He struggled when Kaz grabbed his wrist, but Kavinsky wasn't exactly the strongest guy. He had the height but not the bulk, too skinny for his own good. Drugs tended to have that effect when they made food uninteresting, and he'd been an addict for a long enough time.

He didn't like not being in control of a situation, having someone else take over. His skin shifted and molded around Kaz's fingers, a perfect impression of his hand, and the feeling was fucking weird. Not as weird as the entire situation was, though. He'd thought Kaz was harmless, a thief, sure, but harmless otherwise. Now things felt surreal, fast and slow motion at the same time.

It wasn't the first time Kavinsky'd had something broken, but it'd been a while ago, back when he'd still been getting his footing at Aglionby, when he'd been picked on. Before he'd had Prokopenko and the others. The sound of his arm breaking was sickening. It wasn't like when he or his boys fucked someone else up. The tables had been turned and he hated it.

He let out a yell, swearing immediately after. "Mother fucker." He couldn't even stop Kaz from taking his gun from him; his hand seemed to have temporarily forgotten how to work. His other hand, though, he started to raise, intending to punch Kaz square on the jaw.