"What in the actual fuck?" I repeated once more, just so that everything would sink in.

Nope, nothing sank; just a whole bucket of shitload.

I turned to face the nameless dude I have yet to punch. He was standing there, looking amused of the situation.

"Who are you?" I asked him softly but with an edge in my tone.

"Quentin Yelton, head of the gang your brother joined in."

I didn't know if he did that on purpose but I'm pretty sure he did. He wanted to rub salt ...