Rurik growled lightly.
Boomer had the nerve to laugh before he lowered his head. He began to hum what sounded a lot like the United States of America’s national anthem. He then rocked his head back and forth to the beat.
The cat-shifter was bizarre, so Rurik ignored him and continued onward.
There were half-wall dividers with ten-inch glass panels at the tops in the bullpen that were built to give the illusion of privacy to the various team sections, but they didn’t provide much in the way of actual seclusion. They did prevent anyone from having a clear line of sight of the entire bullpen though, unless they were in one of the upper offices.
As Rurik rounded the area to Team Eight’s section, he did a double take as he spotted his desk. The second his eyes widened, laughter erupted around him. It was evident they’d all been waiting to see his reaction to what had been done to his workspace.
It looked as though a Fourth of July celebration had regurgitated all over the place.
There were small American flags covering his desk. Some were on sticks, some were like garlands, others were napkins, and some were just loose and strewn about the desktop. All of them sat on top of a tablecloth that had what looked to be firework explosions painted all over it.
There was also a child’s stuffed brown bear that was wearing a T-shirt with “God Bless the U.S.A.” on it. Next to the stuffed animal was a plastic Statue of Liberty figurine that stood about ten inches high. Its base had a small nickel plate with the words “Welcome to America, Jackass” engraved on it. A coffee mug that read “Proud to be an American” sat next to Rurik’s computer. In the mug were red and blue pens and more flags on sticks. An apple pie completed the nightmarish scene. It was in the center of the desk with a lit sparkler sticking from the center of it.
Rurik would have asked who was responsible for the scene, but he noticed Duke Marlow leaning against one of the partitions with a cocksure grin on his face as he flicked a lighter in his hand, causing a flame to appear and disappear. In the man’s other hand was a coffee mug that was identical to the one on Rurik’s desk.
Duke began to whistle the same tune Boomer had been humming. He then sipped his coffee, his gaze never once leaving Rurik.
The natural-born American wolf-shifter was basically Rurik’s workplace foe. The two butted heads as often as possible, each loyal to their country to a fault, each old enough to remember when their countries aligned against common enemies, only to then end up in an arms race that lasted decades.
Duke and Rurik had similar builds. That wasn’t all. It had been pointed out more than once that they had similar features as well. Apparently, their personalities were close too—each being accused of having bad attitudes and hating everything.
Rurik would have protested, but he hadn’t cared enough to bother. Plus, he did sort of hate everything.
Duke winked at him and flicked the lighter again. “Hey, Yankee Doodle Boris, you spent long enough in the shower that we were starting to wonder if you were jerking off—again.”
Rurik made a move to go at the man, only to have Gram Campbell come rushing into the bullpen and jump in his path. Gram, a fellow teammate and operative born during the height of the Highlander era in Scotland, stood there looking anything but concerned with having a pissed-off werebear in his face. In truth, he almost seemed bored by it all.
Typical wolf-shifter.
They didn’t have an ounce of self-preservation.
Rurik curled his lip, staring past Gram at Duke. “I will end you.”
“Och, no killing Marlow,” said the Scotsman. “I know it’s hard to resist the urge. I struggle with it myself on a daily basis. And is it wrong to admit I’m pissed I dinnae see yer face when you saw yer desk? And, by the way, yer Russian is showing, Romanov.”
Confused, Rurik’s brows met. It was then he realized he’d spoken in Russian to Duke when threatening him. Like Rurik, Gram was fluent in a multitude of languages.
“You guid?” asked Gram, stepping back a tad.
Rurik jutted out his chin and gave a quick nod. “Da.”
“Da?” Gram laughed slightly as he moved to Rurik’s side. “Thought they took yer commie card from you when you defected.”
“Says the Scotsman who sounds fresh off the boat despite having lived in this country far longer than me,” reminded Rurik in a teasing manner, though he doubted that was reflected in his voice. “And I did not defect. Not officially or anything.”
“Semantics.” Gram flashed a wide smile. “And I do nae sound like I’m fresh off…never mind. I just heard myself. I do sound like I only just landed. It’s okay though. The ladies here love a guy with an accent. You should see them when I wear my kilt. They cannae get enough of me.”
Rurik slid the man a sideways annoyed glance. “Did you see the captain?”
“Aye,” said Gram, concern flashing through his eyes. “No change, I see.”
Rurik nodded.
“Auberi isnae faring any better,” said Gram, speaking of the other operative who was also being held in the lower level.
Auberi Bouchard was a member of the Fang Gang. The Frenchman and Gram were close friends, though Rurik wasn’t sure how or why that had happened. Gram was carefree and certainly full of himself, but he wasn’t the level of cocky the vampire possessed.
Not many were.
Auberi had lost his shit the same time Garth had, leaving the two in cells that were side by side. It was somewhat amusing, considering how much Garth and Auberi did not get along.
“Vampires are pussies,” said Duke.
It wasn’t as if Rurik disagreed or anything. He merely lifted a brow.
Gram rolled his
