“Good,” Fedor says, wincing as he rolls his shoulder. “Then you need to help me kill some
Fedor leans back in my chair and tries to kick his feet up on the table, but he loses his balance andplants them quickly back on the floor. The falter reminds me of the clumsy kid who used to chase afterme, tripping over his own feet. It is a flicker of the little boy I used to love and a stark juxtapositionagainst the wild man he has become.
“You need to remember whose office you’re in,” I say, hitching a thumb over my shoulder and
walking around the desk. “Up.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but I kick the base of the chair. It’s already off balance because of
his slouched posture, so he goes tumbling backwards, cursing.
“I just got shot, f**k head!” He grabs the
