“
Rhage glared over the top of the Caldwell Courier Journal. From his vantage point on V and Butch’s leather sofa, he had more view than he wanted of a shirtless Lassiter playing with himself.
Foosball, that was.
The fallen angel was working V’s table like a pro, flashing back and forth between the two sides—and hurling insults at himself.
“Question,” Rhage muttered, as he rearranged his injured leg. “Are either of your personalities aware that you’re schizo-freakin’-phrenic?
”
”
J.R. Ward