"What the heck, how's that even possible?" Raven scowled, flicking his cigarette butt to the ground and crushing it with a twist of his boot. "How could she wake up so soon? You guys pulling one over on me?"
But as Raven drew closer, he locked eyes with Ivy's lucid gaze.
Man, those peepers were something else. No wonder she was a star!
He was not one for fancy words, this roughneck. All he knew was he had never seen anyone as stunning as Ivy.
"Who are you people? What do you want with me?" Ivy's voice quivered as she huddled into a corner.
She had scoped out the place already. It was a wreck, with no windows, wind whistling through every crack—a derelict building forsaken mid-construction.
"So, you really did wake up, huh? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Don't you worry about who we are. You just remember you're gonna keep us company for a bit," one of the goons snickered.
Ivy's skin crawled with fear. Why? She had no beef with these thugs. Why target her?
"You...you guys... I've done nothing to you. Why are you doing this to me?"
The buzz-cut man, Raven and the other lackeys did not give a damn about Ivy's pleas.
"Don't come any closer! Don't touch me! Let me go, and we can talk, anything you want... Don't touch me. I'm sick and it's contagious."
At the mention of sickness, the buzz-cut man recoiled. "Sick? Who are you trying to fool? You look all pristine and delicate, not a hint of illness."
"I'm serious! You know how it is, with all the schmoozing in showbiz. I'll be straight with you—I've got... A certain kind of illness... My thin frame, it's because I can't eat a thing. I've got no quarrel with you. I don't want to drag you down with me. Why are you doing this? Let's sit down and have a chat. I'm not long for this world. Can't have you guys cutting your lives short, too, right?"
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