“Christ.” Castor balled his fist and leaned back in his chair. “What the hell happened to you?” Ansel steeled his spine. He knew he looked like shit. He didn’t feel that great either, but this needed to be done. “Had some trouble.” “Damn it. No one is going to want to pay to see that shit.” “I’ll cover it with makeup.” Castor scoffed. “You’ll need a fucking truckload.” “Do you want me to dance or not?” Castor let out a frustrated groan. “Yes. You dance, and you’d better make it good or I might decide to—” “No. Don’t you dare threaten Tam again.” The scowl that transformed Castor’s face might have been comical if Ansel wasn’t pumped full of adrenaline and hanging on to his temper by a fingernail. “Are you giving me attitude?” “You want to punish someone for last night, punish me.
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