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Summary
“You’re not my fuckin’ dad,” he snaps, finally gaining the remaining of his voice. It tastes like freedom, like breathing when the noose is loose while he steadies his weight on his tiptoes, albeit fleeting.
Henry doesn’t frown. The muscles in his shoulder slacken as he tilts his head. A challenge. Will hates that the sight makes him squirm. “Am I not?”
Series
- Part 2 of Blood/Sun-Soaked
