“You think your daddy would still be proud of you, if he knew what you got up to at night?”
McCree’s voice is mean, sharp like the blunt nails that he digs into his fistful of silky black hair, and Hanzo loves it.
“You think your daddy would still be proud of you, if he knew what you got up to at night?”
McCree’s voice is mean, sharp like the blunt nails that he digs into his fistful of silky black hair, and Hanzo loves it.