a beat-up chick here with a tall guy claiming to be your brother. He stole my fucking crutch,” Rose snarls on the other end of the phone. I rap my fingertips on my desk as a shit-eating grin spreads across my face. “Ask him to give you his childhood nickname.” “He’s asking to confirm your childhood nickname,” she says, but not to me. The defiant “no” I hear in the background is like a single-worded symphony in my ears. “Great,” Rose says, menace dripping from her voice. “Then I knife you in the balls.”
