Don't Be A Prude

Rhonda

Marla, riding shotgun, slaps a fresh round into her revolver and grins. “So, we’re really going after him, huh? Little street brat thinks he can waltz in and play hero with Raven? That’s cute.” She smiles as I hammer down on the accelerator of the car I stole from my son’s lot.

I can see fin...

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