He gave me half a smile. “Later,brat.”
Juvie released my arm slowly. “I’m gon’ need hazard pay, paid leave, and family counseling after tonight.”
Mikhail looked at him. “You are not family.”
“I’m family adjacent,” Juvie insisted.
“You are noise adjacent,” Mikhail corrected.
I shook my head at them. “Let’s go.”
Forty minutes later, Mikhail, Juvie, and I were back at the warehouse, striding down a cool, dark hallway. Grigor and Timur were waiting on us. They'd had some time with Igor, time during which the tech wizard seemed ready to spill. I hoped he wasn’t though. That was too easy. I needed a way to act out my rage. He was it. The men we’d sent on to glory earlier in the day were just a warm-up for what I had planned tonight.
“Ay, just so you know, I’on want no problems, no labor disputes. But I plan to get us guys together—a few hitmen, maybe a couple other drivers, y’all tech support—and get us a labor union. See if we can do something about these unreasonable work hours. I’m supposed to be in bed hyping some little baddie up,” Juvie complained.
I looked over at him. “Do self-respecting men say ‘baddie?’” I asked.
He slowed, like he was thinking. “Hottie?”
“Kinda dated.”
“Dime?”
“That’s old, too.”
He exhaled loudly. “Don’t think I don’t see you getting me off subject. That’s what you bougie niggas do. But we in the pola- prola- pro-”
“Proletariat,” Mikhail supplied, eyes trained forward.
He must’ve felt my scowl because he shrugged. “Working-class solidarity, sir,” he rumbled before holding out a fist for Juvie to bump.
“My nigga! I know that’s right, Mike,” Juvie crowed.
Mikhail’s head turned toward him, eyes narrowed. He shook his head once.
“Too soon for me to give you nicknames?” Juvie inquired.
“It will always be too soon, Julien Reed,” Mikhail said.
I shook my head. “Weak ass solidarity,” I taunted as I typed in a code to one of the many doors.
I smiled at what lay in the brightly-lit room before us. Timur stood in one corner, his posture deceptively casual as he nodded at us. Grigor stood between two long, ladder-looking contraptions set on steep inclines. Strapped to one was the blond man whom I had found out was named Oleg. Cold wasn’t the only thing causing his shivers this time. On the other lay a much less confident Igor. His eyes narrowed on me as Grigor waited for me to slide on a thin pair of gloves before handing me a device that amounted to a special kind of remote control. I could almost see the sweat bead on his pasty skin as he realized what I held. He tried to discreetly pull at the chains that held his arms above his head. They wouldn’t move, of course. Not yet. My smile widened.
“You know, all them times I listened to my GiGi singing about a stairway to heaven, I didn’t know the shit was real,” Juvie quipped, following me deeper into the room, plastic crackling beneath our feet.
I shook my head as I turned toward him. “Nah, not exactly. This is a cool little device known as a rack,” I explained.
Oleg let out a squeak before raggedy little pleas began falling from his lips. Juvie frowned at him before glancing at me. “Fuck wrong with him?”
“From what my brother says, Oleg has a little hand problem. Hits people he shouldn’t. Touches people he shouldn’t. Steals from people he shouldn’t,” I began.
“Gah damn. This nigga got more than a ‘little’ problem,” Juvie muttered.
“Especially since he was dumb enough to try to steal from Maxim.”
Juvie chuckled. “So, he got a ‘little’ hand problem and a ‘big’ death wish.”
“Maxim was generous enough to allow me to use him for practice. It’s not every day I get to break in a modern version of a medieval torture device. Might need to do a lil’ trial run,” I said, my mouth twisting into a half smile as I met Oleg’s terrified gaze.
