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“Who did this to you?” the Blood God growls, low and dangerous. And anyone in their right mind would be afraid, would be shitting their pants, but Tommy just flicks his eyes to the floor and mumbles that it doesn’t matter. Echo hums softly, brushing his fingers gently over the bruises coloring Tommy’s cheek, stopping at the gash over his eyebrow before carding through his hair. Tommy doesn’t mean to lean into the touch, he knows these men are dangerous, are deadly, but he can’t help but feel safe, wrapped up in their brutal care.

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