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Dead Men Don't Speak | Lee Felix

“Perhaps he should have been afraid then, when she smiled and her eyes reflected nothing but an endless, unfeeling void.” In which a detective's assistant seeks the aid of an infamous killer to find his missing friend. ◤Disclaimers: Female reader insert. Chapter two from the dead men don’t speak’ seriesA sprinkle of angst. Descriptions of violence, murder, injury, and blood. Mentions of death and dead characters. Sparse use of vulgar language. ◤Word count: 2.5K ◤Note: This idea is mine and any case of similarity with someone else’s is purely coincidental. Events are pure fiction. Please do not take my content without my consent. Masterlist. ◤ From the author: This series has been a while in the making and I'm super excited to finally share it with you all! Fair warning, though, many characters here are very violent and borderline unhinged so if that isn't your cup of tea, feel free to steer away and find something else to read! Thank you for dropping by, and happy reading!

Felix was afraid of many things—the dark alley behind his apartment building, the rowdy drunks in the dead of night, the stern department head at the station—but he was not afraid of the gun being pointed at his head. 

Behind the barrel was a woman he’d only heard of in frightened whispers. The Shadow Front’s Left Claw, the burgundy-dressed killer. 

“Nice work, detective,” she said, and when Felix remained silent, she laughed. “Don’t worry, kid, I won’t kill you just yet.”

Kid? He frowned. He was twenty years old. He’d hardly consider himself a kid.

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