firm muscles under his fitted cotton t-shirt, and he hesitated. Finally, he unlocked the car door.
"Praise the devil!" The man opened the door, hopped into the passenger's seat, and then extended his right hand, "Quinn."
YOU ARE READING
Sha Qing
ActionHe uses desire to ensnare others, he uses blood as temptation, he uses his appearance as a disguise. Like a wolf, he hunts for prey in the shadows. He is among the FBI's most wanted list of serial killers. He lives by his own law, the Lex Talionis...
