That cunning little son-of-a-bitch, thinking he could waltz off with the whole family pie. What a parsimonious, little anorexic squirrel feigning loss as he squirmed in his chair and fingered the last will and testament. His eyes studied the way others devoured their food. How he loathed them.
“Lily-livered, food junkies,” he muttered excusing himself to the john where he could admire his razor sharp jaw line and deathly eyes. Gaunt was fucking glorious. Scare the bejesus out of them, what better way to turn a profit on family pity? Wimps.
He’d forgotten about the guy in the corner. Checkmate.
“Lily-livered, food junkies,” he muttered excusing himself to the john where he could admire his razor sharp jaw line and deathly eyes. Gaunt was fucking glorious. Scare the bejesus out of them, what better way to turn a profit on family pity? Wimps.
He’d forgotten about the guy in the corner. Checkmate.
