What does Harry want?

Good morning, whore.

"There have been better mornings... Harry."

He entered without knocking. Like a brother like two drops of water. Twins. What an irony... And then the brothers. But she immediately understood, felt that this was a completely different person. He moved, spoke, held himself fundamentally differently than yesterday's fat man. Even the voice was rougher and lower. And he was dressed differently - in a military jacket and jeans with high dock boots. And the look ... hard, cold, tenacious. The look of a deadly creature.

Bring a chair. He placed it, turned back to front, in the middle of the room. He saddled up (the chair already groaned under such a carcass) and began to look at his captive, as a freshly acquired, long-desired thing.

Kit sat on the bed, her back straight, trying to remain icy calm. Fear bubbled up inside like a uranium reaction, releasing adrenaline, energy, god knows what else... If he touched her with his finger, just move a millimeter closer - she wou