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Summary
“Slapping me?” Vander slurred, and the grip on Silco’s hair tightened, mean enough that his scalp burned. It felt good. Silco struggled against him, pushed against his shoulder. “Like I’m some kind of dog?”
“A dog would be better behaved,” Silco shot back, and that was what earned him the sock in the jaw that sent stars scattering across his vision and blood filling his mouth. He choked on it, coughed, splattering Vander’s face with flecks of spit and blood. “Case in point.”