The metal table made his back sore, and even with the lights dimmed, Leander didn’t have much to focus on other than the throb of his headache. And the man who’d captured him.
He stood on the other side of the room at the moment, using a wall pad to run diagnostics. Something at the base was broken. Leander watched the man shrug off his coat and set it aside, scowling as results scrolled across the screen. Apart from the physical discomfort, Leander was a little more comfortable mentally. He’d been around a lot of shady, dangerous people and this man didn’t ping as “security” to him—just the “Some Guy working for Some Company” Leander had been hoping he was. Earlier, he’d set down his gun while tying Leander to a table, which screamed inexperience.
Well, either that or serial killer. But
