and a bitch isn’t worth this.” Before he could start walking away, I grabbed him by the shoulder and swung. Hard. My fist hit his face with a gnarly crack, and Double Denim was laid out flat on the ground for a few seconds. He scrambled back up and came at me. I caught his fist in my hand—he threw a weak-ass punch—and twisted his arm behind his back. He was facing Emmy, but I made sure he wasn’t close enough that he could touch her. “Apologize,” I spat.
