“Since when do we play bodyguard to random bitches?” Rocky huffs, shaking his scarred bald head. “If they aren’t family, they aren’t shit—” His shoulders tighten when the barrel of my Glock 19 presses to the side of his skull. I always keep a piece within reach for situations like this. “That’s my daughter’s best friend.” I grind the barrel into his head. “Call her a bitch again, and you won’t have a mouth to do it a second time.”
