Monday, January 7, 2013

The Art of Breaking - Part 3

Feeling utterly defeated, Nikolas turned his Mustang GT towards the interstate heading West, and back to the one place he could gain solace and peace of mind. Back to the place he’d known as his second home, the only home he’d known since he was no more than a kid and one he shared with over a hundred and fifty men just like him. An hour later, since he preferred living near the lake, he pulled up to the massive complex which sat on twenty prime acres in the middle of the forest.

The vein pulsing, pounding music added attitude to his already frustrated demeanor. It did nothing for his already pounding head and he winced as he suddenly hit the brakes of the car.  It skittered to a halt before a silver metallic gate manned by four armed guards. A man scanned his ID and passed him through, only to be stopped a mile up the way to do it again. Upon reaching the parking garage, he punched in his high security access code that opened another set of gates which enabled him access to park in his usual spot. He doubted the President himself had to go through this everyday when he reported to work.

Forcing himself not to be distracted from his consideration of the path, he kept his thoughts straight, not wanting to risk becoming lost through inattentions. As he neared the security doors, his dark black hair ruffled, blowing restlessly in a breeze he did not feel.

Cursing beneath his breath, he forced himself onward and walked for what seemed like a mile of hallways and endless corridors. His stomach clenched, but his fatigue outweighed the growling of his hunger. He pushed his longish, dark hair back realizing he’d need a cut soon. No matter what he did about it, it always seemed to find its way to his face. With a grunt, he tucked a wayward strand behind his ear.

"Stop right there, boss man. No you don't!" Something flickered across Adrian’s face, an emotion Nikolas would be able to read. He was clearly annoyed. 

“What?” His long slender legs sheathed in tight fitted jeans stepped to the entrance. Timeworn boots clicked against the marble tiles of the small surveillance room.

“Don’t even get me started, big guy, on how you look like you’ve been dragged and run over by an eighteen wheeler. I’ll get to that in a minute. First...” Adrian reached into a large leather briefcase at his side and pulled out a folder. Opening it, he took out a letter, which he waved under his nose as the coffee smeared paper floated to the ground, trampled underneath as he moved closer. "See this? You’re my boss and we all respect you, but we were notified that you’d be on temporary vacay. Vacay means no work and you’re not supposed to be here. So ‘vacate’ the premises...Sir”

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