Dead men don’t talk.

Lenox pov

“Do you guys have mutated dust here? I swear, my balls feel like someone’s brushing sandpaper against them,” I groan and reach into my pants to ease the itch.

As I relieve the annoying sensation, both men turn their gazes on me.

“What?” I snap at the morons who stare at me in disgust. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen a guy scratch his balls before. Come on; it’s the most natural thing to do. Besides, it’s not like I have an STD or anything. And for your information, no, I don’t plan to fuck you, so my itch stays where it belongs – in my pants.” I grin and carry on with my business.

“Normal people don’t do that with a spoon,” one of them scoffs.

Well, that’s offensive.

“Pray God I won’t shove the spoon down your throat and share the taste with you.” I wink at the guy who keeps making weird grimaces.

In all honesty, I should’ve killed these two, but after the call with my brother, I would rather stick around for a little longer than return home and face Laz’s wrath.

Some