They’re back,” Rush announced as he flung the door open. “Bro, what the fuck?” I cracked an eye open, already aware of what he was reacting to. The broken shards of my glass coffee table lay across the floor, several bullet casings lodged in the rug. “I already called the cleaners.” Rush looked down at the former table and sighed. “Regular cleaners or body cleaners?” I frowned at him, annoyed. “Regular. Fuck, does it look like I killed anyone?” “Dunno.” He poked his head into my bedroom like I was hiding a body in there, and my frown deepened. “You need a fucking therapist, dude.” “No, I need
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