Merried | 
"Most women want to pick their own wedding ring.”
“When you‘ve had seven or eight, the details matter less.”
Seven or—Jesus. He hadn‘t looked into her mother.
If she even had one. “She kill the first six or seven?” Max asked.
Her straight, dark eyebrows lowered, and he had the distinct impression they‘d just put him in his place before she ever opened her mouth. “Only two. And not in any ways punishable by law.”
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