Zhang Quan's leather shoes crushed the broken hair on the carpet. The scratches from the prostitute's nails burned fiercely on his cheek. The two women were still cursing, with one grabbing a glass vase from the dressing table and smashing it at his head. The vase missed, shattering against the wall, sending shards down Zhang Quan's neck.
"Fuck you, wanting to die!"
The last bit of patience in Zhang Quan's eyes was completely burned away.
He lunged forward, grabbing one woman's throat with his left hand, while his right hand seized the copper ashtray from the nightstand and smashed it into her temple.
"Thud!"
A dull sound like hitting wet mud, the woman's curses stopped abruptly, her eyes rolled white, her tongue slid out of the corner of her mouth, and saliva mixed with blood dripped down.
A fake eyelash fell from her bosom, sticking to the bloodied back of Zhang Quan's hand like a dead fly.
