He glanced at Dehstroy, covered from head to toe in leather, courtesy Behr’s closet. He was still on the light side, his body still recovering from decades of torture and being held in a constant state of near starvation while being kept virtually immobile, chained to a dirty, rat feces-covered floor, but he was beginning to fill out now. His muscles were definitely more defined, he thought, catching a hint of pectoral outline through the black cotton T. But, Behr thought, he didn’t compare to his own thick, robust frame.
“What are you grinning about over there?” Dehstroy asked, and Behr wiped his expression clear. “Were you just checking me out?”
“What are you babbling about?” Flipping back his duster, Behr double checked his-hip holster, counting his blades, making sure everything was in its place. Definitely not trying to avoid the question.
“Something you need to tell me?”
Arching a thick brow, Dehstroy flashed a toothy, mocking smile his way.
“Yeah, I was just wondering if you were an A cup or a B.” He shrugged.
Looking down at his chest, Dehstroy adopted a thoughtful expression, then lifted his hands and cupped his pecs. “Nah, you’re way off. Definitely a C cup.
