Rubin sat rigidly at the old mahogany dinner table his father had built for his mother years before, his body language awkward and uncomfortable due to the nature of the event. Not to mention his father’s woodworking was shoddy and full of imperfections. It embarrassed the small portion of him that was still in touch with the truth of the evening. The rest of him had fallen into old routines. His fingers stroked a rough spot on the surface of the table that his father had missed while sanding down the wood. How many times did mother ask him to go back and finish that? He wanted to smile but any such behavior may frighten his dinner guests. More memories began to flood into his mind. Good and bad. Some were horrible memories made on nights like this when his family would gather around the table and eat his mother’s subpar food. He looked down at the pot roast, mashed potatoes, and green peas on his plate. In some ways it was a blessing that his mother had not prepared the food this evening. That would only provide another reason for his guests to want to leave prematurely. However, the untouched plates all around the table made it clear his guests didn’t enjoy his cooking either. He growled quietly. He had spent hours preparing this meal and no one was willing to extend the courtesy of trying even a single bite. Better off not making a scene, I suppose.

His most loyal friend, Blitz, was standing silent and stoic in the corner nearest the dinner table, mere feet from the other end of the table. His forearms were folded across his chest but no intimidation was intended or necessary. Not at such a pleasant get together. Sometimes a man simply doesn’t know how else to stand. The light from the chandelier showed Rubin the lackey’s face in its entirety for the first time in almost a year. His dark brown skin was worn and damaged looking. Not from old age or trauma, but from endless small cuts and scrapes and extended exposure to harsh elements. Most of which was earned during his time in professional football. But some were from a week Rubin and his men spent in the snow-covered mountains in the north. What a waste that trip had been. Just another whimsical decision Rubin had made due to some false belief he had derived. Blitz’s pores were noticeable, even from a distance. It made him less attractive than he may have been otherwise. His black hair was kept short and neat but the same could not be said of the week’s worth of long stubble on his jaw and cheeks.

Blitz nodded when he noticed Rubin staring at him. It was a common means of communication between the two. A simple way for the lackey to make sure nothing was off about a situation. Rubin meant to smile smoothly and with little notice from his guests but he felt his cheeks raise much higher than intended and his teeth showed. Why smiling was such a difficult task for him, he was not sure, but it was something he wished desperately to be better at.

Rubin’s strange smile triggered a woman’s desperation at the end of the table. To his right. “Please let us go. Please.” She sounded scared and pitiful. Her blonde hair was ruffled and messy. Strands of her long bangs were crawling across her face, matted to her sweaty skin. He didn’t know her name, nor did he care what it was. All that mattered was that she looked remarkably similar to his mother. Beach blonde hair down to her shoulder like his mother had worn her own when he was a child. A strong jawline, though it quivered now. He always wanted a jawline like his mother’s. Instead, his neck looked rounded and unattractive. Then there was the woman’s physique. Slim and tone like what he enjoyed in his own lovers.

He glanced at Blitz. The brute tipped his head sideways slightly, his shoulders rising even less. Rubin couldn’t take his eyes off Blitz’s horribly disfigured nose and the missing nostril. He was still staring mindlessly when the woman begged to be released again. He looked at the woman, studied her, remembering his mother. He scanned the other guests. Each carefully selected by Ace for their appearances and gathered up and brought in by Blitz. The burly. Barrel-chested man at the head of the table could have been his father’s twin if he didn’t know better. Flown in from across the country on a private plane. The man across the table from Rubin had short hair like Nigel Davore. His fingers were long and thin, full of dexterity and precision. Rubin looked deep into the man’s eyes. His green eyes. Nigel’s eyes were blue, like a clear sky. The discrepancy was like an itch deep in the middle of his brain. Infuriatingly difficult to scratch, impossible to rid himself of.

He searched for the right words, pushing his peas around with his fork as he did. He hated peas. But his mother made them with nearly every meal. Thus, he made them tonight. It seemed strange to him that his mother would be asking permission to be excused from the dinner table. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It upset him deeply but what kind of son would he be if he let his emotions get the best of him at a family gathering? “But ma, you’ve barely eaten,” he said as he glanced at the blonde woman’s untouched plate. He had chosen the good dinnerware tonight. White plates with blue rings around the curved edges. They looked like shallow bowls in his opinion. They had been a gift to his mother from her mother. Passed down from generation to generation. They were his now. He felt ashamed that he had practically forced that exchange prematurely. When the woman didn’t respond to him, he said, “I worked hard to prepare this meal for you all. Please. I insist that you eat something.”

“How do you expect us to eat, you psycho?! Our hands are tied behind our backs!” The man across the table, Nigel this evening, yelled at him angrily. It made Rubin grit his teeth. Hold your tongue, Rubin. Nigel is a salty cunt when he doesn’t get his way. You know that. Besides, you’ve ruined this dinner more than once. No need to do it again. His brother had been irritable all evening, ever since Blitz brought him in. Perhaps Theodore was a tad rough with him earlier. There was a fresh cut beneath the man’s eye after all. And while Theodore had a calm, likable presence, Rubin had seen him deliver a message a time or two when necessary.

“Please, we can talk after we eat,” Rubin said and looked down at his plate. His demeanor bordered on childish pouting.

“Fuck you!” snapped the Nigel lookalike. Blitz’s eyes darted to Rubin, and for a moment the entire room was unsure if the brute was going to show the side of himself that his physique suggested he possessed. After several seconds of terrifying tension, Rubin dismissed the necessity of force with a shake of his head.

Theodore, as he always did, obeyed his boss. Rubin hated thinking of himself as Theodore’s boss. He considered them friends. Unlikely friends, but friends nonetheless. A man that had spent his entire life playing sports and working on every inch of his body until it was nothing short of god-like and another man that had no calling or interest of any sort outside his family. A man that had never once set foot in a gym, never thrown a ball with any enthusiasm, never gathered his friends and watched a sporting event featuring a favorite team. Or any team. In truth, Rubin had not hired Theodore because he wanted a friend. He hired him because something about the man screamed loyalty. Through thick and thin. That meant something to Rubin. The friendship had simply blossomed organically with time. A small, deep laugh from the man here, an unexpected joke there, a few life-threatening events narrowly survived, and a whole lot of whisky and bourbon. That was a recipe for an unbreakable friendship.

“This is insane,” Nigel insisted. “Let us go!”

Rubin only glanced at his brother briefly before turning his eyes to the burly man at the head of the table. “Father, are you really going to let him yell at the table?” His father looked unsure as to how to respond to Rubin’s claim that the angry man needed a scolding.

Eventually, the burly man managed to say, “Now, now. Let’s not fight at the dinner table boys.” It instantly bugged Rubin that the man had spoken so many words. His father was notorious for one word answers, only getting long-winded when truly necessary.

The angry man stared at the other man in disbelief, as if to ask what the hell he was doing. The blonde’s eyes were shut tight in fear.

Nigel said, “Cut these ropes. Let me go. I don’t want to be part of this circus any longer.”

Rubin did his best to keep his composure. He alternated his glance between his parents, waiting for one to take control of the situation. When they didn’t, he said, “That’s Nigel for you.” He laughed. “What would you call him, father? Impatient? Restless? Rude?” He snapped his eyes back to his brother.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

The burly man muttered nervously. “I think he’s just a little anxious. We all are.” He glanced at the other captives and looked for reassurance. The silence request was ignored.

“Talkative tonight, father.” Rubin stared at the man with an awkward smile. The silence grew longer and more intimidating. During which, Rubin’s smile faded to an annoyed glare. “I don’t like when you’re talkative. Do I ma?” His eyes remained locked on his father as he waited for his mother’s response. There was none.

“Answer him,” Blitz said from the corner. “It’s always better to answer him.”

The woman stammered, “No. You don’t. Ne-neither do I.”

“I’m sorry,” his father said.

Rubin’s eyes closed from sheer exasperation. Nothing was right. He clenched his fists. “No!” He slammed the table. “No! No! No!” He glared at the burly man again. “Father would never speak like that!” A man of few words! No emotions! I told you that!” Ace looked into the dining room from his place in the adjacent living room area. His eyes peered from beneath his wide-brimmed hat. Rubin’s voice was lower now that he realized he had been screaming. “I told you that. Father didn’t say much.” He spoke calmly but with a very noticeable chunk of disappointment.

“You’re fucking insane!” Nigel was tugging hard at Rubin’s restraints.

Rubin looked at his brother annoyedly. “Why Nigel? Why do you always insist on leaving family gatherings early? Do you really think ma wants you to leave?”

“I don’t get a fuck what ma wants. We’re not family!” said the captive. Blitz sighed disappointedly.

Rubin’s eyes widened as the comment completed the job of shattering his fantasy. It took him a moment to get himself back into the right state of mind. Even then, it was clear he was coming unraveled. “Just like Nigel,” he said, chuckling uncomfortably and looking at his mother. “Always a tad too prickly.” The blonde did her best to smile at him.

“A family dinner. Is that what you want?” asked Nigel, shifting gears in desperation as he sensed Rubin’s unhinging. “We can do that. Right everyone?” He looked at the other captives. They blonde nodded her head so meekly it was barely noticeable.

The burly man said, “Of-” he stopped. “Yup.” His voice was purposefully deep and sounded like a man of few words.

It was a kind gesture, to offer to play along with the fantasy, but it was insincere. It grated on Rubin’s nerves beneath a thankful smile. For a moment the tension in the room began to evaporate. At least in the eyes of his guests. Their muscles loosened, their postures relaxed. The blonde did her best to wipe the tears from her cheek by pulling her shoulder to her face. When Rubin noticed her lack of success he leaned toward her, his thighs barely coming off his seat, and wiped the tears away for the woman. She swallowed hard but hid any other fear she may have been feeling surprisingly well.

When Rubin sat back down his eyes caught a glimpse of his father’s knife lying on the table above his half-eaten plate. The red blade stared at him blankly, yet its ill intentions were clear as day. Something about the knife made it even harder for him to accept his guest’s insincere efforts at appeasing him. If they were going to ruin his night, he would ruin theirs. “Father.”

The burly man cleared his throat. “Yes.” It was close but not quite how his father would have sounded. In fact, a simple grunt would have been enough.

“I have to tell you something.”

“What’s th-” The man stopped. Thought for a second. “Yup.”

It hurt Rubin to think he was about to betray his mother. “Ma doesn’t like your woodworking. She thinks you’re bad at it.” There was a faint gasp from his mother’s end of the table. Presumably, due to the obvious significance of the comment, whether she knew the true magnitude of it or not. “She says your knife is balanced poorly, that the blade isn’t secured properly in the handle.” He realized he was putting words in his mother’s mouth but he didn’t care. He picked up the knife and ran his finger and thumb along the dull sides of the blade. He stood, walked toward his mother. She closed her eyes again. Her trembling was visible.

His father said, “Your mother and I disagree on lots of things. Never hurts our marriage.” Rubin positioned himself behind his mother’s chair and looked at his father with fierce intensity. His breathing was getting heavier and less controlled. Somehow he managed to avoid pointing out that his father would never make such a lengthy attempt at explaining anything to him. Will this man ever learn?

“I’m sorry honey,” the blonde said, stammering her way through the simple sentence. Her eyes closed even tighter as Rubin moved her hair to one side of her neck. The knife’s blade rested against her neck, just below her well-defined jawline. She shook with fear.

Small beads of sweat rolled down the woman’s forehead as Rubin leaned down close to her. “Tell him, ma. Tell him how pathetic his work is.” Rubin slid the blade along her neck carefully, just enough to slice the surface of her skin. She gasped. More tears began to stream down her cheeks. He watched the blood creep out of the cut and begin crawling down his mother’s neck. He held the poorly crafted knife in front of her face. “Tell him,” he growled quietly.

“It-it could…” she paused in shock and discomfort when Rubin’s tongue licked the blood from her neck. “It could be better,” she finally managed.

“Leave her alone!” snapped Nigel when Rubin went back for more blood. He began to yank on his restraints desperately, grunting and screaming. “Let me out of these fucking ropes and I’ll show you how to use that piece of shit knife!”

Blitz took a step from his place in the corner but stopped when Rubin placed a hand on his chest. “I’ll handle this.” Rubin walked toward Nigel. He slid the man’s chair away from the table aggressively, nearly knocking it over. He began sawing at the ropes keeping the man restrained until they fell to the ground. The man darted to his feet and turned around, the back of his thighs pressed against the table. There was a heavy sheet of tension between the two men. It hung there for quite some time as Rubin studied his enemy.

“You’re not cut out for this, Nigel, Rubin said.

“My name’s not Nigel, you fucking pyscho! And I’m not afraid to kill you!”

“Now, now boys, not in front of your mother,” the burly man said but neither son acknowledged their father.

Rubin said coldly, “There’s a difference between killing someone and taking a life. You kill a stranger. Carelessly. With no emotional attachment. There’s no life to take because you don’t know the victim well enough to know what you’re taking from them. But you take the life of friends… family… lovers… You take a life you know that well and you’ll feel the impact you’ve made far deeper. It’ll fuck with you. The reverberations you’ve sent coursing through the lives that rubbed up against the one you’ve stolen… they last forever.” He tossed the knife to Nigel. “That takes balls, Nige. To slide a blade deep enough into a warm, living body that you can cut the life out of it and steal it away.” He nodded his head thoughtfully. “That takes balls. You don’t have it in you to take a life, to kill a family member.

There was a long pause, during which Rubin grinned at Nigel, holding his hands behind his back defenselessly. The other man studied the unbalanced knife. Nigel said, “Good thing we’re not family!” Then he lunged at Rubin with the knife raised. Rubin’s hands whipped out from behind his back. A .22 caliber pistol was aimed at the man instantly. A single bullet struck the man between the eyes. Nigel hit the floor in a dead heap, his bloody head lying on Rubin’s bare feet.

Rubin bent down and picked up the knife, holding tight in his left hand. When he stood back up Ace was standing in the large doorway that separated the living room and the dining room. An eyeless stare came from just beneath the rim of his large hat. “Sorry Ace,” Rubin said. “I know it was your night off.” Rubin raised the gun again and pointed it at the blonde woman.

“Sit down!” she scrambled in a shrill tone. “Right now! Sit down! Do not speak! Do not do anything but sit down! Right now! Do as-” Her head fell backward as the impact of the bullet tore through her skull.

Ace walked across the backside of the table and toward the entryway. His limp visible, his white walking cane extended. “Come on Blitz.” The brute glanced at Rubin who gave a nod of approval. The two men were off to find three more individuals Rubin could use to find reconciliation with his family.

“Revick,” Rubin said.

Ace stopped but didn’t look at him. “Sir.”

“Please make sure Nigel has blue eyes this time. I think it will help immensely.”

“Of course, sir.”

The door closed softly a moment later, leaving Rubin with the burly man that tried to be his father. They exchanged a look before Rubin lifted the gun and pointed it at the man’s head.

“I love you,” the man said. As sentimental as it was, Rubin had to cringe. There was no chance in hell his father would ever say that to him. Rubin tilted his head and gave the man half a smile before unloading the rest of the bullets into the man until he was left listening to the click of a trigger being pulled on an empty gun. He let the gun fall to the floor and screamed in anguish.

When the pain was finally subsiding, he looked down at the knife in his hand. He laid the blade across the other hand. “I’m going to find him and I’m going to make him suffer,” he whispered to the knife. The red paint on the blade illuminated faintly, as if in response to his threat. “Ha. Good luck stopping me.”