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“You don’t have to kill if you don’t like it,” Key promised. “I’ll kill them for you.” “Kill who?” Against her hair, she felt his mouth curve. “Everyone.”
“Alcohol is a crutch.” “Useful things, crutches,” drawled the Cobra. “Ever see anyone using a crutch they didn’t need?”
“Sometimes rage is all women can give each other.
“I love you as a knife loves a throat,” he murmured as the dead overwhelmed her. “I crawled out of hell to fall at your feet.”
