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    Summary

    Ray moves further into the kitchen and points the gun directly at Ryan’s chest. “Who are you? Not a crackhead. Not some guy looking to get his rocks off at a club. You took my gun, let me walk off like Prince Happy Unaware to get the shit beat out of me, and now you’re making, what, chocolate chip waffles, are you serious—who the fuck does that?”

    Ryan sets the bowl down and lifts his hands, palms up, still not looking particularly concerned. “I got hired to find some stupid kid who stole nearly fifty thousand dollars’ worth of coke off a kingpin,” he says, offhand, and Ray’s stomach flips.

    Language:
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