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“Pax, you sure like to stir the pot, don't you?” I ask him as Muse steps back and leans against the wall next to me, pressing our arms together as Michael does the same on the other side, crossing his arms over his chest, sleeves still pushed up. “Me? No, never,” he says, but his voice is low and dangerous, edgy.
Roadie (Rock-Hard Beautiful, #2)
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