He didn't yell, but his anger filled his voice, so every word was like a red-hot poker flung at my face. Dolph stayed standing near the table, looming over all of us, as I spoke. They seemed to swim toward eachother in a ballet of slow motion. I didn't bother to ask what his real first name was, probably something embarrassing, like Florence, or Rosie.
I dropped the phone on the seat beside me and put the Jeep in gear. Zerbrowski looked in at me from the doorway. He looked deeply content. One of Asher's hands propped him up on the bed but the other had spilled up to cup my breast, his hand kneading, pulling, just this side of pain.
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