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My unborn child just Chuck Norris’d my bladder so hard I pissed myself. I snorted as I wiped. I bet that was Sloane’s kid.
“Oh.” It was all I could say. I was deformed. Now every time I took my shirt off, everybody would see what had happened to me. They’d wonder, ‘Did he deserve that punishment? Is he a bad man, a criminal?’
The thought of Sprout seeing my back like this was enough to make me sick.
“That’s fucked up,” one of the men mused, this one wearing a gas mask. “I like it.”
Fucking cute ass, innocent-looking, evil little vampire boy.
“Your dick?” I questioned. “Why the hell does your dick hurt?” “Well, because of that needle,” he replied, looking at me like I’d lost my mind. “You said dense muscle.” “You gave yourself the shot in your dick? In the middle of a battle? Why would you do that? Like, wh–what—” I couldn’t even speak. I was done.
It would be the girls and Papa Faris, having our little tea parties, and mac and cheese lunch. I would be their favorite. They could have little cups of tea or juice or water, then I would have a little teacup of their Mommy or Daddy Bram’s blood. I could see it now. Nothing but good days ahead.
What the hell was I thinking, having a seven-way after a damn battle? It seems I was still Saige, peen witch and snake tamer.
As you will soon see, she’s become quite... ferocious. Bette told me in the kitchen that she suffers from hanger. A disease easily cured by snacking.”
