Page 96 of Toxic Salvation
He reeks of weed smoke, cheap body spray, and poor life choices. Can’t be older than twenty, with acne covering half his face and breath that suggests he hasn’t brushed his teeth in days.
“Please, man, let me go! I was just told to give you something if you came in. That’s all!”
This kid couldn’t handle a McDonald’s order, let alone anything dangerous. I release him and he slides back over the counter.
“Talk fast. What were you told to give me, and by whom?”
“I don’t know. This weird-lookin’ guy showed up a couple hours ago, made a purchase, wrapped it. Said you were a friend and would be by soon. It’s already paid for.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know, man! I wasn’t paying attention. It’s a gift.”
“If you don’t know what it is, how are you so sure it’s for me?”
“He showed me a picture of you. Gotta be honest, dude, you looked nicer in the photo. Not so fuckin’ angry.” His eyes go wide as he realizes what he just said. “No offense. I’m sure you’d look nicer if you smiled.”
“Shut up.”
He mimes zipping his lips.
I notice Vesper peering back into the store, wondering why I’m taking so long. “Hurry up. Give me this gift.”
He ducks down, and instinctively, I put my hand on my concealed gun. This moron may look harmless, but any fool can buy a weapon these days.
When he resurfaces, he’s holding a small gift box tied with a red striped bow.What the hell?
“Open it,” I order.
His jaw drops. “You wantmeto open it?”
“That’s what I said.”
“But it’s your gift. What if there’s a snake in there or something?”
“Didn’t you wrap it?”
“No, the guy did it himself. What if he slipped something inside when I wasn’t looking?”
I roll my eyes. “All the more reason for you to open it. Do it before I lose patience.”
“I am so quitting this job,” he mutters, slowly undoing the bow.
He pulls off the top. Inside is white tissue paper with a small note on top. I bend down to read it.
Secrets have a way of being exposed.
My chest tightens. I pull apart the tissue paper layers, and underneath sits a tiny newborn’s onesie.
The message is crystal clear.
Ihor knows about the baby.
I stare at the onesie—pale yellow with little ducks printed on it. Innocent. Harmless.
And the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.
“Dude, you okay?” the clerk asks. “You look like you’re gonna puke.”
