He disassembled the bully. A swift inside leg kick dropped Bryce to one knee. As Bryce tried to stand, Garrett’s hand clamped onto Bryce’s collar, effortlessly flipping the younger, heavier man over his hip. Bryce landed flat on his back, the wind completely knocked out of his lungs.
Before Bryce could even open his eyes, he felt a crushing weight on his chest. Garrett was kneeling in a mount, his face inches from Bryce’s. Garrett’s eyes were dead—empty, hollow pools that promised absolute destruction. Garrett raised his fist. Bryce screamed, throwing his hands over his face, curling into a pathetic, whimpering ball.
Garrett’s fist stopped exactly one millimeter from the bridge of Bryce’s nose. He held it there. The kinetic energy locked in his arm was enough to shatter Bryce’s skull, but Garrett didn't move. He held perfectly still.
Bryce was sobbing, pleading incoherently. The "Alpha Wolf" was crying in front of a live audience of thousands.