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He was minding his own business until some green-haired fuckboy barged in and started yelling at him. The guy knew Samuel by name, but he had no idea who the other boy was. His face was recognizable, but his name escaped him. It was D-something. Danny or Darrell or something like that.

Darren was demanding to know where he’d gotten the crossbow and that it wouldn’t be used to hurt him. Clearly the best way to stop someone from killing you was to scream in their face about it. He sighed in response and massaged his temples. He was glad he’d woken up next to Rene and Caleb Nixon instead of this screaming idiot.

“God fucking damn, dude,” He shot back, huffing. “Shut uuuup. I don’t wanna start shit...”

Samuel paused to size the boy up. By the looks of it, he’d already been in a fight. Anyone who had already been in a fight was likely dangerous, instigator or not. If he’d been attacked, the mere fact he was still alive spoke volumes. It meant that he’d beaten the ambusher.

Of course, there was the off chance that he was merely lucky. Judging by what he’d said (well, yelled) so far, he could just be a panicky guy who’d barely gotten out of his last altercation alive.

But that was a dangerous assumption to make here.

Samuel narrowed his eyes and rested his hand on the crossbow. “Unless, of course, you want to...”

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