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pretty, sweet Amir Roswell

I Made A Deal with the Devil

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Chapter 39: pretty, sweet Amir Roswell

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Maybe it was the moment Amir drank so much he couldn't think, couldn't even notice when the glass of vodka mixer in his hand was tinged blue with hard drugs.

But Amir knows for sure the night has gone wrong when he has his body pressed against the wall of the night club, and not for hard pleasure.

One man's leg pushes between his thighs, hair fisted between his grubby hands, another grips his waist, sharp little nails blooming purple fingerprints against his fair skin, the other stands back, voice quick and sharp down the phone, gun lazy in his hand, and a pocket full of drugs.

And Amir can't even say a god damn word.

Body unresponsive, limbs useless and mouth numb.

His mind screams whilst his body fails him.

The cold air hits him and he gasps through numb lips, blue and tingling. Amir groans and curses his unresponsive tongue, his filthy mouth dying to scream every insult under the sun at the men that dared to
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