"Yeah, I'm not that nigga. I'll shoot you right here, then mop your blood with your fucking brain. Chosyn, who the fuck is this nigga?" Wolfe barked, finally asking the million-dollar question. "My heart!" "What is causing such a commotion over here?" An older Italian man who smelled just as expensive as he looked pushed his way through the crowd of people who were probably calling us a bunch of animals under their breath. "Honor, what is the meaning of this?" he asked, his eyes shifting from Honor to Wolfe and then to Chance. "Handling a problem." Honor put it so simply as if this were a
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