Page 101 of Toy No More

“Hey, Kobe.”

I turn to the voice, finding Trey with his hand up, snapping his fingers at me.

“What is it?”

“Boss wants to see you.”

I taper the panic bubbling up immediately. Jasper always sees me in his office shortly after I come in. Sometimes to send me out on errands. Other times it was to tell me the plan for the rest of the day. Where to drive, how much gas to get, that sort of thing. It’s nothing more than that.

“Right, yeah,” I blurt out, attempting to sound normal. Because this is normal. Nothing is wrong. I need to maintain my composure. Even if my mouth is dry, my heart pounds a thousand beats per minute, and my insides are twisting like they’re trying to get out of my body.

As soon as I enter Jasper’s office, an unusual smell hits me. He’s sitting at his desk with a cigar in his hand; the same kind his father used to smoke.

Barely stopping my brows from knitting together in concern, I step in front of him. Jasper leans his head to the side so he can see me over his feet that are up on the table.

“Boss,” I say firmly to greet him and stand there with my back straight and hands held together, waiting. I notice the gold handgun that would usually sit on the display stand on the table isn’t there, but try to not let it distract me.

“You know, you’ve been real diligent recently,” he says, voice strangely…distant. I can’t pinpoint what it is. “I appreciate that. Not everyone is as reliable.”

A bad feeling takes hold of me. Something is off.

No, you’re just stressed. Keep calm.

I nod, unsure of what else to say. Where is he going with this? His gaze won’t leave me. Even as he pulls in the smoke from the cigar into his lungs, his eyes linger on me. It’s so damn ironic that he hates Apollo smoking.

“I guess all you needed was a push in the right direction. No more distractions, and you can be a good little soldier, hm?” he asks, raising one of his brows.

“Y-yes.”

Is this really in my head? This strange atmosphere?

Jasper drops his feet to the floor with a deep exhale and reaches for the open box of the cigars on the table. He puts his down onto the ashtray and takes a fresh cigar out, standing up. Everything inside me tenses when he walks up to me, each step echoing in my ears like a drum. With that unreadable expression, he stops and offers it.

“Here. Have a taste. Take it as an apology for the strife between us.”

I look down at the cigar in his hand. I know I can’t refuse. So, with a hesitant, polite smile, I reach out for it. Lowering my eyes, I notice Jasper’s right hook hurling toward me only moments before it crashes against my face.

The sound of me hitting the floor barely registers over the high-pitched ringing in my ears. The pain floods in, rushing through my jaw and straight into my skull.

“Ah… Wanted to do that for so fucking long,” I hear Jasper faintly above me.

Oh no.

I try to get my bearings, lifting myself up on my arm while he steps closer, standing over me. He doesn’t even let me catch my breath before kicking. While the pain echoes throughout my torso, I feel his hands on me. He takes out the gun I keep on me and then pats around for the knife on my ankle.

The realization that he doesn’t intend me to leave this room alive creeps up on me, nearly making my heart stop.

The wire. You have the wire. They’ll come.

Shakily wiping the blood from my lip, I raise my head in a careful, slow motion. This time, Jasper lets me, probably only to let me see the sheer disgust on his face. He’s looking down at me as if I’m nothing but some repulsive pest. And there isn’t just hate. There’s something more. Something even hungrier, more rabid.

“I found it weird…how you lost interest in him like that,” he says, eyes scarily fixated on me. He doesn’t blink. “Because he’s like pure sugar.” With a snap movement, he kneels down to me, grabbing me by the neck with a snarl. “Addictive. Alluring. His body is like a drug. It’s all he is. His nature.”

I want to say something—not sure what—but he slaps me and, taking a fistful of the hair at the back of my head into his firm grip, smacks my head against the floor. Something inside my skull cracks. Or maybe it’s my nose. The pain radiates inwards in a dizzying way.

“At first, I thought your weird omega on omega obsession really wore off. That you, pathetic little prick,” he pauses, shifting his foot on top of my fingers, “realized your place. But then I checked the cameras and saw you sniffing around my computer.”

I groan and cry out as he moves his full weight over them.

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