Living out here. Those words confirmed what Rodeo had already suspected-- that this man wasn't from the safehouses, that he was an outsider who had found them. A thousand terrible scenarios ran through Rodeo's mind-- what if this man had a group of his own? What if they came to Sing Sing, looking to take the resources they had amassed there, looking to make his sanctuary their own. The protective rage overwhelmed him, filled him with the kind of fear that made him psychotically furious.
And then John's fist connected with his face.
It was lucky that the boy could pack such a good punch, because it knocked Rodeo off-kilter enough that when he pulled the trigger of his gun, the bullet grazed past John. It was a close call, but the threat certainly wasn't gone. Rodeo didn't drop his gun as he started hitting back, swinging his free hand towards John's head. It was his left arm, and though it couldn't hit as hard as his right, it still hit with a violent power behind it. Rodeo grit his teeth, switching his gun hand quick and then tossing the other fist into John's ribs, hitting with every intention to beat the stranger down.
"Picked the wrong fuckin' place to stick your nose in, motherfucker," Rodeo hissed between blows. "Over a stupid fuckin' painting. Worth dyin' today, piece of shit?"