The Predator

The meeting was over, and I’d sell my soul to Satan himself for the chance to gouge out my own eyes and not see these moronic, incompetent fucks ever again.

How hard was it to move a single goddamn shipment? One. Just one. But no, these brain-dead, spineless sons of bitches managed to screw it up. Again.

Kyle should be here, not rotting in Italy playing Anya’s bodyguard. At least he had a spine.

I nodded like their stupidity wasn’t burning holes in my skull, signed the damn papers, issued orders they’d probably fuck up by next morning, and watched them bow their heads like obedient little sheep....