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Chapter 128

If I had any hope that my new patron had a more agreeable side left out by my first impression, the next few days dashed said hope to pieces.

Matsushima Suthima ("Matsu to my friends--you're my friend 'cause we've slept together." He'd even winked) was as dark as he was gregarious. He always found a way to connect his plentiful conversation to something that had to do with viscera, sex, or other topics better left to the gossip rings of hair salons. He had a sense of humor black as new sharpie and loved finding a reason to doubt everyone and anything. I didn't believe for a minute that he actually thought of me as a friend. He actually applauded me for that.

"She's not stupid," he had crowed over our lunch. "She can be taught. No man is your friend, saint. Not as long as you wield a face like yours."

Which was probably where he got the idea to come trouncing into the tent the next morning with a mask he'd had his nursemaid, Bara, sew up.