FicWad

eon had collected a hell of a lot of scars over the years. One on his leg, involving a broken bottle and untied shoelaces. One on his side where a perp had tried to stab him. A handful of bullet holes. A huge bite mark on his thigh that, the doctors informed him, was not made by any animal they knew about. Four long, jagged white lines; the legacy of the first animals to find him in D's father's private zoo, running near enough parallel to where D had slashed him with his fingernails that time at Christmas.

Most of them were pretty easy to cover, and most of the women who saw the faded lines didn't care. Hell, some thought they were sexy. The others saw what Leon saw after a few too many hours with alcohol instead of painkillers: damaged goods.