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... s body tensed, and his senses sharpened like blades.
That voice was slick, cocky, and smoother than butter on a summer skillet and it had definitely belonged to Alan Snow.
But the question was: Where the hell was he?
Creed’s eyes darted around the stone chamber, scanning every corner, every shadow, every nook and cranny like a paranoid raccoon in a haunted bakery.
His vision, already enhanced due to his superb sight and combat readiness, caught every little flicke ...
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