Page 9 of Pistols and Plush Toys

Nikolai’s heart twinged when his captive cried out, and he almost stopped coiling the rope around him before he gritted his teeth and kept at it. He couldn’t be soft here, not with so much at stake.

Nikolai wasn’t hurting Brooks, he knew he wasn’t.

The rope was being tied well, the way Nikolai had been taught, but it wasn’t too tight, not biting into Brooks's pale skin. And Nikolai had clearly said he wasn’t going to hurt the kid as long as he cooperated.

Brooks shouldn’t be acting like these were his final moments on Earth.

He held in a belabored sigh. There was some balance he needed to maintain between making sure this man didn’t actually hyperventilate out of fear, and not proving himself to be just as weak as his father had always said he was.

Nikolai settled on explaining what he was doing.

“I’m will tie you up, make a nice picture for Vitale.

And you’re will say to the camera that you want to go home.

Then I’m say Vitale must be keeping the Vitale and Tkachenko agreement.

” His eyes drifted over the black bag. “I’m will not hurt you if you’re cooperate. ”

His hands worked automatically with the ropes, winding them carefully around Brooks's torso, making sure his arms were properly restrained. He did it without even thinking, the muscle memory on full display. He’d spent so, so much time learning about knots and handcuffs and zip ties in his father’s basement growing up.

His father had wanted Nikolai to know how to not only restrain others, but how to escape if he ever had to.

Those had been grueling, terrible lessons.

In the early days, when Nikolai had been still a child, his father had left him in the basement tied up for hours and hours to “practice.” It had at least been sufficient motivation to learn quickly.

In under a year he’d been escaping rope in just minutes and had moved onto handcuffs.

To this day he still carried some form of lock pick on his person at all times. His favorites were the pair that hid neatly in a set of cufflinks Gerard had gifted him years ago. The most thoughtful gift Nikolai ever been given, safety and security and relief done up in elegant metal.

But Brooks didn’t need handcuffs. Rope would do nicely for the picture Nikolai wanted him to make for Vitale. And a square knot was nothing fancy, but it didn’t need to be. Brooks was a waif of a thing, and Nikolai doubted he had anything resembling the kind of escape training Nikolai had gotten.

Brooks’s slim chest rose and fell quickly, and though it was clear he was trying to keep his crying quiet, Nikolai was close enough to hear every hitched, wet breath.

Each sound dug into Nikolai in a way that compounded his burgeoning headache.

This was exactly why he didn’t really do this sort of thing, exactly why he’d spent so much of his professional career keeping his father’s branch of work at an arm’s length.

Looking around this dank space, it was all too easy to feel like he’d fallen right into his father’s footsteps.

Fuck it, tonight he was going to make himself a drink.

His hands finished with the knot, and he stepped back. This was a show, he reminded himself. It wasn’t real. Even if Brooks was shaken up by his treatment, he wasn’t actually being hurt. They were just going to make this video and then Brooks would be taken back and left in the room again.

Nikolai stepped over to where the tripod was waiting and stuck his phone in the slot, checking the picture through his phone's camera. The lighting was poor coming in through the half boarded up windows, but Brooks was still plenty visible, and anyway, the lighting added to the atmosphere. The point of all this was to inspire Vitale to quit playing games. If Vitale didn’t care about Brooks, he wouldn’t have guarded him so possessively.

This would work.

Once Nikolai was satisfied with the framing of the shot, he walked back toward the chair, reached out, and pinched the fabric over Brooks's head, lifting it up and off.

Brooks gasped, jolting against the ropes. Immediately Nikolai's eyes went to where the rope was laying on the bare skin of his arms. He hadn’t even thought about the fact that Brooks was likely to pick up some rope burn just from existing near them, like he had with zip ties.

His gaze traveled down to Brooks’s wrists. They were still red, still uncared for because Nikolai had peeked back into the room yesterday and Brooks had already been asleep. That was another fucking thing he needed to do today. The last thing he needed was for Brooks to get some sort of infection.

Resentment built just behind his ribcage.

As grand a plan as this had been, he was really starting to hate having to actually interact with Brooks.

He probably should have offloaded the task to one of his employees, but at the same time, he knew why he hadn’t.

He knew why he felt like the responsibility had to be his.

Even if he hated it.

Those big, glossy eyes blinked open and looked up at him, and Nikolai felt another pinch in his chest. Brooks really was a sight with those long eyelashes clumped with tears, the red rim of his eyes accenting the bright hazel color.

Vitale could say anything he wanted, but no one who cared about looks as much as Vitale would let someone like Brooks slip out of his grasp so easily. Nikolai just needed things to seem serious enough that the weasel crawled back to his family to tell them what Nikolai had done.

There’d be no misunderstanding then. Nikolai had already texted his demands, laid it all out in plain English. A Tkachenko wasn’t to step on Vitale toes, and the reverse was expected to be upheld.

Mattia Vitale had come in and proverbially shot him in the foot and then spat on him for good measure. Nikolai hated the disrespect, but he hated the audacity more. Their city was a good place to live, a clean place for the most part.

He didn’t care for the new lines of business Vitale was trying to bring in.

Now Brooks was looking up at him, as if pleading with Nikolai not to hurt him, and Nikolai abruptly realized that his lower lip was bleeding. He frowned, leaning down and grasping Brooks’ chin to tilt his face up to better see the wound.

Brooks let out a thin cry and then—then immediately bit his bleeding lip, shoulders shaking, his eyes squeezing shut.

Coldness dripped down Nikolai’s spine at the realization that Brooks had bitten his lip so hard he’d bled in a clear attempt to keep in more sounds.

He hurriedly let go of Brooks’s face and stepped back.

Watched as that slim chest heaved. Fuck.

He understood why Brooks was scared, understood the optics he had purposefully created.

But Nikolai didn’t need to feel this fucking terrible about something he had no choice in.

Nikolai wasn’t just doing this for himself or for his business. He was doing this for everyone .

He allowed himself one last, furious glower, shaking off the guilt as he turned and strode back to the camera. “Open your eyes,” Nikolai said. Not that he was looking forward to looking at Brooks’s stricken, panicked expression.

Brooks obeyed, those big hazel eyes glassy, teeth digging harder into his split lower lip.

Nikolai only just kept himself from barking at him to stop making the injury worse. “I will be turning on camera,” he said instead. “Tell Vitale to agree to my terms. If he’s agree, you go home. Easy.”

Brooks looked at him blankly.

“Understand?” Nikolai gritted out. It came out too harsh, too cutting, but he just wanted this to be done with. He didn’t want to be here in this dingy warehouse, terrifying this young man. And the sooner this was filmed, the sooner they could leave.

Brooks nodded.

Fine. Good. Nikolai hit record.

For a long moment nothing happened. The annoyance grew and he tried his best not to tap his foot in agitation. He gestured behind the camera for Brooks to start, but it didn’t even seem like Brooks was looking at him. His eyes were blank, staring into the middle distance, frozen in fear.

Nikolai frowned. “Tell your boyfriend how you want to come home.”

Brooks opened his mouth, but a full body shudder went through him. He took a short, shallow breath, and then another. Tears welled again in his eyes.

Nikolai wasn’t–wasn’t even doing anything to him.

It continued. He watched as Brooks fell apart in seconds, his breath quickening until he was gasping, his thin chest pressing against the ropes as he tried to get air. Tears flowed down his cheeks and dripped onto his shirt.

There was scared, and then there was…

“Are you having panic attack?” Nikolai blurted out.

Brooks sank his teeth back into his ravaged lower lip but a choked sob still escaped him.

He was heaving for air, but seemingly not getting enough, and fuck, maybe this would be good footage to send Vitale, but watching Brooks made Nikolai feel sick.

Without thinking, Nikolai rounded the tripod and walked into frame, striding right up to Brooks and crouching down to be on his level.

“Hey,” Nikolai said, trying for gentler but likely missing by a mile. “Breathe. I’m not hurting you. This is fake video, yes? Breathe.”

He took in a breath of air himself as if to illustrate, let it out slowly, then repeated it. Brooks stared at him, eyes unfocused, but on Nikolai’s next big breath in, Brooks copied him. Together they took another long, slow breath in, held it for a few seconds, then let it out.

Again and again, until finally it seemed as though Brooks’s wild terror had eased back. He sagged in the chair, as much as the ropes allowed.

The skin on his bare arms was indeed red and raw now from thrashing against the ropes.