Page 68 of Static/Cling

“Exactly. Come on.”

Slitting one eye open, Bjorn watched the door to the office swing shut, taking the light with it. Still, Bjorn crouched, eyes once more closed—with relief this time—and let out his held breath.

“You know,” Leif whispered, hoarse and too frail-sounding. “They can still see you even if you can’t see them.”

“Apparently not,” Bjorn muttered, pushing the door open.

The remaining hinge gave, and it clunked to the floor. He caught it before it could topple onto the metal desks stacked one on top of the other against the wall. He remained frozen, one arm cradling Leif in his lap, the other outstretched, hand clamped around the door.

There were no sounds from outside, so finally, finally, he relaxed, eased the door down, and his legs out from under himself to sit on the floor of the cabinet, legs outstretched onto the floor beyond the now-missing door, and Leif cuddled against his chest.

“I really, really thought I was applying to be a janitor,” he whined.

Leif chuckled.

Sal sighed. “Okay. Now for the hard part.”

Bjorn sank back against the back of the cabinet, which gave under his weight, popping off to thunk against the wall. The cabinet itself listed to one side, stopped only by Bjorn’s shoulder because he was still sitting inside it.

CHAPTER 9

UNEXPECTED HELP

Kassian glared at the computer screen. For about the billionth time, he yanked his leg, straining it against the shackle that attached him, by a literal chain, to an anchor in the concrete wall.

There was one on each ankle, attaching him to the walls on either side of the desk at which he sat. The chains held his legs apart, an awkward angle that pressed his pelvic bone against the hard chair and kept him from getting comfortable. He probably hadn’t been sitting there an hour yet, and his hips ached for not being able to shift their position.

“You are, of course, completely entitled to refuse to help,” General George said, tone as creepily amicable as always. “There are plenty of other ways we can spend our time.”

“Like?” Kassian asked, though he feared he already knew what George was alluding to. Bjorn probably could have made the question sound innocent. Leif would have made it suggestive as hell, because that man had way less sense of self-preservation than was healthy.

The fact he was profoundly grateful neither of them were in his place said a lot about how deep they’d managed to burrow into his brain already. He’d never been known for a sense ofselflessness, yet there it was. He’d gladly take whatever George could dish out if it saved them having to face him.

“Don’t worry,” George said, drawing his thoughts from his … from them. “None of it will incapacitate you. At least not so you can’t do the work we’re asking of you.” He smiled, a wide, friendly smile. “You don’t need your legs for that, do you?”

Kassian rattled the chain again. “Apparently you do.”

“Did you know we have excellent surgeons working for us? Very talented. We can remove them. Your legs, I mean. Not the surgeons. A little bit at a time.”

It wasn’t the threat that made Kassian shiver. That was patently ridiculous. It was the absolute certainty, and the impenetrable cheer with which he said it. He wasn’t menacing in the least. He was friendly. Matter of fact. Implacable.

“Now I’m going to do something I don’t usually do, and allow you a moment to speak with your brother. Not long, mind you, but it only seems fair, don’t you think?”

“Whatever.” He wasn’t keen to talk to Rufus. What he was doing working for this asshat, Kassian didn’t know and didn’t want to know. Did he regret being out of touch with his brothers for the past… however long it had been? Only because it left him out of the loop. Not because he missed them.

Who missed assholes, anyway?

George patted his shoulder, like someone might if they were a benevolent mentor—which made Kassian’s skin crawl—then left the small room.

A minute later, new, heavier footsteps approached him from the door to the room, directly behind him. To the left and right of his chair, and just slightly back from it, were office dividers, much like the one by his chair at SPAM, but nicer. Cleaner. Their placement was deliberate, because twist as he might, there was no way to see who was approaching him until they came to stand far too close for comfort. It was a consequence of theuncomfortable position he was forced to sit in, and another subtle way to keep him off balance.

“Hey,” Rufus said, voice soft.

“Fuck off.”

Rufus snorted. “Seriously? I might be the only friend you have here.”

“You know what’s on this file he wants us to crack, right?” Because he couldn’t give away what he didn’t talk about, and because he was far from sure if Rufus was a friend.

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