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Summary
It was easily the most predictable hit he’d ever delivered. If the knee hadn’t telegraphed it, the wind up would have. He’d leaned back, leaned forward, and sent the sloppiest punch of his vigilante career at the face of a man who should’ve seen it coming from a mile away.
Bruce’s head snapped back with a soft, surprised oomph. He took one step backward, regaining his balance on one overly-smooth loafer as blood began to gush down his face.
Dick stared at him, unable to speak. Unable to look away as Bruce put a hand to his cheek, probing at the bloody gash like he’d never been hit in the face before. The hit he hadn’t seen coming.