Page 29 of Pistols and Plush Toys

New emotion threatened Elliot with more tears, at Nikolai acknowledging the stuffed toys. At accepting them, saying they could keep Elliot company without a speck of derision.

“Okay,” Elliot said again, around a clogged throat, stepping backwards into the bedroom. “Thank you.”

“Sleep well, Elliot,” Nikolai said. And he closed the door.

***

Elliot was jolted awake by the sound of his door flying open with force, banging into the wall.

It took a heart pounding few seconds to shake sleep, but just as he was blinking at the figure silhouetted from the hallway, the overhead light flashed on and Elliot had to shield his face, his eyes burning.

Heavy footsteps crashed toward him and someone tore the blanket away.

“Get up!” a voice barked.

It wasn’t Nikolai. His heartbeat tripled, everything going woozy as his body tried to catch up. It wasn’t Nikolai, because Nikolai was gone. Out. He’d left someone to take care of Elliot in his place. He said it was–

“Horace?” Elliot said, tongue clumsy from both sleep and new fear. “Did—did something happen—”

“It’s Horatio ,” the man said with angry emphasis. He muttered something in another language. Not—not Russian. “Get up, we don’t have a lot of time.”

A big hand wrapped around Elliot’s arm even as he reared back, instinctively grabbing at the blankets. Horatio yanked him out of the bed, the blanket and pillows spilling out behind Elliot onto the floor.

Elliot almost fell in his disorientation. “What—what’s going on?” He tried, stumbling after Horatio as he was dragged forward, toward the door. “Is Nikolai okay?”

“I work for Mattia,” Horatio sneered. “I’m here to take you home.”

“W-what?” Dread dropped straight through him. Out of instinct, Elliot tried to pull away, but Horatio’s grip was iron.

“What’re you, stupid? We have to go,” the man snapped, yanking him forward.

Fear wrapped its claws around Elliot’s throat and instead of going quietly, he flailed backward.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Horatio snarled, catching his other arm and shaking him hard. “We have to go!”

Elliot didn’t want to go back to Mattia. He didn’t want to go back to Mattia.

Desperation made him struggle in the hold. “No,” he gasped. “No!”

Horatio backhanded him. “Shut the fuck up! We don’t have time for this.”

The sudden violence stunned him, and stark terror flooded through him because Elliot—he wasn’t strong enough.

He was alone with Horatio and he wasn’t strong enough, and if Mattia had tasked Horatio to bring Elliot back to him, Horatio was going to drag Elliot back no matter what.

There was nowhere for Elliot to go to be safe from him, and fighting more, struggling more, would just make Horatio angrier.

He was willing to hit Elliot, which meant that Mattia hadn’t told him not to.

What else was Horatio willing and allowed to do?

What else did Mattia think Elliot deserved?

The fight drained out of him, leaving him cold in its wake. Numb.

“You done?” Horatio snarled. “Good, let’s go.”

Elliot only allowed himself one last glance over his shoulder as Horatio yanked him forward again. The last thing he saw as he was pulled from the bedroom was Max and Apricot lying in a tangled heap of blankets on the floor.

Elliot didn’t sob. He bit his lip and didn’t make a sound as he was marched through the dark, silent house, Horatio muttering curses in what Elliot recognized from Mattia as Italian.

He had no idea what time it was, no idea how long it had been since Nikolai had left, or how long it would be until he came back.

He was taken out to the front and shoved unkindly into a waiting car. Horatio and the driver started talking in rapid Italian, and then the car was heading back out the open and unattended front gates.

Another chill went up Elliot’s spine. He was certain someone had been left at the gates. Nikolai was too careful not to leave someone else here. Which meant that whoever else had been here had probably been—

He curled up in his seat, arms tight across his belly. His wrist and forearm throbbed where Horatio had grabbed him, his cheek raw and stinging. He had been dragged out of bed in a thin T-shirt and his boxers and he felt horribly vulnerable. Vulnerable and alone.

His eyes burned, and he bit his lip harder, swallowing down his sounds. He had no idea what to expect. What would Mattia do to him? Elliot knew that he’d be blamed for everything that had happened in the days that he’d been with Nikolai. Mattia would be beyond furious with him.

Enough to… to kill him? Elliot didn’t know. He didn’t know what would be worse, anymore. Being dead, or Mattia wanting to keep him alive to make sure Elliot was sorry.

Either way, he thought dully, he knew it would hurt.

It came to him, the awful realization, that Mattia probably liked it when Elliot was hurting. That there was… there was a reason he kept setting Elliot up to fail. That there was a reason everything was always Elliot’s fault.

He hadn’t let himself think about it until this moment, as they made the drive away from Nikolai’s house, but Mattia enjoyed being cruel.

And Elliot had made him angry.

He lost his sense of time as the car drove on. As it rolled up to the skyscraper that was Mattia’s building.

Horatio got out and dragged Elliot into the lobby and to the elevator, yanking him along as though Elliot was fighting every step, instead of quietly stumbling after him, keeping his head down. The staff on duty looked at the two of them and then looked away, ignoring the scene.

When the elevator opened at the top, Horatio all but shoved him out before the doors reclosed.

And Elliot was alone, back in the penthouse. It looked the same. White tile and sharp angles. Everything cold and pristine.

He hated this place. Had maybe always hated it, even in the beginning when he’d been riding the high of Mattia’s attention and praise. He’d lived here for over four years, and had never been allowed to hang even a picture frame.

There was a light glowing from further in, even though the rest of the apartment was dark. It looked like it was coming from the living room.

Elliot knew what was waiting for him there.

He started to walk forward, shaking with every step, his bare feet dirty and freezing. Maybe if he could convince Mattia he was properly sorry, Mattia wouldn’t—wouldn’t make it hurt as much.

He stopped at the entrance to the living room.

And there was Mattia.

For once, Mattia wasn’t on his phone. He was seated in a chair, facing the entryway. Expectant. Waiting for Elliot, face a thundercloud.

“Welcome home,” Mattia spat as he pushed to his feet.

Elliot’s breath stuttered in his throat and he froze where he stood.

“What’s the matter?” Mattia’s voice was dark, venomous. “Aren’t you happy to be home? Aren’t you going to fucking thank me for getting you out?”

“Th-thank you, Mattia,” Elliot whispered. He couldn’t make himself be louder. Not with the terror. Not in the face of Mattia’s clear fury.

“Come here,” Mattia snarled, crooking a finger.

Elliot bit his lip on the whimper that wanted to escape and made himself walk forward. He was trembling all over, but he stopped right in front of Mattia.

“I don’t think I heard you, El,” Mattia said, voice gone quiet and cold. “You want to say ‘thank you’ again?”

Elliot knew what he wanted, and it made the beginnings of sickness spread through his stomach. He swallowed on a dry throat and sank down onto his knees.

He watched his hands reach out for Mattia’s belt, but they felt distant from him. Like someone else’s hands moving to start undoing the clasps.

A heavy hand settled on his head, fisting his hair and tugging at it meanly. It jerked Elliot’s head up, and his eyes met Mattia’s.

“After everything I’ve gone through,” Mattia clipped, “I don’t think that’s the right amount of gratitude, do you? Do you know how much money you’ve cost me because you were too stupid to not get kidnapped?”

Elliot opened his mouth, but no sound came out. What could he say that wouldn’t make Mattia angrier?

Mattia used the hand in Elliot’s hair to pull him back up to his feet, and Elliot scrambled to stand, to try to keep the yanking pain to a minimum.

“Go to the bedroom,” Mattia said, letting go of Elliot’s hair to give him a shove in the direction of the stairs. “You’re going to thank me properly.”

Elliot stumbled but managed to keep himself upright, for all that his whole body was quivering, the fear wrapped tight around his heart. It hadn’t been that long since he’d been here, not really, but it felt so different now. So much scarier.

But his feet started moving in the direction of the stairs, and he felt Mattia’s presence behind him, following.

Sweat prickled at the back of his neck from the weight of his gaze.

Elliot bit his lip again. What Mattia was saying was technically true.

He had gotten himself kidnapped, and Mattia had gone through a lot to “rescue” him.

He just hadn’t… hadn’t wanted to be rescued.

When he got to the bedroom, it was the same as he remembered, because of course it was. Open and empty, just the big bed and two nightstands, a lamp on the nightstand of Mattia’s side of the bed.

The lamp was on, the blackout curtains closed tight, so the whole room was dim. Dim and dark and foreboding.

Elliot took quiet, steady sips of air as he went to the bedside drawer where they kept the supplies. He focused on opening the drawer, grabbing the lubricant, and not on Mattia, who he could see undressing out of the corner of his eye.

A cold shiver ran down Elliot’s spine, and his vision tunneled as he pushed the drawer shut.

When he turned back to the bed, Mattia was already sprawled naked on it, and Elliot had to swallow down bile at seeing him. Elliot had once thought Mattia handsome, but looking at him now, all he saw was a threat. Strength and sharp lines and mean edges.