Page 9 of Toy No More

I try not to believe my mind that tells me they all look at me and judge.It’s fine.I lean against the car with my back and cross my feet, waiting for the lighter someone else brought out and is being passed around. While I feel some eyes on me, mostly from the men I’m not with too much, nobody says anything.

Gibbs starts talking crap about the supplier Jasper is inside with. It’s all about guns and some rare gun parts, apparently. Everyone boasts about their favorite guns. Trey even takes out his mini Uzi and waves it about, showing off its neo-chrome finish. Without hesitance, another alpha pulls out his shotgun out of the trunk of the car.

With my cigarette finally lit, I slowly draw in and quietly listen, raising my brows and humming here and there to show interest. The pistol and a knife in my chest rig hidden under my jacket to the side suddenly feel heavier than usual.

They all talk about guns like they’re exciting toys. I know how to use mine, but it quickly dawns on me I share nowhere near the same reckless abandon about using them. That sort of thinking probably makes me weak, so I stay quiet and hope no one engages with me.

“Packs a nasty punch. Hurts my fucking shoulder to shoot it.”

“When’s the last time you made someone eat a shotty in the face?” Trey asks in a mocking tone. Some of the guys laugh while the owner, Lenny, groans.

“You prolly couldn’t even hit me with it, you prick,” he bites back.

“Shot this guy in the face once…” Gibbs notes pensively, looking up while he breathes out smoke. “Was so close, his fucking eye just plopped out and his brains started leaking out like some melting cake-filling. So much shit’s packed in the skull,” he says, but nothing in his tone shows any sort of emotional response.

I swallow and look down, taking a puff of my cigarette, while a few people make disgusted sounds. Others laugh.

“You maniac.”

“Didn’t say I enjoyed it,” Gibbs says, raising his left brow with a deep scar in it.

“Bet you did,” Lenny mutters, chuckling.

Gibbs raises his dark gaze slowly, practically pinning Lenny in place. His pheromones are sharp, spicy almost, as he lets them out, shifting the atmosphere uncomfortably. “Like you haven’t done worse, you little rat. At least I don’t gut animals for fun,” he grumbles in a low voice.

I’m not the only one swallowing nervously this time. Trey tries to break the ice with an awkward laugh. He pats Lenny on the shoulder, even though he looks like he’s going to jump at Gibbs, or is thinking about it. Standing between them doesn’t make me feel exactly at ease, so I lower my hand closer to my waist, in case I have to be ready. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that alphas can be temperamental.Volatile.

“We’ve all done things, no?” Trey continues in his completely carefree tone. “Let’s not judge. We’re all friends here, right?”

Gibbs finally releases the tension in his sharp, wide jaw. He huffs, flares his nose and looks away while taking a last puff from his cigarette before stomping it under his boot. “Sure,” he murmurs.

Everyone else seems to calm down, too, including Lenny. Trey glances at me, like he’s checking on how I’m handling it, so I hope my face is as neutral as possible.

Unfortunately, the moment his eyes land on me, some idea sparks behind them. His already crooked, thin lips shift into a smirk. “Speaking of… We’re well aware of each other’s sins, aren’t we, fellas? What about you, Kobe?” he asks.

This time, everyone’s gaze’sdefinitelyaimed at me.

I tighten the muscles in my stomach and take in a shallow breath. “What about me?”

“Gotta get to know each other to work together. So, what’s the worst thing you ever did? Don’t be shy, bud.”

Feeling my heart gallop, I clench my jaw. I’m not sure if it’s just Trey being his usual psychotic self or some kind of passive aggressive dig, but I feel like a rabbit surrounded by a pack of wolves. Their predatory eyes await my answer, eager for blood. They want to hear my sins, something I try to not think about if I can help it, and it will be nothing but some juicy conversation topic for them.

“I…beat a man to death.”

Do I sound firm enough?I barely make out my own words over my pulse pounding in my head.

“With your bare hands?” someone asks doubtfully, even if there is a hint of admiration in his voice.

I nod. “It was him or me,” I say the same thing I’ve been telling myself over and over again. “I was just a driver most of the time. Didn’t get too close to any real action,” I add, hoping it is a good excuse for not having anything greater, more fucked up to share. That’s how they see these things—like a badge of honor. I’m not like them. I’ve tried before; tried to force my feelings into that mold. They never fit.

I am not proud of what I’ve done. The only thing I allow myself to feel about it is exactly that: it was him or me.I had no choice.

“Not surprised the old man Carlos would hold you back,” I hear Jasper’s voice. He’s standing in the cracked open main door. None of us heard him come.

How long has he been listening?

Somehow, I manage a smirk and nod that convey my fake sympathy with his words.

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