Alpha Ryan's Mate
The man stroked his chin and touched his belt, and a metallic glint flashed like a knife.
We feigned terror and knelt, begging. "Please don't kill us; even if we were slaves, as long as we could live, we wouldn't dare say anything."
The man frowned, a little awkward. "Why is it all about killing? I'm not a butcher."
I looked at his hand with teary eyes.
"Ah, misunderstanding, it's my habit." The man was a bit shy about scaring us.
Suddenly, at this moment, a strong arm stuck out from the car. Long slender fingers, expensive watches, black shirt twisted to the elbows; at a glance, you can tell he is a person of identity.
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