I looked through the vent cover as Jamie Silverblood, the catalyst for everything that has happened in my life since he entered the diner, paced back and forth in front of my father.
"Bet you wish you treated me with more respect now," snarled Jamie, pausing for a second to narrow his eyes at Paul.
The two were clearly in an interrogation room. The concrete walls were so damp that I could smell the moisture from where I was, and the floors were completely bare, the cement doing nothing to help with the moisture.
And there was a fucking drain in the middle of the floor.
I might not know much about interrogation rooms or this whole side of life. But even I knew that a drain in the floor I was being held in wasn't good.
"I give as much respect as someone earns," shrugged Paul like it wasn't that big of a deal to be handcuffed to a metal chair. "And you haven't earned it."