~1980~

Scotty Tremont concentrated on the reddened flesh of his wrist where the handcuffs had bitten into his skin. He knew that he should be working on his game face and showing that he wasn't one to fuck with. But the truth of the matter is that he hoped someone would try. He hoped that someone would look at him and just see a white guy with longish, blondish hair and eyes that were a light shade of grey-blue. He hoped someone would make the mistake of trying to flex ...