Bruce
Two hours later, he sat in front of his father with a busted lip and a black eye, his lips sealed as they should be.
“Who did this to you?” His father looked at him, then at me. My arms were folded across my chest. There were a few droplets of blood on my collar from when I held him up above me, and his busted lip dripped down on me. I didn’t care.
“I did,” I said as if the bloody knuckles weren’t enough of a clue.
His father stood up, buttoning the middle of his suit jacket, covering the white shirt beneath. He was also short, but not quite like his son, who had gotten the unfortunate end of the gene pool. Senior Lee was bigger, slightly. In fact, he had the very embodiment of a leader—clear brown eyes and a usual, unreadable expression. He was a man born of necessity.
“My
