JarekThe compound was still waking up when I lit my first cigarette.Boots up on the railing, coffee in one hand, smoke in the other, I watched her. Down in the yard, alone, sleeves rolled up and ponytail barely holding, Sable was dragging a busted exhaust system across the concrete. Rust, grime, grease—it coated her jeans and stained her fingers, and she didn’t stop once to complain.Not for show.Not for attention.Just working.A man could go feral watching that kind of grit in a woman. Good thing I already was.“You’re up early,” a voice purred behind me.Tori.She stepped out onto the porch wearing nothing but a shirt—correction, one of my shirts—and enough smudged mascara to look like a cheap imitation of rebellion. She draped herself on me like she belonged there.“Come back to bed,” she whispered, pressing against my chest.I didn’t even glance at her. “Nah. You’re done here.”Her pout was instant. “Jarek…”“Don’t whine. You know the rules.”She slid her hand lower. “Let me c
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