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Summary
“So why don’t you take your little toy…” Ben leaned in, tone dripping with venom-laced molasses.
“…and get the hell outta my bar before I shove it so far up your ass you’ll be pickin’ bullets outta your teeth.”
The man let out a low laugh, shaking his head as he stood upright again. “Ain’t no need to threaten me with a good time, Brookie.”