This seemed familiar. Damon was sure he had seen that look before somewhere. The look Waton was giving him was one he had seen far too many times.
Though it had never been directed at him, he was certain he had seen the pimps on the streets of Valerion look at the prostitutes they worked with the same way.
He almost felt as if the limp Waton would scream, "Bitch, get my money," at him.
A pimp's job was hard; they really had to sell the product. In this case, the product was Damon, and Waton was fighting for his life.
The Wendigo, or rather Wendy as Damon called her, seemed uncertain.
Waton saw hope. Coughing up blood and lying on the ground, he wheezed, struggling to speak.
"You c...can kill him after you get your children..."
Damon's expression was deadpan. This was ridiculous. Was he really being pimped to a Wendigo by Waton?
He tried getting ready for another attack, but the Wendigo grabbed Waton and held him in front of her, muttering the same words as before.
