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“Rey’aziel—” Without another thought, Evil Murtaugh squeezed. Wait. I wasn’t finished. But the world slowed and the bullet came to a rest in front of me. “Didn’t we discuss your timing issues earlier?” I glanced to my right as Reyes looked on, his robe undulating around him in glorious waves as if he were an ocean unto himself.
Second Grave on the Left (Charley Davidson, #2)
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