"You're short."
The words hit the bottom of Jeongguk's stomach like a rock. "Wh-What?"
"You're short," Novikov repeats, toneless.
"I-I—B-But I counted—" It's impossible for him to be short. Jeongguk always counts. He always double counts. Sometimes if he isn't sure, he triple counts. Even if he somehow still managed to miscount, he would never steal from Novikov. That sort of thing gets you killed on the spot.
"Not money. Product."
Oh. Fuck. Jeongguk is so terrified, he's shaking. Shaking and unable to form a reasonable response, give Novikov an explanation for the missing product, because he doesn't have one. His body will probably turn up in a dumpster outside a cheap restaurant in a few days.
"I d-didn't... t-take any," he whispers, barely able to force the words out. "I swear I didn't—"
Novikov stands up from his chair. He isn't a tall person by any means, but he has the uncanny ability to make other people seem small. As he rounds the desk, Jeongguk wants to melt into the chair. Tries to—imagines his bones turning to mush and his skin sloughing off into an unrecognizable puddle of slush, but it doesn't happen. Instead, he's forced to face his impending doom.
A new bolt of terror strikes Jeongguk's body as Novikov snatches the riding crop off his desk, but doesn't really have time to process it before the thing is striking across his face so hard, it knocks him off the chair. Because that particular riding crop could never be used on a real horse—the stem has been replaced with a metal rod and re-covered with leather. Jeongguk falls to the floor, cradling his jaw in agony. His cheek is wet, split open and bleeding.
Jeongguk curls in on himself, whimpering because he's too scared to do anything else. Too pathetic. He's gotten into fights worse than this on the streets—nearly stabbed a 'client' who turned on him when Jeongguk wouldn't give him what he wanted when he didn't have enough money—but this is different. Psychologically, this is different. This is his boss. He needs to please this alpha—he's worked so fucking hard to prove himself, and now...
Now he's failing.
Novikov steps in front of him and crouches down, grabbing Jeongguk's chin and forcing him to look at him. Jeongguk lies petrified underneath Novikov's clear blue gaze. He's the prettiest alpha Jeongguk has ever laid eyes on. Prettier than Zodiac, even, because Raven Novikov is the danity, porcelain kind of pretty, but sharp enough to cut if you think about trying to touch him. Jeongguk hasn't got a ghost of a chance with him—even if he did fuck petty dealers, Jeongguk is still only sixteen and Novikov is in his early twenties.
"I know," Novikov says, void of emotion. "And since I know, you're going to use the next couple of seconds to come up with the explanation you find most reasonable."
Jeongguk can barely contain his breathing, let alone his thoughts. His mind feels like a glass jar filled with marbles dropped from a second story window. "I d-dunno, sir," he whispers. "W-We c-counted a-and measured e-everything just like we always do..."
"And who is we, Jeon?"
"M-Me 'n Zodiac, sir."
Novikov tilts his head, long, white-blond hair tumbling over his shoulder. "So, if it isn't you, then...?"
"Z-Zodiac," Jeongguk chokes out. But why? Why would he steal product when buying it has never been a problem for him? He's fully aware of the consequences for theft. Novikov is that kind of ruthless. Always aware of the motions of each individual cog in the machine he's running. Jeongguk isn't about to doubt his word on Zodiac stealing, but he just... doesn't understand why.
