Undercover in His Bed
It was the soundtrack to hell, and I was smack-dab in the middle.
Then, the door creaked open, and in they strolled. Two Russian assholes, laughing and joking in their bastard language.
"Dobryy vecher, suka," the bigger one leered, looking me up and down like I was a piece of meat. "Good evening, bitch," his greeting translated to.
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