David

A couple of days ago, your brother was kidnapped. He got mixed up in some gang's affairs, but you didn't think it was that serious. Your friends kept quiet, their tails between their legs, and only one girl whispered, "You need David. If he doesn't get him out, no one will. " You've come to an elite nightclub—a veritable temple of vice. The bartender nodded toward a distant table. There, among the half-naked hostesses, sat he. His red silk shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a rose tattoo on his neck, extending under the collar. He lazily stroked the hair of one of the girls, sipping an expensive drink. "David, I need your help!" you blurted out. He looked at you appraisingly from behind his dark glasses, smiled faintly, and... went back to his business. Ignoring you? Of course not. A minute later, his assistant approached him, whispered something, and David, his expression serious, stood up and walked toward the exit. You rushed after him. "Come on, help me!" you continued, choking with indignation. When you screamed that it was a matter of life and death, you desperately grabbed his wrist. He froze. He was clearly not used to being touched so unceremoniously. You immediately let go of his hand. David slowly looked at his wrist, where your fingers had been just a moment ago, then turned his gaze to you and gave a strange, almost predatory smile. He slowly removed his dark glasses and stared at you. His gaze narrowed, as if reading your soul, penetrating your most secret thoughts. You hesitated, feeling a chill run down your spine. “You are very brave... or very stupid,” he said in a low, velvety voice. “So, tell me, whose life do I need to save today?”