Antidote by LC Lehesaho

6

I button the black dress shirt all the way up and adjust the collar. It leaves half of the text memento mori visible, which was tattooed on my neck years ago at the same time as the tiger on my left side. We all have our animals tattooed in the same place, except Leo. His lion is on his back. I've gotten more tattoos since then, but those are the significant ones—the ones with meaning.

Taking a look in the mirror, I take note that I should get my hair cut. I'm not one of those guys who spend time in front of the mirror admiring themselves, so this little bit of overgrown look really doesn’t suit me.

I grab my gun and place it in the back of the waistband of my slacks and pull on a jacket to cover it. Phone, check. Wallet, check.

Until I'm at my door, then I remember the pack of cigarettes. "What the fuck is wrong with me?" I huff to myself while walking back to grab what I forgot. Seriously, I've been trying to leave for thirty minutes, but here I am, thinking about which one of the black dress shirts I should wear and should I choose Chucks or Vans with the suit.

I chose Vans, but not the point.

There is this tickle inside me like I'm crawling out of my own skin. Very unusual for me.

Finally, I manage to get myself in Puma's apartment and go straight to the guy's bathroom. Puma has all kinds of hair product shit because the guy is obsessed with his hair. Which is ridiculous because he wears a cap almost always. I once asked why the fuck he spends time to sleek his hair if he wears the cap anyway, and the explanation was that if he takes it off, he doesn't want his hair to look like he's been wearing a cap. Like what the actual fuck?

But now, I'm pleased that the guy is a little bit fucked-up in the head because I really need some help.

Holy mother of fuck.

I stare at all the bottles and jars on the shelf, not having the slightest clue what is what.

"Man, you look sick." Puma appears in the doorframe, buttoning his dress shirt—dress code. Otherwise, I'd never fucking ever wear a suit.

I give him a side-eye. "Well, asshole, so do you."

We both have the same skull paint on our faces, which I also painted on Bear and Wolf. Bear's idea about having a fun night, go fucking figure.

"I meant like good sick, you know?" He gives me a dubious look. "But most importantly, what are you doing here?"

I glance at the shelf. "Which one should I use?"

Puma raises an eyebrow. "What is this? Why are you doing your hair?"

"Fuck, forget about it," I growl and start to the door, but he grabs my shoulders and pushes me back to sit on the bathtub's edge.

"Let me." He takes the pink jar from the shelf, and I feel my balls wither. This was a huge mistake. Before I can say that I changed my mind, Puma sticks his hands in my hair and slicks it back. "This look suits you better than the super short cut, you know? Really brings out the cool color."

"I’m going to pretend that I didn't hear you say that."

"What? It does."

I glance up at him. "Are you a fucking hairdresser now? What bullshit have you been watching?"

"Fuck you, man. Even Jeremy Renner was a hairdresser and makeup artist before he became an actor, and the guy is fucking Hawkeye." He slaps me on the back of my head and moves to the side. "Take a look."

I get up and glance at the mirror. Okay, I must admit. It does actually look good. Nothing like me, though, but good. It's not too sleek, but enough so there are no strands poking my eye.

"Well…?" Puma wiggles his eyebrows at me through the mirror.

"Thanks, it's… good."

He slaps his palm to my shoulder. "Man, it's more than good. You look like a pussy magnet."

 

Snow's club on the other side of the Shangri-la is a filthy place. Just by looking at the people there, you know that every other person has some infectious disease, and you can probably get syphilis by just breathing the same air.

Wolf and Bear walk on the other side of Leo and Puma and me on the other. It's not the arrow position we're in rather than Leo's presence, which makes everyone move out of the way when we walk through the club's back entrance.

There are a couple of strip poles despite the fact that this isn't an actual strip club. I'm quite sure the women using the poles are the local hookers displaying their product. Snow's head of security notices us and cracks the black curtain behind him, clearly telling his boss that we're here. Leo didn't tell him that we were coming because he was sure that Snow would flee.

When Snow's muscular security guard opens the curtain for us, it's clear that he would have fled if he'd known about this. Even now, he looks around, like trying to find a way out—busted.

He has two bombshells on his lap, but both jump up like they were electrocuted when we come into Snow's private party room. The chicks skitter their way out, throwing a quick glance toward us, and the expressions on their faces tell us that they know exactly who we are. Only Snow and his four security guards stay where they are.

"Leo, nice to see you," Snow says, voice tight, and he straightens his spine on the couch. I can almost see the sweat breaking out on his forehead. "What brings you here?"

Leo steps in front of us, and Puma and Bear close the gap between them. I cross my hands behind my back, so I can pull out my gun if the situation requires.

"You're aware that it's Purgatory's opening night?" Leo asks all casually.

"Yes, of course. I was planning to pay you a visit, but you got ahead of me." He nods, wiping his hands on his red dress shirt. The man is sweating bullets.

"That is how I usually roll. Tell me, Jacob, have you seen Wong lately?"

The veins in Snow's neck bulge so much that it looks like they could actually pop at any moment. "No, I haven't. I heard that after last night, no one is going to be seeing him anymore."

"Do you know why?" Leo's deep voice is calm and collected so far, but I can see by his tense shoulders that things aren't going to stay that way for very long.

"I don't know anything about his business'."

Snow should know better than that. Lying to Leo's face is the last thing you should do. And now, when his gaze drops to Leo's hands, which are opening his suit jacket, he fucking knows he made a fatal mistake.

Leo shrugs the jacket off, hands it to Bear, and starts to open the buttons on his wrists and rolls his sleeves.

"How long have I let you do your business in my city, Jacob?" he asks, and the tone of his voice could freeze even Hell.

"Umm…" Snow presses himself tighter to the couch, as if that could save his doomed ass. "Two years, I think."

"What did I tell you when we first met?"

Snow throws a look toward his guards, who don't make a move to help their boss. They know better. "Leo… we can talk about this—"

"Answer the question, Jacob." He slowly walks toward Snow, still adjusting his sleeves.

"I… you said that if I lie… I'm sorry, I made a mistake. Leo, please, let's talk about this…"

Leo stops right in front of Snow, and I know the guy is probably ready to shit his pants right now. "What deals did you make with Wong?"

"The coke shipment he arranged here, the one you killed him for, I… fuck… I paid him for it. It was supposed to be fifty-fifty."

"Well, Jacob, you know things don’t work like that here. I told you that, and I even reminded you of that rule a couple of weeks ago. Do you remember? You were in my office, drinking my coffee and sitting on my leather couch while I specifically told you that if you cross me, it will be the last thing you do. And what did you do, Jacob?"

Snow's hand goes between the couch cushions, and I know what he is doing. I take my gun out and let it rest by my side. Clearly, Leo saw what I saw because the second Snow pulls the gun out he throws himself to the floor. Leo is on his chest in the blink of an eye, and his fist collides with Snow's face with such force I'm sure the guy is out from the first hit.

But Leo is not a quitter, and I know when he loses his shit, he really loses his shit.

So, we stand there for a good while as he lets his anger out and turns Snow's face into a pile of red mash. His guards stay at the side, not saying a word, and not even one of them is putting their hands near their guns.

When Leo finishes and gets up, there is blood all over him. His face looks like a can of tomato sauce that exploded right in front of him.

Snow's first man steps closer and hands Leo a napkin. "There is a bathroom behind that door if you need to clean up before you go, sir."

He takes it and wipes his face, observing the guy. "It’s Leone, am I correct?"

"Yes, sir. Brandon Leone."

"Well, Brandon Leone, what do you think, can you do a better job than your boss did?"

The guy nods. "Yes, sir."

Leo slaps his palm to Leone's shoulder, making him flinch. "Great. I assume you can handle that?" He nods toward the corpse on the floor.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. We'll meet next week and go over some ground rules, so you know what to avoid. You seem like a nice guy, Brandon, so it'd be a shame for that to happen to you." He taps Leone's shoulder twice before leaving for the bathroom. After the door closes behind him, Leone turns to us, face pale.

"That was intense," he gasps.

"Things usually are intense around our father," Wolf states matter-of-factly. "Keep that in mind, and you'll do just fine."