"Are you about finished?" Tara huffed, casting Dom a steely glare that only he dared ignore.
Dom placed the business end of the silencer against the back of the old man's skull and fired again—emptying the clip and spraying brain matter across the plush tan carpet. "Son of a bitch killed my dog." The fact that his hundred-and-five pound Rottweiler was in the process of shredding the senior detective's arm at the time was beside the point.
All right.... take it from there :)