Blake got a feral smile on his face when the bastard took his gloves off. He was finally going to take him seriously. That expression faded when what he saw wasn't the manicured, soft hands of a desk jockey but ones with the kind of scars that come with a long story.

However, Blake was not a man who backed down just because of some clear evidence that he was engaged in a bad idea.

"You do, do you," he sneered, leaning closer. "Or what?"