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... g his phone onto the passenger seat. Adam was a lost cause. A fucking menace.
He gripped the wheel and floored the gas, the G-Wagon’s deep growl vibrating through the cabin.
Vegas mornings were weird—a mix of joggers, early risers, and drunk rich assholes stumbling home like they survived a war. Neon signs still flickered, and traffic was light enough for Justin to weave through like he owned the roads.
By the time he pulled up to Sapphire’s VVIP entrance, the place looke ...
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