The Deathly Hell

"Great!" Chen Fan hurriedly pulled Wu Ruoyu's white luggage. "Which hotel shall we get a room at?"

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" Wu Ruoyu's cheek flushed with a little anger and embarrassment, and stared at Chen Fan. "Who wants to get a room with you?"

After saying that, Wu Ruoyu realized that his phrase had been ambiguous. After a moment, her white neck flushed bright red to her face.

Miami is a national metropolis, and though it's already about 10 p.m., the road was still brightly lit, with all kinds of people passing by.

Two of them walked on the street in a foreign country, and the street lamps above elongated their shadows and made them cross over each other.

"Hey baby! Yo! Hey!"

While the two of them walked quietly on the side of the road, a group of bikers wearing metal-studded leather, riding Harleys, and playing loud music, drove passed Chen Fan and Wu Ruoyu. One of them whistled at Wu Ruoyu.

"Those jerks!"