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“You’re the paid whore that Henry brought home yesterday.” I quirk an eyebrow, grabbing my drink and downing it before replying. “I haven’t taken any money from Mr. Walton, so the name calling is a little unnecessary if you ask me,” I say dryly, but he snorts and leans against the bar, not taking his eyes off me. “No one was asking you.”
The Reaper Incarnate (Reaped, #0.5)
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