Pieces
741 Words
Nickolai staggers to the left, copper flooding his mouth. This is the first time someone hit him with a bat in the face. His left cheek is burning and he already feels like s**t— Emeliano always seems to send them on the shittiest of missions.
He spits blood on the floor, wiping his lips with his wrist.
That psychopath.
Ivan is in the corner trembling with fear.
"N- Nick..l-lets leave...!" He whimpers.
The man grabs Nickolai by the hair, forcing him to look at him. His tobacco breath attacking his nose.
He shoots him an icy glare.
"Don't glare at me you little s**t !" He growls slapping Nickolai across the face.
Nickolai grits his teeth. He has to endure it.
It'll be over soon.
"Leave him alone, asshole!" Cade yells, thrashing. One of the goons has him arm locked tight in mid air. He just happened to tag along like_he usually does and now he's paying for it.
The man yanks Nickolai up by the collar, staring him dead in the eye. "Who sent you?"
Nickolai's jaw tightens. " Emeliano Navarette". He grinds out.
He hates repeating himself.
He scrutinizes Nickolai, obviously not buying it.
"So, Navarette's a babysitter? Kid, don't f**k with me". He sneers.
Well, Nickolai wouldn't blame him. He'd also find it ridiculous to meet a bunch of fifteen year olds running errands in this line of business. Still— he isn't the average fifteen year old.
"Look" he exhales sharply, trying not to snap"I brought your parcel, didn't I?"
The man presses his lips into a thoughtful line.
"I guess you did". He un-hands Nickolai, waving a hand to the others. They release Carter and Ivan.
He takes a long drag of his cigar and blows it out in Nickolai's face.
He doesn't flinch, but is something inside him is twitching to ram that cigar into this bastard's left eyeball and sewing his lower lip to his nostrils afterwards.
"Hand it over".
Nickolai tilts his head. "The exchange".
The man laughs. "You f*****g with me again kid?". His face suddenly stiffens. "I ain't giving you s**t unless I see the goods, s**t head". Another sneer. Another puff of smoke it into his face.
That's it. He just lost his patience.
The Navarettes never cheat— Everyone knows that.
It's obvious they never wanted to make the trade in the first place. They are just a bunch of men who want an excuse to flex with the middle man.
Emeliano knew this, but why he sent him remains a mystery.
Nickolai grins. Still, they can't go back without making the exchange. Emeliano would punish them.
"Fine". He sighs taking a step back. "I guess this was a waste of time". He mutters.
The man frowns, thrown off by that devilish grin.
Nickolai rakes a hand through his hair with a smug.
He reaches for the knife in his pockets"I'll wipe that stupid smile off your—"
It's a rule in the mafia that if a trade isn't going as planned, you flip the tables over and put an end to it.
Guess they'll have a little fun too.
Three clean shots.
Thud.
He sighs. It's a good thing trades happen off turfs. It makes things easier.
He walks over his body, dumping the parcel on him. Emeliano had no use of it in the first place.
He crouches, rummaging through his back pocket. There. The USB drive.
Ivan shuffles over. "Are you alright?"
Nickolai nods. "Never been better".
Cade flicks his head, whistling. "Damn bro, where's the fun if you asked Matteo to handle it?".
Nickolai straightens, staring up at Matteo's silouhette on a building's rooftop with a rifle slinged over his shoulder. Silent. Watching.
"Let's just say he owes me". Nickolai mutters.
Matteo gives him a respectful nod before disappearing into the shadows.
Ivan stares down at his pants. "Guys... I think I wet myself". He mumbles embarrassed.
Cade throws an arm over his shoulders. "That's two of us". He picks up the bat, contemptuously hitting the corpse's head with it. "Stupid jerks".
"Stop it you psycho!" Ivan groans. Cade sticks his tongue out at him.
Nickolai's fingers tightens around the USB drive sliding it into his pocket.
Whatever is in on here... it's important enough they didn't trust him.
But he doesn't think too much of it. It's not his business.
"Let's go".
His head is throbbing with every step.
- Writer
