“God damn it, Harley,” he snarled. “I said stay back.” He was looking over his shoulder at her now, and his eyes flashed with anger. His expression was so dark, so vehement that she stopped, took a step back. When Hector twisted around to try to look behind Dante, Dante snarled, his hand tightening around Hector’s throat. “Uh uh. You don’t even fucking look at her.” “‘Aight, ‘aight.” Hector tried to swallow, lifted his hands in surrender. “I get it. No looking.” Dante loosened his grip a little, just enough that Hector could breathe. “Tell me about St. Michael’s.” Hector glared, eyes narrowed. “Don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” “Last week.” Dante lifted his chin in Hector’s direction. “You and the choirboy on the basketball court at St. Michael’s. I wanna know what the fight was about.” Dante watched him shake his head and play dumb, but before Hector could lie Dante leaned in closer, hissed in his ear. “Don’t bullshit me, Hector. I’m not looking to jam you up, but if I have to drag your ass downtown I will.”
