"Damien.  The Devil's son.  A hard name to live up to and coming from somebody called Butcher, that's saying something."<br/><br/>The Nomad's handshake was nowhere near as crushing as most would expect.  Certainly it was firm handshake but Butcher made no effort to crush Damien's hand.  He had no need to.  He knew how big his dick was.  He didn't need to whip it out and measure it against Damien's by determining which of them could tolerate more pain.<br/><br/>His hand was rough, burned dark by both the sun and the wind.  They were the hands of a man who worked with his hands, covered with a myriad of callouses and tiny scars.  There was dirt under his nails and patches of skin stained black with oil.<br/><br/>"Do you know if we are expecting anyone else?" Butcher asked as he released Damien's hand.  "Or is this a two man job?"<br/><br/>It was possible his questions were legit.  Sometimes fixers didn't provide all the information or if they did they required additional payment for it.  It was equally likely that Butcher knew more than he was letting on and wanted to know how well informed Damien was.<br/><br/>