As they spoke, Rex strode in, dragging the bloodied man by the collar.
He looked up and saw Sherry lighting her cigarette from Andrew's.
Andrew met Rex's gaze, his hand still holding the cigarette aloft. A lazy grin spread across his face.
Rex merely glanced at him, then coldly averted his eyes. He dumped the man onto the floor with a heavy thud.
The black pistol clattered beside him.
Sherry eyed the gun splattered with fresh blood, a shadow passing through her light green eyes.
"D*mn. More and more bringing illegal firearms into Burman," Rex muttered, tucking the gun into his waistband at the small of his back, his expression grim.
"Yep. Wonder what's up with that old bachelor Louis,"
Sherry drawled, cigarette dangling from her lips, deliberately casting a sideways glance at Andrew.
Andrew, hands in pockets, leaned lazily against the doorframe. Noticing her look, he flashed a sharp, toothy grin. "Burman doesn't allow gunfire? Then how'd that Lauren guy die?"
Shot dead by Dixie.
Sherry raised an eyebrow but stayed silent.
Both Rex and Sherry focused on Andrew. Rex, visibly annoyed by the meddling, narrowed his ice-blue eyes.
Under the predatory gaze of the two, Andrew took a slow drag, smoke curling to veil his golden eyes.
"Rumor says he was shot. Who pulled the trigger?"
"..."
"Me."
Rex's voice was icy, thick with menace.
Andrew raised a brow, pushing off the doorframe slightly. He inclined his head toward Rex, golden eyes slitted like a lion's. "Oh? Is that so?"
Their eyes locked. Deep within Rex's churned a feral killing intent; Andrew's held only languid mockery and controlled disdain.
Like a coiled panther and a lounging lion.
Sherry watched the standoff with amusement, legs crossed, the ember of her cigarette glowing in the dim light.
Melissa, suffocated by the tension but too intimidated to intervene, paled, her brow furrowed.
Rex, a man of few words, offered nothing more. Andrew broke the stifling silence with a casual wave and a smirk.
"Good. You're fired."
Being fired as a Burman enforcer meant exile – useless to both the underworld and the law.
This time, Sherry truly raised an eyebrow, dropping the pretense of silence. She turned her gaze fully on Andrew.
"Who gave you the authority to fire Burman personnel?"
"Ah," Andrew leaned toward her slightly, golden eyes crinkling, "Perhaps that 'old bachelor' you mentioned."
Louis?
He has exile authority now?
Before Sherry could respond, Rex's boot scraped against the floor.
He gave Andrew a sidelong glance, icy eyes dismissive. Hands jammed in pockets, he took a long stride toward the infirmary door.
Not a single wasted word.
Just as Rex crossed the threshold, a soft, ragged cough shattered the suffocating quiet.
"..."
Dixie was awake.
Terrible timing.
Rex licked his molars, expression dark.
Andrew crossed his arms, seemingly aware of Dixie but not sparing a glance, treating her like the bleeding man on the floor.
Predators only lock eyes with other predators.
Sherry rose from her bed and stood over Dixie. A hint of amusement touched her light green eyes.
"Awake, little one?"
Dixie's vision filled with Sherry's beautiful face, smeared with blood, then dropped to her blood-soaked shoulder.
Dixie's breath hitched.
"You're hurt."
It took a moment for the small voice, hoarse and tentative, to emerge.
"Nothing serious. Flesh wound. Takes more than one bullet to kill me," Sherry chuckled, shrugging easily.
Rex leaned against the doorframe, hands in pockets, his ice-blue gaze fixed on Dixie over Sherry's shoulder.
Andrew's lazy attention, however, remained entirely on Sherry's every move, his golden eyes holding an open, predatory heat.
None spared for Dixie.
Seeing Sherry look his way, Andrew tilted his head, gesturing toward Rex.
Rex pushed off the frame. Without a word, he turned to leave, the grip of the pistol at his back obscuring half his lean waist.
"Hey, Rex."
Sherry stopped him this time.
"Gentlemen, let's all calm down," Sherry said with a smile, crossing her arms, accentuating her figure. "We have a patient here."
Andrew finally looked at Dixie, his tone dismissive, like discussing scrap. "This one?"
Dixie couldn't see Andrew from her position, couldn't move. Only his deep voice from the doorway reached her. The unfamiliar male voice made her lashes flutter, lips pressing together, dark eyes sharpening with wariness.
Rex paused, turning a cold, slitted gaze toward Sherry.
"Lauren died from an overdose. Had nothing to do with the gunshot," Sherry spread her hands lightly, brows arched. "Surely you know that, Mr. Andrew?"
Before Andrew could reply, Dixie stirred on the bed. Her dark eyes shifted.
Lauren?
"Hah. I don't care who died. I care," Andrew loosened his collar, his gaze shifting pointedly to Rex, a slow smirk forming, "who pulled the trigger."
"..."
Rex's sidelong glance intensified, the killing intent palpable.
Dixie lay rigid, holding her breath.
Rex and Andrew locked eyes. The actual perpetrators – Melissa and Dixie – dared not breathe.
Sherry, chin resting on her hand, watched Dixie's expressive dark eyes with detached interest, a faint curve to her lips.
"Sorry..." Dixie's voice rasped, her black eyes fixed pleadingly on Sherry, breaking the silence. "Lau..."
"Mafia business. Children shouldn't interrupt."
Sherry tapped Dixie lightly on the forehead, silencing her.
Dixie's eyes widened slightly, fixed on Sherry's profile. Sherry gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head and a warning lift of her brow.
Mercifully, Andrew ignored Dixie. He merely cast a brief, appraising glance her way, one eyebrow slightly raised.
Sherry's light green eyes curved in amusement, finally puncturing the charade. "Alright, Mr. Andrew. Lauren's death is none of your concern. Gunfire at Burman isn't exactly news."
"Stop wasting our time."
Andrew shrugged, the easy, arrogant smile still in place. "Fine. For your sake."
Rex, unsurprised, shot Andrew a contemptuous glance, the impatience in his icy eyes flaring.
"Boring."
Andrew snorted dismissively.
He shrugged, pushed off the doorframe, and flicked his cigarette butt into a bin. He nodded at Sherry. "Leaving."
Sherry blew him a playful kiss. "Later."
...
Silence descended on the infirmary after Andrew left.
The oppressive atmosphere finally snapped Melissa's patience. She slammed her chart onto a table. "Someone explain! What the hell was that?"
"Mostly a joke," Sherry stretched languidly back on her bed, long legs extending.
"Not entirely," Rex remained by the door, expressionless, shadows churning in his ice-blue eyes. "At least it tells us Louis is sticking his nose into Burman."
Sherry's smile faded slightly. She nodded.
Louis was attempting to meddle in Burman exiles. Andrew, for reasons unknown, had subtly revealed it.
Coupled with the influx of illegal firearms, a current of unease was building.
Melissa frowned, her face pale. During the last conflict between East and West district tycoons, Louis's faction had colluded with the mob. Burman lost many.
At least Andrew didn't seem aligned with Louis.
Each lost in their thoughts, Rex leaned against the door, his gaze fixed on Dixie.
Immobile, Dixie lay with wide, dark eyes reflecting the harsh infirmary light, intently absorbing every word.
The click of boots approached. The faint scent of blood drifted from Rex. Dixie blinked, tilting her head slightly to see Rex's defined abdomen and chest.
"..."
One hand in his pocket, Rex used the other to lift the hem of Dixie's shirt.
Dixie flinched violently. Muscles tensed, her whole body curled inward instinctively, but there was nowhere to retreat.
Beneath the shirt, her small frame was swathed in bandages from waist to neck, like a mummy. Her left arm and right leg were encased in plaster casts – likely broken. Bruises peeked out from beneath haphazardly placed band-aids on her face.
Rex's eyes darkened. He licked his teeth.
Kid's got nine lives.
Pulling her from the electrical box, he'd thought she was done for, covered in blood.
Rex slid his hand under the shirt. Dixie's eyes flew wide, lips pressed tight. She instinctively kicked out, struggling, but Rex pinned her effortlessly. He probed her ribs.
"One broken?"
He looked at Melissa, withdrawing his hand.
Melissa, arms crossed, nodded impatiently. "One arm, one leg. Come back in a month to get the casts off."
Rex turned to Dixie, who lay frozen on the bed, wide-eyed like a startled animal. His brow lifted slightly.
Rex narrowed his ice-blue eyes, hands back in pockets. He jerked his chin toward Dixie. "Go find Watanabe. You'll miss the trial."
Dixie's breath caught.
Her huge, dark eyes locked onto Rex. Grubby black hair fell against bruised cheeks.
She looked like a battered stray dragged from a dumpster, still snarling defiance.
Beaten, but burning with fight.
Her eyes seemed to scream something Rex didn't quite grasp.
He licked his molars, a flicker of irritation in his icy gaze.
Dixie stared straight at Rex, unblinking. Her voice was still raw, trembling slightly, but utterly resolute, filled with stubborn grit.
"...I'll make it."