Wes’ POV

There’s an art to bullying. A certain finesse you needed to have when striking the fear of God into people.

Half of it was physical.

Punching CB felt about as refreshing as going out for a swim in our heated penthouse pool. The feeling of his stomach muscles rippling and then rebelling through the cotton of his shirt from the contact of my fist, the way his skin yielded to the steel of my knuckles. Well, not to sound too horrible, but it honestly ...