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Chapter 38 by weepingwillow

How many come to help?

Just one

The man you pointed at—a rough-looking guy with a scar above his eyebrow—grinned and peeled himself away from the group. The others hooted, slapping his back as he swaggered toward you. Your stomach twisted. One was better than four, but his hungry stare told you this wouldn’t be quick.

"You look like you got a problem, sweetheart," he drawled, eyes dragging down your bare skin. His fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans, adjusting himself with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. The others whistled.

You swallowed hard. "I—I just need $2."

Will he give it to you?

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