My cousin.

His hair seemed almost black in the shadows. More than one woman had called him gorgeous, but as he sneered at Frankie, I couldn’t find anything beautiful about him.

"Westley, stop!" I yelled, but it did no good.

His fist beat at Frankie’s midsection as he yelled accusation after accusation at him—everything from not accepting his money to driving too quickly emphasized each of his punches.

Frankie did nothing. He didn’t ...