Chained

by Kim Fielding

  He checked the closet and dressers, which proved to contain ample clothing in his size. He didn’t mind wearing clothes, although some items felt unduly constricting, but he hated wearing shoes. He wished he could pick out his own clothing. If he were human and a free man, he’d spend his days with bare feet, a loose T-shirt of soft cotton, and comfortable shorts. Sweatpants if it got cold. He’d never wear suits, and he’d especially never wear ties. He shook himself and silently chastised his errant thoughts.

  Brandt had been gone less than an hour, and Edge had nothing to do but pace his room. His human form still ached from last night, and he would have preferred to be roaming the grounds, his usual daily task. There were some benefits to his current duty, however, including his temporary quarters. Tonight he could soak in the deep tub if he wanted and then sleep on the comfortable human bed. And he wouldn’t be in a cage—at least not one that was visible.

  Although the kennel had a television, Edge rarely watched it, mainly because he didn’t feel like fighting with his brothers over who got to choose the program. He wasn’t often interested in anything they wanted to watch. But now his temporary quarters had one too, and he had it all to himself. He switched it on, sat in the comfortable leather armchair, and spent some time being mystified by soap operas and talk shows. He wondered if human relationships were anything like the ones he saw on TV. If so, maybe he was better off than they were.

  Even in human form his hearing was sensitive, and he caught Holt barking near the parking area. Edge hastily turned off the television, shoved his feet into the despised shoes, and took off running. Holt and Duke beat him to Brandt’s car—Duke growling softly in rebuke when Edge rushed by—but he still got there just as Brandt slammed the driver’s side door.

  “Welcoming committee,” Brandt commented and then tugged a battered suitcase out of the passenger’s seat. “But where’s the other dog?”

  Edge reached for the bag, but Brandt held on. “I can carry it myself. You’re security, not a bellhop.”

  Perhaps he had something hidden in there. More guns? It rattled when he moved it. But he gave Edge a friendly grin instead of ordering him around like most of the other new prospects, which was a nice change. And when Brandt walked past Duke and Holt, he moved with a respectful confidence, treating them like a professional security detail rather than ignoring them or behaving as if they were mindless creatures.

  “I’ve got this,” Edge said quietly to his brothers, and they trotted away.

  “Wow. Those are some smart dogs.” Brandt watched them for a moment before hefting his suitcase and turning to face Edge. “Do I just leave my car here?”

  “Are the keys in it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Someone will put it in the garage.”

  Brandt scanned their surroundings. “Which is where?”

  “Under the house.” Camouflaged well by the landscaping and the contours of the property. The boss owned over a half-dozen vehicles, but he apparently believed it was gauche to look at them. He had a driver who doubled as his mechanic, spending most of his time underground like a goblin. Actually, he was small, wizened, and irritable, and he smelled odd as well. Maybe he really was a goblin.

  Brandt took his time walking to the guest house, and Edge didn’t have any reason to hurry him. What did the estate look like to Brandt? A luxurious dream? It had looked that way to Edge when he and his brothers were brought here, all of them hardly more than pups. But for some time now, it had seemed more like a prison.

  Back in his room, Brandt set the suitcase on the bed. “I’ve never stayed anywhere this fancy. Are there any house rules I need to know about?”

  “Don’t poke around.”

  “Yeah, you already told me that. Hell, I’d probably get lost in the main house without a guide. But you said I can use the gym downstairs, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Brandt strolled to the TV cabinet, which also housed a stereo system. He lightly stroked some of the knobs but didn’t turn anything on. “Is noise okay? I like to listen to music. I have a Discman and headphones if that’s an issue.”

  “Noise is fine.” Nobody else was staying in the guesthouse except Edge and his brothers. Edge wouldn’t mind some music, and Duke and Holt could suck it up.

  “Great. Thanks.”

  Brandt spent several minutes inspecting his room and its contents, and then he unpacked his belongings. Aside from the Discman and a bunch of CDs, he’d brought a bag of toiletries, several sets of underclothes and socks, and a few T-shirts and pairs of jeans. Edge couldn’t easily smell the items from his spot near the doorway, but he didn’t notice anything remarkable. Except that Brandt’s jacket, which he hadn’t taken off, still smelled like a gun.

  “So,” Brandt said after tucking away the empty suitcase near the dresser, “do you watch me nonstop? If so, maybe I need to find something interesting to do.”

  Edge hadn’t realized how close his scrutiny had been. He pretended it was intentional. “My job is to see that you have whatever you need.”

  “Thanks. I think I’m set. Except… lunch?”

  “You can call for food.” Edge gestured toward the phone.

  “Right. Have you eaten? Want to join me? Or is that a violation of protocol?”

  No prospect had ever asked him this, and in fact, Edge had never shared a meal with a human—just with his brothers. The idea made his stomach clench uneasily. What if he did something wrong? He’d watched people eat, both in person and on TV, but maybe there were details he’d overlooked, things that would be obvious to a real person. But staying close to Brandt was his assignment, and the boss had ordered him to attempt to get very close. Refusing lunch wouldn’t help achieve that.

  “I’ll join you.”

  Seemingly delighted, Brandt used the house phone. Edge imagined that whoever was at the other end—some member of the household staff—was surprised at the request for two meals instead of one, but Brandt went blithely ahead as if this was no big deal. After he hung up, he turned back to Edge. “Can you tell me what to expect during my time here? I’m not asking for state secrets. Just, you know, a general idea.”

  Edge took a deep breath. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t forbidden from giving details, but the boss’s implicit policy was for Edge to keep his mouth shut. The boss would reveal what he wanted, when he wanted.

  But Brandt waited, and a few scraps of information wouldn’t hurt. Probably.

  “You won’t see much of the boss for a while. He’s busy. He’ll drop in now and then.” And he’d demand reports from Edge, but Brandt definitely didn’t need to know that. “He might ask you do some things. You should obey.”

  “What kind of things?” Brandt asked with a frown.

  “Don’t know.” Not the kinds of things he demanded of Edge—at least not at the beginning. Later, when Brandt was entirely within his grip, the boss might insist on more, although even then he’d likely be gentler. Human bodies were more fragile than Edge’s.

  “You’re not giving me a whole lot to go on, Edge.” Brandt sighed. “I feel like I should, I don’t know… rehearse or something. But I don’t know for what.”

  “Nothing to rehearse.”

  “Right.”

  Edge decided to throw him a small bone. “Soon he’ll have a party. He’ll introduce you to industry pros. Producers, directors.”

  Brandt rewarded him with a bright smile. “Okay, cool. I’ll look forward to that, and I’ll be on my best behavior.” Perhaps realizing that he’d drawn all he was going to get from Edge, Brandt selected one of his CDs and popped it into the stereo system. After he’d fiddled with buttons for a moment, loud music poured from the speakers, and he smiled as a woman sang about walking like an Egyptian.

  As if he’d forgotten Edge was there, Brandt closed his eyes, raised his arms, and swayed to the beat. His feet moved in clever patterns as his hips swung, and he was perfectly graceful.

  Sometimes Edge and his brothers would race
one another. It was a good form of exercise and it appealed to Duke and Holt’s competitive natures, but it had originally been Butch’s idea, back when they were all new to the estate. The brothers, in their dog forms, would line up along one end of the long strip of grass that edged the estate and wait for a prearranged signal such as the start of a gardener’s lawn mower. Then they’d be off, each pushing to be the fastest. Their canine bodies were massive, not streamlined like those of sighthounds, but they were still capable of tremendous speed. Edge loved those moments—muscles straining, ears and jowls flapping, air streaming in through his nose and deep into his chest. He felt free then, as if he belonged only to himself. He always reached the limits of the property too soon, always ahead of his brothers. Butch had always come in last but hadn’t cared.

  But he didn’t want to think about Butch now.

  That sensation Edge had when running, that beautiful lightness in his core, was what he saw on Brandt’s face as he danced.

  But then the song ended and Brandt seemed to recall that he had an audience. He stopped dancing and turned the volume way down. “Sorry. I like that song. Do you like the Bangles?”

  Edge shrugged.

  “Well, what music do you like? Do you have a favorite singer or song? Or a genre you’re fond of? You seem like the type who might be into heavy metal.”

  “I don’t know.” Edge had heard music many times, on TV and during the boss’s parties, but he didn’t know what any of it was called. He’d never paid much attention because it didn’t seem to have anything to do with him. Music was a human thing.

  “You probably work long hours and don’t get much of a chance to listen now. But what about when you were a kid? A teenager? I remember the first record I bought. My aunt gave me a record player for my thirteenth birthday, and I used my paper-route money to buy Elton John’s newest album. I must have listened to that thing a thousand times, and ‘Daniel’ made me cry every damned time.” He paused and stared expectantly at Edge. “So, how about you?”

  Edge could only shrug. There had been no songs during his youth.

  He expected Brandt to drop the subject, but instead he came a few steps closer, his brow furrowed. “You really don’t have a favorite? Do you hate music?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, then. Hang on.” He strode to his stack of CDs, scanned the titles, and pulled one out. Then he replaced the Egyptian disc with the new one and looked over his shoulder at Edge. “I don’t own vinyl anymore, but now I have this one on CD.” He pushed a button and music began to play.

  For the first time in his life, Edge paid close attention to a song. Although he didn’t completely understand the details, he got the main points: one brother, scarred and damaged, leaving another. The words and melody made his throat feel too tight, as if his collar were strangling him, and he swallowed several times.

  When the song was over, Brandt stopped the CD and gave him a small smile. His eyes looked watery. “Did you like it?”

  Edge gave an honest answer. “Yes.”

  “Good. Let me show you some more.”

  He played several more songs then, naming all of the performers as he went: Pet Shop Boys, George Michael, REM, The Smiths. One of them, by a singer named Tracy Chapman, made his throat tighten again; it was about someone struggling to escape her constrictive life. What unsettled Edge even more, however, was the way Brandt watched him, gauging his reactions, seeming to truly care what Edge thought.

  Nobody ever cared what Edge thought.

  Brandt was trying to decide on the next song when one of the housekeepers arrived with a tray. Edge took it from her and she hurried away. When he walked toward the table in one corner of the room, Brandt stopped him. “Can we eat outside on the balcony instead?” He opened the French window in an inducement.

  The small balcony held an iron bistro table and two chairs. Shaded by the overhanging roof, it offered a sweeping view of the estate. Several groundskeepers were toiling away, and Holt was patrolling near the entrance to the main house. Duke wasn’t visible. Edge set the tray on the table and Brandt sat down. When Edge didn’t sit too, Brandt motioned at the chair. “Join me?”

  Seated across from him, Edge felt like an actor in a movie—a beast playing the role of a human. He kept shifting, trying to find a more natural position, but no matter how he held his back or angled his legs, he didn’t feel like himself. At least the food wasn’t difficult to eat, just thick roast beef sandwiches with potato chips and cut-up fruit. Maybe the cook had realized Edge was going to be eating this meal and, taking pity on him, had prepared something that wouldn’t require elaborate maneuvers to consume. The cook was always kind to him, sneaking bits of food when Edge was in dog form and saving him large bones to gnaw on.

  “Have you worked for Mr. Whitaker for very long?” Brandt winced. “Sorry. That sounded like a pickup line, but I didn’t mean it that way. Just being conversational.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, that was a bad pickup line and I’m being socially inept, or yes, you’ve worked here a long time?” Brandt cocked his head and quirked his lips.

  “A long time.”

  “Ah. Do you like working for him?”

  “He takes care of me.” That was a good way to remain loyal without actually lying.

  Or so Edge thought, but then Brandt squinted thoughtfully at him. “My aunt took care of me too—even bought me that record player I mentioned—but that doesn’t mean I liked living with her.”

  Instead of answering, Edge uncapped his bottle of water and took a swallow. But as soon as the liquid hit his mouth, he coughed in surprise. The cook had sent up the fancy stuff that the boss and his friends drank; Edge hadn’t realized how odd the bubbles would taste. With Brandt looking on with concern, Edge took a second, more cautious sip. No coughing this time. And the bubbles were… interesting.

  Brandt, of course, drank his water smoothly. He did almost everything smoothly. He ate with elegance, even when it was only potato chips, and he moved his hands gracefully when he spoke. Sometimes when he wasn’t saying anything and wasn’t eating, he’d stroke his chin slowly with his thin fingers. What did his skin feel like? What would it taste like, swiped with a tongue?

  Edge realized he was staring and would have turned away, but Brandt raised his eyebrows and gave him a slow smile. The back of Edge’s neck felt hot, his heart beat faster, and his mouth went dry despite the water. He tried to calm himself as he emptied the bottle. The boss had basically ordered him to have sex with Brandt, so this obvious interest should have been a good thing. It’d make Edge’s job easier—and this wasn’t the first time he’d performed this particular task. But when the boss offered him up to potentials, Edge was simply a tool. Additional bait. He wasn’t supposed to be emotionally involved. But then, other potentials hadn’t invited him to lunch and conversed with him as if he actually mattered.

  Dammit. All it took was a metaphorical scratch behind his ears and he’d turned into a fucking lapdog.

  “You must meet a lot of famous people.”

  Edge blinked. “What?”

  “Celebrities. You must get to know a lot of them.” Brandt waved a hand toward the big house as if indicating the ghosts of past social events.

  “I see some.”

  “Hmm, see them but don’t get to know them, ’cause you’re security, not an agent like Whitaker. I get it. But at least you get to see ’em. I grew up in a little town in Wisconsin. Closest I got to seeing anyone famous was in fifth grade when the local weatherman came to do a presentation at my school. I’ve spied a few celebrities since I moved to LA, but….”

  “You’ll meet movie stars at the boss’s parties.”

  “Sure. And I’ll be a movie star if I play my cards right.”

  Edge nodded, then clenched his jaw tight.

  Chapter Four

  Terry didn’t know whether Edge was going to be an asset or an obstruction. So far he’d mostly proved a distraction—his grunted replies, his har
d body, his soft eyes brimming with secrets—and that wasn’t good. There had been a connection between them, an almost tangible band of desire. Back in Terry’s clubbing days, if a man had looked at him the way Edge had, Terry would have dragged him to the nearest dark corner, alley, or bathroom stall, and they would have fucked their brains out.

  But those days were long past, Whitaker’s estate wasn’t a dance club, and Edge had seemed to be struggling against his attraction to Terry.

  Maybe Whitaker had ensnared Edge the same way the Bureau believed he was ensnaring would-be actors. The idea sickened Terry—more than it ought to, considering he’d just met Edge and knew nothing about him. Well, nothing other than that he wanted Terry and knew a lot more than he was willing to share.

  All right. Give it time. Meanwhile, playing nice with Edge made sense logistically, and it wasn’t exactly a hardship.

  After lunch Terry took a stroll around the grounds with Edge in tow. Apparently this didn’t count as poking around, and it was nothing more than getting, quite literally, the lay of the land. He saw the tennis courts, the little putting green, the statues scattered throughout. He admired the landscaping and the pool. He encountered a few other people during his explorations—gardeners, mostly—but they simply nodded and returned to their tasks after he greeted them. Other than Edge, the only ones who paid attention to Terry were the dogs, who watched him from various points along his walk. Each dog was always alone, but Terry was pretty sure he saw only two of them. Maybe the third was hanging out with Whitaker.

  Terry felt more restless after the walk rather than less. When he returned to the guest house, he paused at the bottom of the stairs. “I think I want to use the gym.”

  Edge stared at him expressionlessly.

  “I wouldn’t mind a workout buddy. If you can, I mean. I don’t know what your job rules are.”

  “I can exercise too.”

  “Great! I’ll go change. I brought some shorts and stuff. How about you?”

  “I have something.”

  That wasn’t particularly enlightening, but very few of Edge’s statements were. He followed Terry up the stairs but stopped short of Terry’s room and opened the adjacent door. “I’ll get you when I’m ready,” Edge said.