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Seven Crumpled Dollar Bills on a Pine Table in Michigan

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voice a slow, low rumble.

The boy pulled at the neck of his shirt, dragging the collar down. Just below his throat, a dark purple bruise shaped like a heavy thumb pressed into his skin, though Mike was still looking at the money.

“My name is Tyler,” the boy whispered, his breath shallow. “Are you the ones who stop people?”

Mike leaned forward, his elbows continue reading …

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