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... she’d have my balls mounted on a wall.
I couldn’t decide if she was attempting to get under the barmaid’s skirts or into Valka’s pants. Likely the latter, judging by the amount of liquor she kept sliding down the woman’s throat.
Cyrus is long gone, slumped on the bench, cheeks flushed and head bobbing like a drunk pigeon. Every time he lurches, Trenton’s hand on his shoulder is the only thing keeping him from eating the floor. Humans. I still can’t fathom what Valka sees in a man ...
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