“I’m going to have to kill him,” I declared for what was possibly the fiftieth time already, and we’d barely started our drive to Hastings. “That’s the only solution. I have to beat him with a marble duck.” “Too soon,” Heath groaned from the back seat of my car. He was squashed in there like a sardine but had insisted I take the passenger seat since Royce had begged to drive again. I turned in my seat to flash him a grin. “Sorry. Okay, then I’ll stuff sixty-seven tiny ducks down his throat and make him choke on them. Death by duck just seems really appropriate.” “Just deny him sex,” Royce
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