With his fantastic mane of multicolored hair, Phury should have been in Hollywood’s league with the ladies, but he’d stuck solid to his vow of celibacy. There was room for one and only one love in his life, and it had been slowly killing him for years. “Where’s your twin, man?” Wrath asked. “Z’s on his way.” That Zsadist was late was no big surprise. Z was one giant, violent fuck-you to the world. A walking, sometimes talking, usually cursing SOB who took hatred, especially toward females, to new levels. Fortunately, between his scarred face and his skull-trimmed hair, he looked as scary as he
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