For a split second, he considered countering with 'bitch, please.' A silent movie reel of things he'd been through in his life was cycling through his head.
Her good work.
"Sister," he began, not moving the gun, "I don't give a single solitary fuck about your good work. That's my daughter."
His voice rose from a normal decibel level to a yell on the last two words. Dean was capable of ripping this woman to shreds just for fun. Allistair had taught him well. The side of his mouth twitched, like he wanted to snarl but was trying to keep up appearances.
He didn't even let the woman have a chance to say anything else. Dean pulled the trigger.