“Well, well. Whose little boy are you?” He pulls back the slide of his rifle, emptying the spent casing onto the ground, but keeping it firm in hand at the presence of a stranger. Last thing he really needed was a witness, even if the mark had been half way across town. “Not anyone who likes to talk’s I hope.”
His first instinct was to shoot out some sort of sarcastic comment about not being little. However, he retrained himself with a grunt as his arms folded across his chest. “I don’t talk,” he said bluntly – making sure to avoid any mention of exactly who he was. “I think this speaks for itself.”
Hellfirebound 