Page 7 of Shockproof

“He’snotbreathing, Wahl.” Another heavy sigh echoes around the barren room. “And we both know the dead don’t talk.” The opposite pair being wedged into place precedes an amused grunt. “Okay, deadpeople, not ghosts. Wait. Ghostsaredead people, huh?” My eyes land on him just in time to see misplaced contemplation conquering his expression. “Do you believe in ghosts? You think they’re moreCasperor likeBruce Willis? I kind of think it’s fucked up in both those movieskidswere being haunted. It’s like…don’t kids have enough shit to deal with already without makingScooby-Doonightmares real?”

I don’t entertain his ramblings.

I don’t even waste the breath it would take to remind him to shut the fuck up.

I merely wait for him to arrive at the conclusion on his own before turning my attention to the man slumped over in the metal chair that’s stationed right above the drain located in the center of the room.

His tattered black clothing is the result of the material getting caught on the edges of the elevator and corners of chairs and random decorative structures we passed during the transferring process. The scrapes from the sidewalk are only slightly less apparent than the burns from the concrete and gravel; however, the blood splatters that have managed to seep through both the front and back of his outwear – courtesy of making sure to rotate him along the way like a rotisserie chicken – are impossible to ignore even in the dark colored fabric. Additional streams of crimson trickle along the sides of his oblong head to meet and mingle with the other splotches as do the droplets creeping out from the corners of his duct taped mouth.

Reynolds is right.

I can’t interrogate the dead.

But this asshole isn’t there.

At least not yet.

Tightening my hold to ensure I have a steady grip doesn’t take long nor does letting my fist fly through the air to connect the jagged metal edge of my weapon with his already bruised jaw. Sounds of bones cracking and gargled groans instantly reverberate around the underground box we use for our “less ethical” information inquiries informing me of what it is I already knew.

“See,” I heartlessly grunt. “Still breathin’.”

Louder grumbles are followed by Reynolds chuckling, “Fuck, man, not for much longer after that hit.”

“Eyes up, soldier.” When the order isn’t instantly met, a second punch to the other side is executed. “I said…Eyes. Up.”

Despite the heavy howls of agony leaving him, the captive forces his head to lift.

Teary stare to find mine.

Attempts to focus the best it can around the swollen lids.

“It’s hard to breathe ‘cause your ribs are fractured.” Folding my arms across my chest is done between announcements. “Lie to me,and I’ll make that shit worse.Try to lie to me,and I’ll make that shit worse.Lie to me by omittin’ somethin’,and I’ll make that shit worse. Waste my time?”

“And he’ll kill you,” Reynolds smoothly finishes the declaration for me.

“Understood?”

He does his best to nod.

After removing the tape from his mouth, I ask, “I know you don’t know who hired you ‘cause ifyou didthenI wouldby this point, so what I need to know right now iswhendid you pick up this assignment?”

Rather than respond, I receive a low collection of rumbles.

Rumbles that prompt me to execute a hard strike to his lower ribcage. Echoes of the critical pieces to his endoskeleton snapping like tiny celery stalks pull a smile onto my face but a cringe out of Reynolds.

“Fuccckkkk,” my partner for the moment hisses under his breath, “I felt that shit overhere.”

Grabbing the man by his bruised cheeks, I clench them tightly and angle his face upward to meet my glare. “Answer. Faster.”

He nods once more prior to him muttering, “M-m-midnight. Midnightish.”

I relinquish my grip and resume my previous position.

Alright.

Midnight meanseveryonehad already been informed we would be in the office today. The Numbers. Security. Tactical. Accounting. Cyber. Secretaries. Pretty much anyone our paths would’ve needed to cross with ormight’veneeded to cross with. And unfortunately, that also means,anyonethey could’ve talked to might’ve come into the know about Arley being in the building if the aforementioned let it slip out in passing. Or…if someone walked by and overheard the announcement. Or…if someone knew to follow one of them to get that information. Or hell, someone could’ve seen a fucking email pulled up on a screen – computer or phone – while they were around one of the people who received the warning.

See, the biggest issue with security is rarely the system in place itself. More often than not, it’s thepeoplethat are the problem.

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