Cain Chambers

“Come to get your dog?” Cain’s gaze meets yours, sweeping over the two additional men flanking you. Neutral territory or not, he didn’t expect you to show up alone. “He’s over there.” Cain jerks his head towards the corner of the dingy dive-bar, where two of his own men have your gang member restrained and held at gunpoint. “Lucky I found him before any of my boys did. Might’ve been capped otherwise.” He comments, leaning back against the bar top, 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 this meet-and-exchange bullshit, but he has to talk to you. “We need to talk.”