The Mesmerizing Man

Chapter 7

Outside, darkness had fallen. Michael Carter gripped his phone, feeling a sense of unease.

William Brown was Thomas Scott's right-hand man. Thomas Scott was the boss of David Harris and John Miller, and he rarely met with small fry like them personally.

The incident with him and John Miller must have reached Thomas Scott's ears, which was probably why William Brown had come looking for him.

Speaking of William Brown, he found him to be rather peculiar. Although he was successful under Thomas Scott, he wasn't arrogant and always had a smile on his face. He even took care of some trivial matters personally, like calling to say he was coming to visit him at home today.

Actually, the two of them got along quite well. Every time David Harris took him to see Thomas Scott, they would meet. After a while, they became acquainted, and naturally, there were many occasions for drinking and dining together.

On the surface, there was nothing wrong with William Brown wanting to visit him. But upon closer inspection, it wasn't something that had just happened. He could have visited him at the hospital that day, there was no need to come to his house, especially since he had just moved. Coupled with the fact that he had been followed during the day, William Brown's purpose for coming was no longer so simple.

Giving the wrong apartment number was intentional. He had mainly wanted to take a gamble after hearing the obvious drunkenness in William Brown's voice on the phone.

Now it seemed he had guessed right?

However, he hadn't expected to be called away so suddenly. Now he could only hope that Jack Thompson would be obedient and not be in danger, otherwise, he would never be able to atone for his sins.

They had reached the entrance of the community, where a red and black motorcycle was parked. He didn't need to look to know whose it was.

Besides loving to drink, William Brown also had a passion for motorcycles.

Seeing William Brown take out his key and about to insert it, Michael Carter hurriedly snatched the key and straddled the motorcycle. "I'll drive, I don't want to die yet."

William Brown was still a little drunk, grinning foolishly. "Look at your temper, no wonder you got punched in the face, how worthless."

Speaking of this, Michael Carter's anger flared up again. Although he didn't rely on his looks to make a living, it was still unpleasant for anyone to have a scar on their handsome face.

"What? Miller's like that, you can stand it?" Michael Carter started the motorcycle and revved the engine, the motorcycle roaring deafeningly.

It had to be said that William Brown had spent some money on this bike.

Perhaps sensing the anger in Michael Carter's words, William Brown's smile faded slightly. He grabbed Michael Carter's arm and said, "Come on, it's just s****l harassment, just endure it. You had to beat him up, in the end, who's the one who suffers?"

"Bullshit!" Michael Carter couldn't bear it and cursed loudly. "I'm straight, okay? How could I be interested in a guy? Besides, look at him, it's his lucky day I didn't beat him to death."

"Not interested in guys? Then what about the one at your place?"

Michael Carter looked at William Brown, feeling a little baffled. Why was he bringing up Jack Thompson? He gave him a look like he was an i***t and cursed, "Are you stupid? That's my roommate, roommate." Then he revved the engine again. "Are you coming or not? If not, I'm leaving."

He said that, released the brake a little, and the motorcycle lurched forward.

"Hey, hey, hey..." William Brown hurriedly chased after him and jumped on the bike, slapping Michael Carter's shoulder and cursing, "What's with your temper? Damn it, not interested, yet you're holding hands with him, and saying things like..." He imitated Michael Carter's tone, "'Don't wait up for me tonight, go to bed early.' Saying you're not interested, who would believe that?"

"You..." Michael Carter gritted his teeth in anger, his heart hardened. He twisted the throttle and sped off.

William Brown was so scared that his soul almost left his body. Thankfully, he reacted quickly and grabbed Michael Carter's clothes, preventing himself from being thrown off. He could only curse under his breath, "Crazy..."

However, on the speeding motorcycle, Michael Carter's mood was not as relaxed as he appeared. From the moment they left the community, he felt that William Brown wasn't as drunk as he appeared, especially with how fluently he had spoken back to him just now.

But what was the purpose of pretending to be drunk? Did he hear what he said to Jack Thompson? Or was he just overthinking it?

But his intuition told him that this trip to see Thomas Scott might be more dangerous than beneficial.

---

Although extremely panicked, Jack Thompson still rushed to Michael Carter's house immediately and started packing.

"Necessities, necessities..." He kept muttering these words as he scurried around the room.

Toothbrush, check. Towel, check. Clothes, check...

After putting away the things he needed, he remembered that the second bedroom didn't have any bedding, so he went back to Michael Carter's house again.

While he was making the bed, Jack Thompson noticed a small bottle on the nightstand, with a small box next to it.

Placed so prominently, they must be necessities, right?

He picked them up and saw that the bottle said "Ice Cool & Refreshing Oil" and the small box had a large word "Nude" on it.

This familiar yet strange feeling...

Although he had never had s*x at his age, Jack Thompson still knew what these things were, and some men needed them when they were alone.

They were necessities, right? They must be!

After hesitating for two seconds, Jack Thompson rolled them up in the bedding and took them back.

Once everything was in place, he quickly changed his shoes, felt all his belongings in his pocket, and resolutely walked out the door.

He went to the stir-fry restaurant at the entrance of the community. After having lunch with Michael Carter, he had been thinking about it.

He thought it would be his last meal before he died, but he didn't expect to be back so soon.

Jack Thompson chose the corner table again. He was a little nervous, looking at the dazzling array of words on the menu, his legs shaking.

At this time, the owner came over with a pen and paper, glanced at him, and greeted him casually, "Hey, you're back? What will you have?"

Unexpectedly, the owner still remembered him. Jack Thompson felt a surge of excitement in addition to his nervousness.

"Um..." He mustered up his courage and said to the owner, "The... the same as lunchtime."

"Okay, okay, the usual then." The owner smiled and wrote it down in his notebook, then quickly walked to the kitchen and shouted, "One meat, one vegetable, the usual!"

While waiting for his food, Jack Thompson was still uncontrollably nervous. This was a whole new experience. Someone knew him, remembered what he ate. It seemed like he was no longer a lonely, insignificant person.

When the food was served, the seat opposite him was empty. Jack Thompson thought for a moment. Although he didn't know what Michael Carter's purpose was today, he had treated him to a meal and given him the help he needed to survive.

Well, then he would share it with him.

He carefully divided the dishes in half, ate one half himself, and asked for a takeaway box for the other half when he paid.

It was for Michael Carter.

Walking out of the restaurant, he checked the time. He remembered Michael Carter telling him to wait for him at the supermarket and not to go home before 12 o'clock, but it was only a little past 8 o'clock.

He walked to the entrance of the supermarket and looked inside through the glass door. The proprietress was sitting behind the cash register, looking down, probably playing with her phone.

Jack Thompson took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The proprietress was a little surprised to see him. "Why are you back again?" Then she saw the food in his hand and started chattering, "Going out to eat? That's right, you can't always eat instant noodles. You need to eat proper meals to get your nutrition..."

Jack Thompson just stood there, smiling sheepishly. After these few encounters, he felt that the proprietress was the kindest and gentlest person. Although she always said things that sounded like criticism, they were actually full of concern.

Seeing Jack Thompson just smiling foolishly and not responding, the proprietress finally stopped talking and asked, "Why are you just standing there? Not buying anything?"

Jack Thompson hurriedly switched the bag in his hand to the other and explained in a low voice, "Michael Carter... asked me to wait for him here."

He had overestimated himself a little. In such a short time, how could he immediately become a capable person?

"Oh." A look of confusion crossed the proprietress's face. She turned off the video on her phone, turned around, pulled out a small stool from under the counter, and placed it next to her. Then she looked at Jack Thompson. "Come and sit here."

They sat side by side. Because the stool was rather low, Jack Thompson could only curl up his legs, hugging his knees.

At first, the atmosphere was a little awkward. Perhaps it was because they usually only exchanged a few casual words when they met, so this trend of an impending heart-to-heart talk made him feel flustered.

Finally, the proprietress spoke first, "What's your name?"

"Jack Thompson."

"Oh, are you very familiar with that kid?"

That kid obviously referred to Michael Carter. Jack Thompson fidgeted with his pants legs, hesitated for a few seconds, and replied, "Yeah, we're roommates."

"No wonder." The proprietress's chatterbox opened up. She adjusted her sitting posture, crossed her legs, picked up a pen from the table, and fiddled with it. "I was wondering, I've never seen him so close to anyone other than those little punks. But you're not with them, are you?"

Jack Thompson still didn't know what Michael Carter did, but he certainly wasn't with them, so he nodded firmly.

The proprietress seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, but then sighed again. She put down the pen in her hand and said earnestly, "Not to say he's a bad person, in fact, overall, he's a good kid. He's always polite, and he doesn't get angry even if I say a few words to him sometimes. I just don't understand why he insists on hanging out with that group of people."

The proprietress kept on talking. When customers came to buy things, she would stop, and after checking them out, she would continue.

As for Jack Thompson, he sat obediently on the small stool, rarely chiming in but listening attentively. He never interrupted the proprietress and answered honestly when he needed to.

Unknowingly, more than an hour passed. The proprietress casually picked up a bottle of water from the side and handed it to him, then continued her rambling...

In the dark night, inside the small shop, under the bright lights, a middle-aged woman gestured animatedly as she spoke to a shy young man. The scene seemed both harmonious and amusing.

At the same time, Michael Carter was kneeling in front of Thomas Scott, the gauze that had been covering the wound on his face ripped off and thrown on the floor beside him.

The unhealed wound was bleeding profusely from being slapped by Thomas Scott.

Thomas Scott was exceptionally tall and sturdy. Although he was sitting, he wasn't much shorter than the person standing next to him. His solid chest and biceps stretched his white shirt taut.

He wasn't ugly, but he wasn't handsome either. His face was the kind that screamed villain, sinister and menacing.

He asked coldly, his thick fingers clamped around a cigar, "Do you know why I hit you?"