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Summary
“I’m waitin’,” Blackbeard said, a coldness in the dark depths of his eyes. “Y’live to serve me, don’t you?”
Izzy choked back a complaint. He fought the urge to demand to have his hands freed so he could accomplish the task. He looked up at his captain, at the man who could be merciless and cruel and sometimes weak until Izzy reminded him of who he was.
He was his fucking captain, and he’d given him an order.
