Grant

I sat in the chair Hunter had lounged in earlier, the same one he’d used to sneer, threaten, and bark like he owned the air in this office. Now, he was curled on the floor, blood smearing his shirt and matting into the carpet. It wasn’t a massacre. Just enough pain to remind him he bleeds like the rest of us.

He groaned, twisted onto his side with all the drama of a man who thought pain made him profound. Pathetic.

If someone had disciplined him years ago, maybe he wouldn’t be ...