Page 3 of Pistols and Plush Toys

“Fucking perfect,” Mattia said, letting go of his hair. “Honestly babe, you could skip breakfast if you just started my day off like that every morning.” He chuckled, but Elliot didn’t think he was kidding. Mattia had a high sex drive, and once upon a time, Elliot had been fine keeping up.

Mattia stepped back to give Elliot the room to get back to his feet.

He felt woozy from the lack of air. He’d prioritized speed over comfort, and had to grip the cold marble countertop to steady himself on his feet. Thankfully, Mattia didn’t notice. He was already stepping away, scooping his phone up off the table.

“Alright, I gotta go. Make sure you're back on time, El. Don’t make us late.”

“I won’t,” Elliot said, voice rough. He listened to the sounds of Mattia going to the door, grabbing his keys and wallet, and then leaving.

The second he was gone, Elliot’s stomach lurched. He turned and dashed for the nearest bathroom.

***

The diner Elliot worked at was owned by Mattia, and used for some tax purposes that weren’t entirely clear to Elliot.

The few times he’d asked more questions he’d been quickly shut down and told to keep his nose out of Mattia’s business.

So he had. It wasn’t worth bothering Mattia if Mattia didn’t want to elaborate.

The diner was a small hole-in-the-wall place on one of the main strips in town.

They served diner staples, simple foods that really didn’t require the kind of background that Elliot had.

It was a compromise Mattia had made to keep Elliot happy.

Elliot could keep working, but only at a place that Mattia decided was safe enough.

Elliot knew vaguely that Mattia’s work in antiques and his wealth made him—and by extension Elliot—a target, so he hadn’t argued.

Once he’d gotten to work, Elliot clocked in, stowed his backpack in his cubby, grabbed his apron, and got started.

The diner had one other cook on staff, Bill, who’d been at the diner long before Elliot.

He was a man of few words, and they communicated mostly in nods and grunts and hand signs.

The moment that Elliot got settled into chopping vegetables, Bill gave him a nod and then headed out.

That would be a problem later, when Elliot had to dash.

Because he’d forgotten to tell them he needed to leave early.

The next time Stacy came by for plates, Elliot asked her to pass along the message to Ginger, the manager. He made sure to mention the wedding, because there’d be no arguing about that. Mattia was Ginger’s boss. She would know that when Elliot had to go, he had to go.

For the next two hours Elliot sank into making food.

He made burgers and fries and fried chicken.

Put together sandwiches and mourned all of his culinary skills that were stagnating.

Elliot knew he should be grateful, should be glad that Mattia even allowed this much, but it still felt like being sidelined.

Like his ambitions would never count as much as Mattia's.

The diner was still better than nothing, he reminded himself. After they’d been dating a while Mattia had demanded he not work at all, that it was too dangerous, too unnecessary. Elliot had agreed at first, but the nothingness that then filled his days had quickly begun to wear him down.

Working here was better than that. Even if the restaurant had no stars, even if the julienned carrots for the salads were appreciated by no one, at least he had something to do. At least he was useful somewhere.

It was a Friday, so as the day wore on the diner got more busy. Elliot slipped into the flow, focusing on the food, trying not to let his mind wander. If he thought about how small his life had gotten, he got sad. Sad didn’t help anyone.

“Juniper’s gonna relieve you,” Ginger said when she dropped into the kitchen hours later. For a second, Elliot didn’t even understand what she meant by that, so focused on the burger flipping and careful plating that no one cared about.

Then he remembered the wedding.

How did he keep forgetting about the wedding?

“Okay, thanks.” His eyes darted to the clock on the far wall. He had to leave in about thirty minutes if he was going to have enough time to get ready. He had to make sure he was out of here on time.

Then Stacy was back, dropping another order by, and Elliot put his head down and got back to work.

He didn’t mean to slip back into the flow, but there were so few times when he just got to turn off and do something he enjoyed.

The diner was a nowhere place, but Elliot made the food as good as it could be.

The fries were crispy and the burgers were the perfect amount of juicy.

Even as orders kept coming in, he kept up with the pace.

He’d worked years in a four-star kitchen, so the diner was practically child’s play.

It felt good being good at something. In every other part of his life he was fucking up, but this he could do. This–

Then suddenly Ginger was there beside him, ripping the spatula from his hand.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?” Ginger didn’t curse, and even when the diner had lost power, when they’d run out of hamburger buns, she’d kept her composure. Now she looked downright frightened. It startled Elliot so hard he almost bumped the hot griddle.

“What?”

“You were supposed to leave twenty minutes ago. Juniper was supposed to– oh fuck. You gotta go. You gotta go now. You wanna take my car?”

Elliot’s eyes went immediately to the clock. It was five fifteen. He was supposed to be at a wedding at six.

Mattia was going to kill him.

“Oh fuck, I gotta go.” It was only the training that had been drilled into him, the muscle memory, that had him reaching and turning off the burners. Then he dashed across the kitchen, tearing the apron off.

Ginger dogged him every step of the way. “Here, you can take my car.” She produced keys from out of nowhere.

But no, no that wouldn’t work. Not only would it inconvenience Ginger, because who the hell knew when he could get the car back to her, but if he pulled up at their place in Ginger’s car, Mattia would hit the roof.

He already didn’t care for Elliot working at the diner, but if it seemed like he’d gotten too close to someone… it wouldn’t be good for him or Ginger.

“No—no, it’ll be fine. I’ll hurry.” He was already at his cubby, shoving in the apron as he grabbed his backpack.

Ginger followed, fear and anxiety radiating off her.

It wouldn’t be her fault he was going to be late, but she had enough experience with Mattia to know he wasn’t stingy with blame.

There was always more than enough to go around.

“It’ll be fine. Really.” Elliot said quickly, even though it felt like he was lying through his teeth. “Clock me out?”

He pushed out the back door, didn’t even hear if she responded. It didn’t matter. Nothing about the diner mattered now.

The diner wasn't far from their place, but it was far enough that Elliot, even almost running, wouldn’t get home until five thirty.

That would give him thirty minutes to get ready and be at the wedding. It wasn’t enough time, but it would have to do.

If he made Mattia late…

The dread in his chest expanded with every step. Even if he’d been on time, there was always something for Mattia to be mad about. No doubt his hair would be wrong or the suit wouldn’t be tailored just right. There’d be some way that Elliot was falling short.

Not being late was the one thing he’d asked Elliot for his morning, and he was fucking it up.

When a black car pulled up beside Elliot not a block later, the relief that hit him almost bowled him over. Mattia also didn’t trust him to be on time, so he’d sent a car. Right, okay. At this point anything was better than actually being late.

The door opened and a man stepped out, calling his name.

If Elliot had been less frazzled, maybe he would’ve looked at the man’s face or thanked him for the ride.

But they didn’t have time for that.

“I’m here, I’m here! Let’s go.” He all but threw himself in the car. It pained him to be rude, but for once he really couldn’t bear all the pomp and circumstance. They needed to go, and they needed to go now. With a car he might have just enough time to—

“Mr. Brooks?” The man who’d opened the door was still standing outside the car, confused.

“Mattia told you I’m late, right?” Elliot bit his lip, clenching his hands in his lap. “We have to go.”

Bringing up Mattia got the man to move. He slid back in the car and shut the door. Elliot was bookended by two men, which he had just a second to find unusual before one reached over and ripped his backpack off him.

The other man produced a pair of zip ties.

Elliot swallowed as he realized that neither of the men were familiar. Mattia usually cycled through the same few drivers.

He realized then that the car was different too. Mattia was brand loyal when it came to cars.

This wasn’t one of Mattia's cars. These weren’t Mattia's men.

He sucked in a breath as his wrists were grabbed, the zip ties pulling tight around them as a black bag came down on his head.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck . This was exactly what Mattia had always warned him about.

He was being kidnapped.

He was being kidnapped.

And then, hysterically, his next thought as the car pulled away from the curb was how Mattia was going to kill him, if these men didn’t first.