Page 127 of Bad Seed
“Fuck!”
The Brassica guards move fast, binding then bagging Green and Goji. Not that they have a huge challenge against the ones who were beaten to a pulp either by me or Ato. Red tries to run at one’s knees, but he’s only been brought back to life for a dozen minutes. The sudden exertion crumples him to his knees. Without saying a word, two men in black suits zip-tie Red’s hands behind his back, then slap a velvet bag over his head.
I try to block their view of Sadie, hoping she might be lost in the scuffle, but the Brassicas don’t glance twice at her. Or me.
“Would you mind giving us some privacy?” Mr. Oli asks, not taking his eyes off of Mr. Ato.
Without saying a word, two men drag Gogi out. One literally drags Red across the floor. When the last man drops his hand on Green’s docile shoulder, the Bell sibling whirls around. The zip-tie around his hands shatters and he spins his arm, the gun back in his palm.
I weave, following the path, but before he can even line it up against one of the Brassicas’ heads—electricity arcs through his body. Green’s black-bagged head shakes like a condemned man’s, his whole body twitching until piss runs down his leg, and he collapses. Two of the Brassicas catch him, but neither cares about the gun that clatters to the floor.
After they cart Green out strung between their shoulders, one gives a quick glance around the room, then closes the door. I know they’re not really gone. They’re sitting right outside the room, ready to react the second anything goes wrong. I ease for the gun without taking a step.
“Brock, I can—”
The skeleton of a man whirls on Mr. Ato. He might not have much muscle, but his spindly arms give him a level of torque that pounds so hard into Ato’s jaw it snaps his head back. The rings across all five of his fingers certainly help. While Ato could fight back and probably win, we all know what attacking Mr. Oli would mean. The Brassica family wouldn’t just hunt him down. They’d blow up his casino, salt the earth, then exterminate every member of the Nightshades from either blood or loyalty.
“This is about the last quote. There’s been a mix up. We got a new girl and—”
With a grunt, Mr. Oli punches Ato in the stomach, then shakes out his hand. “I knew you were skimming off the top, Tom. If you weren’t, I’d be worried I hired the wrong man for this job.”
“Then—” Blood drips down Mr. Ato’s chin. He wipes it off with the back of his hand, not taking his eyes off of Mr. Oli. “Then what’s the problem?”
Mr. Oli’s paying him no attention. Instead, he’s calmly dropping his rings into his pocket. Then he starts to slide on a pair of leather gloves. “The Phoenix.”
“The what?”
White leather clamps onto Mr. Ato’s remaining hair, wrenching him back so hard he sinks to his knees. In a flash, a blade slings out of a switch. Unlike Ato’s rage, Mr. Oli remains completely calm as he draws his knife to a man’s face.
“Don’t look,” I whisper to Sadie, pulling her face tight to my shoulder. I’ve only seen the kind of punishment the Brassicas dole out once. The nightmares will haunt me until I’m dead.
Pressing his fingers so tight that Mr. Ato’s cheeks bulge against the white leather, Mr. Oli drags his blade down the scruff pocking Ato’s jaw. “The Phoenix. A cargo container out of Turkey. The one you were tasked with getting to our shores.”
Mr. Ato’s wild eyes dart away from the man at his throat to me. He’s planning my gruesome death behind them.
“You told me it was an accident. Swore on your own mother’s grave that the storm couldn’t. Be. Helped.” With each word, Mr. Oli scrapes another hair off of Ato’s chin until he’s as smooth as a baby’s bottom.
With an unnerving smile, Mr. Oli stares down at the man he shaved. “You lied.” In one quick swipe, he slices down the back of Ato’s left ear. Half of the ear flops off, leaving a stub gushing blood down Ato’s suit and across the now crimson leather gloves.
“You rat-fucking bastard!” Ato screams.
Still smiling politely, Mr. Oli shakes the piece of the ear like it’s a treat for a dog, then he tosses it over his shoulder without a care. “I can’t abide liars, Tom. You know that. After what happened with your son Po, and his little excursions with that officer.”
Blood dripping from his ear, Ato glares up at Oli with a hate I haven’t seen in years. But even as his face gnarls with pure rage, tears rain down his cheeks. We all knew that Po turned traitor and was talking to the cops. But none of us ever found out what happened to him.
“I made it right.” Mr. Ato fumes before he hocks blood onto Oli’s white shirt. The man gazes down at the spot with a wry little grin.
He touches the stain with his pinkie, smearing the drop across his lapel. In one quick jerk, he grabs Ato’s hair, wrenches his head back, and digs the knife so deep into the folds of his throat, blood spurts in a line.
The voice of the devil screams out of Oli’s lungs. “My godson was on that fucking boat!”
There are no more tears. A sober and cold Ato stares up at him. “An eye for an eye, Brock.”
Mr. Oli pulls the knife back and Ato breathes. He stares at the blade as if seeing it for the first time and a small chuckle breaks out. “What is it they say about an eye for an eye? Oh, right. It makes the whole world blind.”
His hand blurs, moving to slam the blade right into Ato’s eye socket.
“No!”
