Page 128 of Nothing More

He scratched at his patchy chin, thinking. “Nah, we sold ‘em all that night. But we’re due to get more in next week. They were, like, shockingly popular, so my prez wants to go next month, too.”

“We want first pick of what comes in. Before the auction.”

The boy frowned at Toly’s blunt tone. “I’d have to check with the boss man.”

It took a little more convincing – but only a little. The Dog was young, enthusiastic, and eager to clinch a sale for his club. They swapped numbers, and the boy – Scott – said he’d be in touch as soon as he got word from the church table.

Toly was a fool, because he expected Oleg to be pleased with him. Instead, he squinted, eyes red-rimmed, one lid twitching and in need of his next fix, and said, “What’s his game? This Lean Dog. What does he want?”

“To sell you guns.”

He popped up from his chair, spit flying off his lip as he shouted, “They made a fool of me, and they want to again! I won’t buy his guns, I’ll have them!”

Toly knew a meetup was a mistake.

But Scott had the guns, and a can-do attitude, and so a time and place was set.

And now there sat poor Scott, taped to a chair, sniffling and terrified, while Oleg alternated between rummaging through his bags of guns, and striking him with a flogger made of an old broom handle and six inches of thin chain.

Toly was mere millimeters from his breaking point.

“What did you say?” Oleg demanded again, and advanced on Scott, flail lifted.

Scott jerked, as though he’d tried to lift his hands to shield his banged-up face and been pulled up short by his bonds. “N-n-nothing! I’m just – I’m trying to sell guns to you, dude! There’s no – there’s no trick!”

Oleg rounded on his goons, light glinting off his teeth, the wild whites of his eyes. “Dima. Take two of his fingers.” He grinned afterward, delighted with himself, as Scott struggled, as fruitlessly as the time before. Oleg turned back to him, his laugh unhinged – until it gave way to a growl. The grin became a snarl. “Do you think I’m a fool?!” he roared. “That I’m thick?!” He stabbed his own temple with a fingertip.

Scott didn’t answer this time, only looked up at him, tears spilling, nose running, as Dima moved around behind him with a pair of garden shears. Then, his gaze – the soft cornflower blue of a dress Toly remembered, dimly, from his earliest years, before his mother turned to vice – cut toward Toly. Found him there on his perch, through the gloom.Help me, he begged without words.Please.

Thatwas what proved to be the last straw. The thing that forever altered the course of Toly’s life.

He unfolded himself and leaped to the ground. His shoes made a light tap-tap on the floorboards, and the sound was enough to snatch Oleg’s head around. When Toly stepped into the light, Oleg’s snarl twitched.

“This is on you,” he said, voice dripping venom. “Youbrought him here.”

Toly kept his face neutral, his voice even, though his heart was racing. “I brought him here because you wanted the Skorpions from the Lean Dogs, and he’s willing to sell them to you – at a good price, even. Look.” He pointed to the open, rifled-through duffels that lay in a circle around his Pakhan. “He brought the guns. There’s no trick.”

Oleg’s eyes widened, and he sucked in a hissing breath through his teeth, as though appalled by Toly’s daring. “There – what if – there could be listening devices in these guns! They could be spying on us!”

“And why would they do that?”

Behind him, low murmurs in Russian from the jackals. He’d never contradicted Oleg before; no one had.

Toly said, “The Lean Dogs are salesmen, just like us. They want to do business with us, not spy on us.”

Oleg tried to slap him. His arm lifted in slow-motion, withdrawal making him unsteady and uncoordinated.

Toly stepped back neatly out of range, and Oleg’s hand whiffed past his face, stirring his hair.

More murmuring behind him.

“Boss,” Dima said in Russian. “The fingers, or no?’

“Yes,” Oleg said, the same moment Toly said, “No.”

Suddenly, it wasn’t about Scott, or the guns, or the Lean Dogs anymore. The air hummed and crackled, the sort of electric charge that had the men in the shadows standing up straight, putting out their smokes, cracking their knuckles. No blood in the water, yet, but the sharks started circling the boat, eager to see who would fall overboard.

“What did you say?” Oleg asked, voice low and sharp now, sober-sounding. Dangerous. He thrust his head forward on his spindly neck, sour breath wafting over Toly’s face. He cocked his head, like a bird of prey, his stare frantic, flashing. Furious. “Did you say ‘no’? Did you give anorder?”