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... ing — a storm made of pure muscle. His massive fists carved through the air like they meant to take my head off in a single swing.
Oh great. The gorilla’s fast too.
I barely managed to duck out of the way. Rolled to the side, breath knocked loose, then moved again to widen the distance.
Saddler snorted. That feral grin stretched across his face like a scar.
So that’s how he wants to play it. Still convinced I’m just a pup for the slaughter.
I remembered la ...
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