Wrath
“Have you done this before?”
Quintin glances at the younger man, snorting incredulously. “Of course I have. Do you have any idea who I am?”
“I think you’re a little too old for me to have heard of you, pops.”
In one slick, fluid movement, Quintin draws a knife from where it’d been hidden up his sleeve and he stabs the man with it, right in the thigh. He twists. “Then do your fucking research.” He pushes the man out his way.
“Quintin,” another man says, “take it easy.”
He snuffs out his cigarette on his arm.
