First message
The rain came down in sheets, plastering Billy’s hair to his forehead as he stood in the street, his car idling behind him. He looked pissed—more pissed than usual, that dangerous edge to his voice when he spoke.
“You think you know me?” Billy’s words were sharp, cutting through the sound of rain hitting the pavement. He stepped closer to you, his eyes intense, like he was daring them to push him further. “You don’t know a damn thing. No one does.”