“How’s the nose, puppy?” I drop the kitchen rag away, seeing the dark stain of my blood. “I think it stopped—wait—why are you calling me that?” She shrugs a naked shoulder. “Because it fits. You’re like a lost little puppy looking for a home, all sweet and sensitive. What’s your pleasure?” I go still, bloody rag in hand. “What?” “I like to think I can read people,” she replies. “You’re hard to read, Langley.” “Call me Ryan,” I say, shifting past her to toss the soiled rag onto the counter. She takes a deep breath, letting it out. “Fine. Ryan it is then. Tell me a secret, Ryan.” “A secret?”
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