Page 10 of Pistols and Plush Toys

If Nikolai were the son his father had wanted him to be, he would’ve been pleased by how broken and defeated Brooks looked.

But it only sickened him. The only faint, barely-a-glimmer positive was that Brooks certainly looked distressed.

It would tug at whatever fetid heartstrings Vitale still had.

Because if those big, doe eyes were working on Nikolai, then they’d work on anybody. Of that, he was certain.

“Better?” Nikolai asked when it seemed as though Brooks was no longer on the edge of passing out from hyperventilation. “See, you’re not needing to panic. I will not hurt you if you cooperate, yes? This is simple video. Simple. You can do it.”

There was a long moment where Brooks blinked to clear his vision. Then the man nodded. Nikolai had no idea if the words were even getting through to him, or he was just appeasing his captor. At least he’d stopped most of his shaking and wasn’t tearing into his lower lip anymore.

Nikolai made himself step back, walking back to the camera.

It was still recording, and he stopped the video to start a new one.

He paused just before hitting the record button.

His plan had been to prompt Brooks into speaking, but something told him to do so again would only push Brooks back into panic.

He’d misjudged this set-up. It was clearly too much for Brooks. They’d need to do this a different way.

He tapped the record button.

“Vitale,” Nikolai spoke from behind the camera.

“I have your lover. He is not doing so well without you, you can see. You should be serious. Elliot is pretty, yes? Would be shame to ruin such beauty. Such shame.” The words were ones he’d heard in piecemeal in his childhood, borrowed from memories he’d shut away and promised himself never to revisit.

It was almost too easy to put them to work now.

Brooks was starting to cry again, head hung down as if to hide from the camera. Nikolai looked away so he wouldn’t be distracted. This needed to be done right.

“You agree to my terms, and this all goes back to how it was before. It is how it always has been. You try to change thing, but I’m will forgive. Otherwise Elliot stays with me. He is fragile, yes? A beauty.”

The sounds of Brooks's sobs were audible. Nikolai swallowed down bile. It wasn’t just Brooks—those heart-wrenching sobs were picking at old, old wounds. They made his skin crawl.

“You know of my father, you know how this goes. Your call.”

He let it film for one second longer, catching the drips of tears on Brooks's lovely face. Then he hit the stop button.

The second the filming stopped, Nikolai let out an explosive breath. Fuck. At least that was done.

He took his phone off the stand and pocketed it. Then he strode back over to Brooks. Brooks's shirt was wet with tears.

“It is done. You see?” Nikolai said as he crouched to start pulling the knot loose. The square knot came undone easily and then he unwound the rope from around Brooks. As he did so, the man quieted down, blinking with confusion at Nikolai.

“Is that… all?” Elliot said when the rope came away and Nikolai recoiled it to set it back on the table. Someone would be by later to take all the rest of the stuff away.

“Not enough?” He didn’t mean it as a threat, but Brooks still flinched. “No,” Nikolai said quickly. “We are done.” He grabbed the black bag off the table. “But you will wear this for ride back.”

Brooks was silent when Nikolai got close again and placed the bag carefully over his head, silent as Nikolai took his hands again and guided Brooks to standing.

Brooks's hands were clammy with sweat and shaking.

Nikolai stepped closer to employ his strength and keep Brooks upright.

It was, after all, his fault that the man was quivering like a traumatized baby deer.

Together they left the building, heading back into the sunshine. Nikolai took another deep breath of fresh air, glad to be out of there, glad to be done with it. Hopefully that would be all the intimidating that Vitale required.

Nikolai had slipped into the role of intimidator too easily, like a jacket tailored just to his size.

He didn’t like it.

The car was still waiting outside, and he led Brooks back to it and inside. He put a hand on the man’s head to make sure he didn’t hit the top of the door as he helped him in.

When they were settled, Nikolai leaned forward and rapped the glass between him and Alex to signal he was ready. The car started off back toward home.

It was a short drive back, and with every mile Nikolai could feel the stress draining out of him.

He’d woken this morning to a nasty message from Vitale telling him to go fuck himself if he thought kidnapping his bitch was going to make Vitale kill his clubs.

Nikolai had been tightly wound ever since.

Nikolai had no idea what incited him more; that Vitale wasn’t folding or how offensively he’d spoken about Brooks.

He let the anger simmer as they drove. Once this was settled, he wouldn’t have to think about Vitale anymore. It would be back to the status quo, and hopefully nobody else would get any funny ideas about expanding their business ventures.

Nikolai should be so lucky.

When they got back through the front gate of his estate, Nikolai reached over and pulled the bag off. Elliot jumped again , because apparently he jumped at everything, but after a quick glance out the window seemed to relax himself. Good. Nikolai would get the man settled back in his room and—

No. There were things to do before that.

It was after eight, and Nikolai hadn’t eaten—and he hadn’t woken Brooks earlier to offer the man breakfast either.

Food was definitely in order, especially after the high emotions of the morning.

Nikolai had left snacks in the room for Brooks, but from a cursory glance this morning, the kid hadn’t touched anything.

He’d probably be starving the second the adrenaline dropped.

Nikolai pulled out his phone and texted Meredith. Before the car even parked in the drive, she’d replied that she’d ordered breakfast for them and it was waiting in the kitchen.

He pocketed his phone as the car stopped. “Come,” he ordered, opening the door and getting out. Brooks meekly followed after him.

Nikolai led them back inside and to the dining room.

“Sit,” he said, pointing to one of the dining room chairs.

When Brooks shakily lowered himself into a seat, Nikolai strode to the kitchen to find two bags from one of his favorite breakfast joints there waiting for him.

He was grateful when he peeked inside to see there was more than enough food for two.

Meredith had undoubtedly planned for feeding Brooks before it had even occurred to Nikolai to ask her to. That was why he paid her the big bucks.

He grabbed the handles of the two bags and carried them back into the dining room.

“Today is American breakfast,” Nikolai declared as he set the bags down on the table and started to pull steaming clamshells of food out. “I’m hope it will be good for you. Do you have food allergies?”

When he looked up, Brooks was staring at him blankly.

One of the clamshells was a pancake and eggs breakfast, and he tilted it toward Elliot so he could see through the clear topper. “You can eat?” He asked again.

“Uh, y-yeah,” Brooks said hesitantly.

Nikolai nodded and slid the container over to him with a sealed set of utensils. For himself, he grabbed the small box of donuts from the other bag. He was feeling like a sweet this morning to level himself out.

He took up the chair across from Brooks and dove into his own food. Just the smell of it was awakening his hunger, and he chomped through two donuts in quick succession, following it with gulps of black coffee. It wasn’t a cold glass of vodka, but it would do for now.

His eyes slid up to see Brooks just sitting there, staring down at the still closed food container.

“You eat?” Nikolai asked again, trying not to get frustrated. Brooks had to be starving. Why wouldn’t he eat? Did he think Nikolai had done something to the food?

Brooks looked up at him, eyes big as though Nikolai had asked a much more dangerous question.

“You want something different?” Nikolai tried.

“N-no,” Brooks said. “Sorry, this is–this is fine. Sorry.”

Brooks reached for the container, opening the clamshell. He did so slowly, as though it pained him. He opened the pack of silverware and took out the fork, carefully spearing one of the strawberries in the container. It went into his mouth and he almost grimaced as he chewed.

“I can get you different,” Nikolai tried again. “What do you eat?”

“T-this is fine,” Brooks said quietly. But Nikolai watched him hesitate before he speared another bit of strawberry, hand trembling around his fork.

He once again chewed painfully slowly, then took a breath as if to steel himself before cutting off a tiny sliver of pancake.

Nikolai understood to a point. It had been a difficult morning. But the kid still needed to eat. Nikolai was getting the bad feeling that if he sent Brooks back to his room like this, even the snacks there would go untouched.

He let it go for a few minutes, finishing off his doughnuts and then a side of scrambled eggs. It helped to have food in his stomach. His patience and mood were improving already.

But the entire time he ate, he surreptitiously watched Brooks pick at his own food. It took him several tries before a morsel made its way into his mouth, and he looked ill as he chewed his way through it.

Maybe Nikolai’s presence here was doing more harm than good.

“You can take back to your room. Will you eat later?” Nikolai offered. Then, “You are too thin, you need to eat.”

“It’s fine,” Brooks said hurriedly. “I’m sorry, I can—it’s fine. S-sorry.” Then, as if to prove it to Nikolai, Brooks cut a bigger piece of egg and stuffed it in his mouth.

It was the wrong choice, and Nikolai stood at the same time that Brooks pushed up away from the table, green in the gills.

“Through there, the right door,” he clipped just as Brooks swiveled around to look for a bathroom.

The man was surprisingly quick on his feet, dashing to the hallway and through the door Nikolai had indicated not a moment later.

It would’ve been a good ploy to escape, except he was clearly actually being sick.

Nikolai walked close enough to hear it from the open door. He grimaced at no one.

So the food had been too soon. He’d rushed the horses. Foolish.

Uncertain about what else to do and annoyed at his own helplessness, Nikolai pulled out his phone and wrote out a summary of what had happened to Meredith. She responded immediately that she’d send some nausea medication over.

When the sounds of sickness stopped, Nikolai peered through the open doorway of the bathroom. Brooks had flushed away the mess, but was still sitting on the floor, leaned up against the far wall, head in his hands.

“Is this why you are too thin?” It came out before Nikolai could think better of it, and he had to watch Brooks cringe. Yeah, that had been tasteless. If Meredith had been there she would’ve swatted him for it.

“I’m sorry,” Brooks stuttered. “I didn’t mean–I wasn’t trying–”

He looked on the verge of tears again, and Nikolai could not handle it. He needed the man to calm down, not have another panic attack.

“Hey,” he held up his hands in a pacifying motion. “Is okay. Too soon to eat. I understand.” He paused then, unsure what to do next. Taking Brooks back to the dining room would be a bad idea. “You can wash up. Try again later. Okay?”

Brooks bit his bottom lip, drawing attention back to the fact that he’d split it open. Nikolai barely held back the glare at the reminder, because he knew it would do no good for Brooks to see him more upset.

“Okay,” Brooks said quietly.

Satisfied that at least he wasn’t going to push Brooks into yet another full meltdown, Nikolai stepped forward and offered his hand for Brooks to get back up. Brooks stared at the offer, as if Nikolai's hand were going to snap out and hurt him.

Then he took the hand, and was on his feet once more.

Nikolai let go only once he was certain the man wasn’t going to keel over. He still looked pale, and there was sweat at his brow from being sick. A shower would be a good idea.

“Come. I’m will take you to other bathroom. There is toothbrush and shower there. You will feel better.”

He didn’t wait to see if Brooks would follow.

It was another opportunity for the kid to run, but Nikolai was quickly becoming convinced that that wasn’t in his repertoire.

Nothing about him said that he was a fighter.

He was clearly a much gentler soul than that.

One who had, by a series of unfortunate circumstances and a poor taste in men, ended up here with Nikolai.

The least Nikolai could do now, as they waited for Vitale to come around to his demands, was make Brooks comfortable.