I pulled the blade out of Deuce's chest. He'd succeeded on the last. You might wave a hand at it, but you wouldn't talk to it. I'd hit the bathroom on the way out.
He raised my hand, I think to kiss it, but it was the hand that I'd cut to prove I wouldn't heal. I drew the big blade that would have normally rode down my back. And if I was truly that hurt, I needed to know it. I glanced at the men still holding me down.
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