C49 I Am Bent on Dying

The man's voice grated like a drake's squawk, a sound that was jarringly unpleasant to the ears.

Westley and Rashawn turned to look.

Behind them, two men and a woman had taken a stand.

The man on the left was short, his stature overwhelmed by the designer clothes he wore, which did little to disguise his bulkiness. His beady eyes oozed sleaziness, making him distinctly uncomfortable to look at