Page 8 of Obey

All right, there had been nothing questionable about what I’d done. I’d hurt people, a lot of people, and I’d done it with a distance that everyone had read as coldness. Brutality.

It’s not like I go home and cry at night, fretting over what I’ve done. I don’t. I used to care a lot more than I did, but these days?

I don’t lose sleep over it.

Lance works the guy over, and I watch, leaning against the doorway.

I can’t feel too bad for the fool who’d stolen from the boss. He should’ve known better than to think we wouldn’t notice a missing weapon. I count everything meticulously. Silvano depends on me for it, and I have no intention of failing him again.

I’m already starting to plan what I’ll do to the assholes who stole the most recent shipment when I get my hands on them.

“What do you think, boss?” Lance asks, pausing with his bloodied fist just a few inches from the guy’s face. “Has he learned his lesson?”

Arthur Mason probably hasn’t learned his lesson, and he probably never will. He’ll end up in another gang, where he’ll try the same sort of thing.

That isn’t my problem.

“Break his nose,” I tell him, pushing away from the door frame I’d been leaning against.

Lance obliges, punching Arthur’s face—the face that had been so smug when he’d thought he’d gotten away with it, the face that had shown such fear when we’d shown up on his door.

Idiot.

“All right,” I say when Lance drops Arthur to the ground. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, Arthur. You’re gonna get that gun back, and you’re gonna bring it to me. You do that, we’ll call it square.”

There’s blood running down the guy’s face, but I don’t bat an eye.

Arthur nods frantically. Tears mix in with the blood, making a complete mess of his face. “I promise.”

Lance kicks Arthur’s side. “Don’t even think of running. We got people watching your house, fuckwad.”

I think there’s panic in Arthur’s face. He probably has no idea how to get the gun back. “I have no problem coming back if you don’t show up in the next three days,” I warn him. “So I’d get moving if I were you.” I look at Lance. “Let’s go. We don’t need him wasting any more of our time.”

Lance nods. He glares down at Arthur, then spits on him before turning to follow me.

Arthur’s whimpers and sobs follow us out of the building.

Once we’re out on the street, Lance grins at me. “That went well, yeah, boss?”

I’m still getting used to the men calling me boss. Despite how hard I’ve worked over the past several years, I’d never thought I’d become a capo who reports directly to Silvano Cresci.

Some days, I can hardly believe it.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding to him as I slide into the driver’s seat of the car. “I think that’s all for today. I’ll drive you home.”

“Thanks, boss.” Lance gets into the passenger seat and immediately starts fiddling with his phone. We drive in relative silence, until he suddenly says, “So, is it true that you’re going to do a mission with that dickface? Forks or Spoons, or whatever dumb name he’s using.”

I tense up at the mention, though I can’t help but crack a slight smile. “Knives,” I say, wanting to defend the name even though Knives wouldn’t thank me for it.

I’m not going to argue about whether Knives is ridiculous or not.

I wish I could still call him Nayeem, as I had all those years ago when we’d still been teenagers and life hadn’t yet fucked us over.

“But yeah,” I say, the amusement fading. “It’s fine. I’m doing my thing, he’s doing his thing, and we’ll… figure it out.” We have to. I can’t stay on Silvano’s shit list forever, and I’m not going to let Knives drag me down. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t want to do anything with me except fuck me in broom closets. We’re going to get this done.

“So what’s the boss-boss thinking with that?” Lance asks, still tapping on his phone. “He’s got to know that Forks isn’t good for anything but punching people when they’re down.”

Forks. I wish I could tell Knives about that particular nickname. He’d get a kick out of it.

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