Page 2 of Toy No More

I don’t enjoy being put in a position to snitch on one dangerously powerful man to another, but it doesn’t seem like I have a choice. “I understand.”

Solomon Zane straightens his back again and joyfully puts the cigar in the corner of his mouth. There’s a crease there in his wrinkled skin that appears to aid in holding it perfectly. Created after years of repetition, probably.

“Very good! Trey is waiting for you outside. He is one of Jasper’s men. He’ll take you to my son’s base of operation and introduce you to him. We’ll keep in touch, Kobe.” He stands and walks around the desk with his hand out.

I’m surprised to see he’s a few inches shorter than me. Even just sitting there, he appeared taller.

Squeezing his hand tightly, I nod. The smell of his pheromones becomes clearer for a moment. It’s something akin to aged brandy with weirdly rusty yet sweet undertones.Funny. Almost like he was born for this life. Can’t imagine a scent like that on a librarian or a nurse.

Whatever little test of dominance he’s conducting as he holds my hand and looks into my eyes, I seem to have passed—he lets go and gives me a pat on the shoulder. I half expected having to prove my worth to him in some intense way, but I’m sure more of that will come. This sort of work always seems to attract cocky and violent alphas like a flickering street light does a moth.

I walk out of the room, feeling his gaze on me as I do, and take a discreet sigh of relief while I close the door behind me. Trey, Jasper Zane’s man, stands to the left leaning against the paneled wall with his back, head hanging down over his phone. He chuckles over a video he’s watching until I step closer and he finally notices me.

Clearly, things are more lax with Jasper. Carlos would have made an example of anyone slacking on their phones. ‘Young people and their lack of focus because of these tiny devilish boxes’, he’d rant and rave to me in the car.

“Huh. Kobe, yeah?” he asks, raising a brow as he studies me over his sunglasses. With a shaved head, some faded tattoos on his neck, and a left eye damaged by whatever caused the thick scar going through it and his eyebrow, he definitely looks the part of a stereotypical gangster. Besides his shoes, that is. They’re the shiny, expensive kind that don’t quite fit with the rest of his vibe.

Nodding, I put my hands in my pockets, finally able to relax my posture. “The boss said you’ll take me to…your boss,” I say awkwardly. “Zane Junior?”

Trey chuckles while shaking his head. “Fuck, don’t let him hear that. Just call him Boss,” he says while putting his phone away and pushed himself from the wall. “Come on.” I follow as we walk through the hall of Solomon Zane’s house, heading back outside. “No ‘sir’ or ‘mister’ or any of that bullshit. Boss don’t like that.”

Stop worrying, I order myself when the bothersome thoughts push their way into my mind again.

If I’ve learned anything in my time in this world, it is to worry about the reckless, ambitious newcomers more than the old league. Carlos or Solomon might have been living this way and toying with people’s lives for decades, and they are worthy of the respect they demand, but I know what to expect from them. There’s this old school sense of set morals and expectations. A creed.

“Sure,” I say. The packet of cigarettes in my pocket calls my name, but I’ll have to leave my nervous habit for later. I gotta focus on making the best impression.

All I want is to come home today knowing I have my place in this ring and solid ground under my feet once again. Or at least an illusion of it.

We drive across the town to a fairly inconspicuous industrial area to the south. It’s the perfect mix between being too rundown and sketchy and being just unappealing and distant enough for regular people to not really venture here. I recognize some buildings and streets vaguely. I’ve driven by them before, though Mr. Wilson had a hand in the more developed northeast areas of the city rather than here.

“You goin’ to be the new driver, then?” Trey asks after a while of silence.

Hanging my elbow out of the open window, I nod. “Heard you had problems with the last one,” I say, discreetly trying to figure out what exactly were the issues that got the guy before medecommissioned.

Trey grins. “He’s the one who had a problem,” he mutters ominously. “All I’m sayin’ is, you better not have a drug issue. Boss don’t like slackers. Or idiots. And especially junkie slacking idiots. Keep bein’ useful and you’re golden.”

“Not my thing,” I say, looking out of the window. I’ve survived this long by being diligent and careful.

I should be fine, right?

We arrive at a decently sized warehouse that stands against some abandoned buildings on one side, with the parking lot against a tall, questionably stable concrete wall and under the overpass above. Boarded-up windows cover most of the building, but the smaller top level has lights coming through. The entrance is the only place that seems put together, with a red neon stripe running above the door, a burgundy carpet, and two bulky men standing guard there.

We park by the side of the road, right next to an upturned trash can. A rat scurries away from it as I step out.

Both of the bouncers lift their chins as we get close, greeting Trey.

“The fresh face?”

“Ya. Approved by the Ol’ Pops,” Trey says.

I nod at each of the guys as we pass, and they give me a passing glance back. One of them is an alpha—he’s spreading his pheromones on display on purpose to intimidate. Thankfully, I don’t think he notices mine by the time I walk away. The word will spread eventually, of course. I just hope I won’t have to fight for my place between the most peacocking alphas around here too hard.

We approach a wide staircase, still following the burgundy carpet.

“This is the Dollhouse,” Trey says with a spark to his voice, glancing at me over his shoulder with a smirk. “I hear your old boss wasn’t a fan of this type of business. Count your lucky stars, cuz ours knows what’s good.”

Before I can even think about what he means, we enter the door with a heavy curtain covering it from the other side. The massive room ahead, guarded by two more bouncers, has a pitch-black ceiling, crimson floor tiles peeking from behind burgundy carpets, and is filled with a strong smell of perfume.

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