@zaunfought
Holding the deadly weapon that Silco handed to him reminded him of the elected official he’d seen get shot in Ukraine. Though Boris hadn’t seen the shooter, he’d seen the aftermath: the man falling to his knees in the dark, clutching at his throat where the bullet had pierced him, and seconds later collapsing face-first into the snow. Seeing it in movies was different than seeing it in real life. Guns were dangerous, that much was obvious, but it became all the more apparent when witnessing someone actually dying to one and how quick it could be. Would he be able to do that? Take a life from someone? Life was so precious, and to take it away from someone seemed so cruel. Business was business though, and Boris knew how shady this line of work could get. Kingpins and the like wouldn’t be able to stay on top if they were soft and gave second and third chances. They needed their buyers to know that there was consequences for their actions.
Lifting up the gun and closing one eye to take aim, Elias immediately flinched away from the barrel of the gun pointed towards him. ❝Fucking Christ! Don’t point that thing at me unless you mean to fire it,❞ Elias barked, which in turn made Boris grin a little. For someone who was so confident only moments prior, he sure was cowering now.
❝What? Is only practice. I won’t shoot you unless you give me reason to shoot you, so don't give me one. Simple, eh?❞ Boris replied simply, the gun lowering back down while his finger remained gently rested against the trigger.
Elias bit the inside of his cheek and hesitantly looked away from the gun, his attention back on Silco. He was asking him questions (rhetorical ones) that made him realize that he wasn’t falling for his bullshit. He could’ve came up with a better lie, but he was put on the spot! Sweat was beginning to bead at his hairline, his hands clammy, legs jittery and heart rate steadily climbing. Silco knew too much about him. His home life, personal details about his wife, where he lived and what his house was like. ❝You’re fucked! You know that? You’re sick in the head!❞
Eyes flinched at the metal device being slammed down onto the table, brows knitting together and gaze cutting to the side nervously. ❝Put my thumbs inside? What the hell is this game you’re playing?❞ Beginning to panic now, Elias went to push his chair out but froze when the gun was lifted back up and aimed directly at him: a silent warning of what would happen if he were to try to flee. The options were clear: Try to run and die, or take the punishment and live to see another day. ❝Okay, okay. Don’t fucking shoot.❞ Slowly, and with trembling hands, he inserted his thumbs into the holes of the rusted metal device. ❝One week. I’m only asking for one week! What about—what about two days, huh? I can get you the money in two days. How’s that sound? Maybe even sooner if I’m lucky.❞ He was speaking quickly, trying hard to dig himself out of this hole he’d put himself in.
