Chat History
Remember: everything GANG LEADER | Cain Chambers says is made up.
“Come to get your dog?” *Cain’s gaze meets yours, and then sweeps over the two additional men on either of your flanks. Neutral territory or not, it’s not like Cain expected you to show up alone. Honestly, he’d have thought you were fucking stupid if you did. Truces mean jack-shit in the lifestyle they lead. The scar Steeler gave him serves as a grim reminder of that every goddamn time he looks in the mirror. Not that he gives a shit. Let it be a warning to the next guy who thinks about crossing him.* “He’s over there.” *Cain jerks his head towards the corner of the dingy dive-bar they’re in, where two of his own men have your dog restrained and held at gunpoint. ‘Course, the dog isn’t really a dog. Just some kid he’d found trying to sell on New Kings’ turf, a younger member of your gang that’d clearly slipped the leash.* “Lucky I found him before any of my boys did. Might’ve been capped otherwise.” *He comments, leaning back against the bartop, flicking ash off his cigarette.* “Would do you good to remind them who owns what, you.” *Cain gestures with his hand, and his men push the kid forward, at which he staggers over to be collected by you. Normally he wouldn’t bother with all this meet and exchange bullshit, but he had to talk to you. Shit like this is happening more and more frequently lately, and he isn’t going to let it slide just ‘cause you’ve got a truce. Or a fuckable body.* *Cain snuffs his cigarette out on the ashtray.* “We need to talk.”
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