Minus
“Well, that could’ve gone better,” Cutter said, as he walked around his desk, opened the bottom drawer, and produced a bottle of Jim Beam and small black medical bag. The type old timey doctors took on house calls back in the day. “There should be some bandages and ointment and s**t for your face in here. You can use my bathroom to clean up,” he said, handing me the bag and motioning to the bathroom door.
“Cutter, what the f**k—”
“Just get cleaned up and meet me out there with the others. Just don’t take too long. You and I can talk about all this later. I’ve got to go talk to the club, and tell them what’s going on, but for now, let’s just keep this little conversation between us.”
Little conversation? Was he out of his f*****g gourd?
I nodded, and Cutter exited the office wit
