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     “Well, Darling,” James started as you wiped the satisfying feeling of another’s blood splattered on the side of your face, using your forearm, continuing to hold the rugged machete, “this is certainly a turn of events.” His body wandered closer to yours, and his hands coquettishly held your hips. You smirked, brushing your lips on his, and whispering,

    “Why don’t we make a different mess in the other room?”