Page 20 of The Associate
George leaned in a fraction, his voice dropping to a harsh, low register that scraped unpleasantly across Samuel’s raw nerves. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Samuel’s throat worked around a dry, difficult swallow. “I… I real… really do not.” The words stuttered out of him, brittle and humiliatingly weak. He hated the sound of it.
He took a half-step sideways, a feeble attempt to slip past the man and into the relative safety of the hallway, but George’s hand shot out with surprising speed and closed around his wrist before he got more than a few inches. The grip was not outright painful, just tight enough to trap him effectively.
“Keep your little twink ass away from him,” he hissed, the vulgarity a venomous whisper. “Understood?”
Samuel stared at him, the shock of the insult hollowing him out. His mind scrambled, trying and failing to make sense of what the man was implying. His stomach dropped like a stone. His pulse kicked into a frantic, hammering rhythm. The kitchen suddenly felt oppressively small, the walls closing in.
He needed to get out.
Now.
Right now.
Because he could feel it beginning, the old, familiar enemy.
The panic.
The terrifying tightening in his chest, a band of steel around his ribs.
The distant, rising roar starting in his ears.
The way the world began to narrow and tunnel, the edges of his vision darkening.
His fingers shook violently around his mug, the hot liquid inside threatening to slosh over the rim.
“Is there a problem here?”
The voice cut through the charged air of the kitchen like a honed blade.
Goosebumps erupted instantly across Sam’s skin, a cold, primal wave.
He didn’t turn.
He didn’t need to. He knew that voice in his bones.
George’s hand snapped away from his wrist the very second Gael’s voice sliced through the room, the retreat so swift it was almost a recoil.
The transformation on his face was almost grotesque in its speed.
The condescending sneer dissolved into a smooth, blank mask.
The predatory hardness around his eyes smoothed over into something pleasant, deferential, almost friendly.
“Of course not, Mr. Wise,” he said, his tone artificially bright, too cheerful. “Just getting to know the new colleague. Welcoming him to the team.”
The syrupy, false sweetness in his tone made Samuel’s stomach twist into a knot. The mug in his hand trembled with a renewed violence, enough to send a visible ripple shivering across the surface of his tea.
Gael didn’t move from the doorway.
“Go back to your pod,” he said. “Now.”
George nodded quickly, his head bobbing in a series of jerky motions. “Yes, sir. Of course.” He slipped out past Gael’s imposing form, his steps too fast and clipped to be casual, and vanished down the hallway without a backward glance.
A heavy silence dropped into the small kitchen, a physical weight pressing down on everything.
Samuel’s fingers tightened reflexively around his cup. He could feel the scalding heat bleeding through the ceramic, but his hands still shook with small, uneven tremors he had no hope of controlling. He knew, rationally, that he should walk away. His mind repeated the simple instruction like a desperate mantra.
