It was clear Marcus was a new handler. The pretty politician had powerful friends, masterfully shielded a darkness inside, or both. Probably both. Defiance was thinly veiled when Ryker communicated. He yielded as requested. Waited on patience shorn to spikes, but his teeth were clamped shut as observed.
Then the darkness showed itself. A menace that crawled across his senses that spoke of power unleashed. Ryker had to assume it was the handler. The guard was ignorant of the change. Ryker’s secret was already out among the Custody. He fucking registered. There were a handful of individuals with the authority to give Marcus reign over one such as him. That pyramid led all the way to the top. Therefore, it was a fair assumption Marcus knew all about Ryker’s skill set in return. He would know he knew. What was Marcus going to do with it?
Whatever genius swirled behind the globes of Marcus’ eyes finally spat out a question. An unexpected one. Ryker shifted in his seat. The weight of his gaze lifted to the guard.
The man straightened. The set of his jaw locked. He was spooked.
“No sir,” he replied.
“Ublyudok! Tell him the truth, motherfucker” Ryker’s voice was dry as dirt as he defended his handler. The guard held his ground, but the grip on his rifle tightened across his chest under Ryker’s stare.
Eventually, he came to nod. “Some trouble with the power. The lights,” he shot a worried look at the ceiling. “And a few deaths.”
The chair made a painful screech on the floor as Ryker shifted back toward Marcus. There was a satisfied flicker of pride tugging Ryker’s lip. Behind him, the guard was relieved to no longer be their target.
“The boys are afraid of the dark,” he explained. “The lights go out and—“ he put his hands toward his throat in a mockery of choking.
“You decide if it’s odd. Pretty normal for 45 Novoslobodskaya Street if you ask me,” he wasn’t smirking then.
Then the darkness showed itself. A menace that crawled across his senses that spoke of power unleashed. Ryker had to assume it was the handler. The guard was ignorant of the change. Ryker’s secret was already out among the Custody. He fucking registered. There were a handful of individuals with the authority to give Marcus reign over one such as him. That pyramid led all the way to the top. Therefore, it was a fair assumption Marcus knew all about Ryker’s skill set in return. He would know he knew. What was Marcus going to do with it?
Whatever genius swirled behind the globes of Marcus’ eyes finally spat out a question. An unexpected one. Ryker shifted in his seat. The weight of his gaze lifted to the guard.
The man straightened. The set of his jaw locked. He was spooked.
“No sir,” he replied.
“Ublyudok! Tell him the truth, motherfucker” Ryker’s voice was dry as dirt as he defended his handler. The guard held his ground, but the grip on his rifle tightened across his chest under Ryker’s stare.
Eventually, he came to nod. “Some trouble with the power. The lights,” he shot a worried look at the ceiling. “And a few deaths.”
The chair made a painful screech on the floor as Ryker shifted back toward Marcus. There was a satisfied flicker of pride tugging Ryker’s lip. Behind him, the guard was relieved to no longer be their target.
“The boys are afraid of the dark,” he explained. “The lights go out and—“ he put his hands toward his throat in a mockery of choking.
“You decide if it’s odd. Pretty normal for 45 Novoslobodskaya Street if you ask me,” he wasn’t smirking then.