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Finley still needed a few high fives. To the face. With a chair.
His healing needed to begin with his past, long before he met me, and I refused to be his punching bag on his way to peace.
Touch her and die was my new motto.
Experience and instinct told me that being the sole focus of a pissed-off Hunter Reeves was not good for your health.
Twenty minutes later, he was done with the initial warmup, and I was done with living.
“You have the flexibility of an octogenarian. That’s not normal for a shifter.”