Riley felt his face burn with anger. He knew that a red mask was creeping up from his neck to engulf his face. This was just another indication of what he hated so much about being in a small community. When two of his cousins had gone to Juvenile for busting out car windows down in Irving, people assumed that he was involved for no other reason than he was the same age and his last name was Pranger.
The same thing happened whenever a Pranger got caught up in something questionable. He wasn't any good because he was one of them Pranger boys that shoot each other, s***h tires, and spray painted racial slurs—the sheer definition of poor w*********h.
His eyes narrowed as they took in Mr. Epstein through the mirror.
"I don't have any beef with you—yet." Riley said in a voice that was low a
