She approached him slowly and unevenly and sat at the desk beside him. “I am so sorry.” When he seemed a bit surprised, she shrugged once again. “How can I not offer condolences in the face of your loss? In truth, after seeing you both together, I don’t think I shall ever forget how much you loved her.”
After a moment, he murmured hoarsely, “That makes two of us.”
Wrath’s eyes whipped around. “V. Shut your motherf**king face. Or you’re out in the hall.”
Vishous, son of the Bloodletter, was not the kind of male anyone addressed like that. Except, apparently, for Wrath. In this case, the Brother with the tattoos on his face and the perverted reputation and the hand of death did exactly what he was told. He shut the f**k up.
Which said volumes about Wrath. Did it not.
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