Chapter 26.
Reuben
Evelyn’s brother disappeared.
There isn’t a single trace of him anywhere—no way to tell if someone took him or if he left.
It couldn’t possibly be a good sign.
Granted, he’s just a kid… but every day after his disappearance feels like a quiet disaster, creeping in.
A reckoning hovering in my periphery.
My axe flies through the air before digging deeply into the runner’s back.
He screams as he falls and though I tire of hearing it, there is no haste as I approach, silently. He tries to crawl, but there’s not much distance he can put between us now.
I have to step on him to pull the axe out and the moment it swings free, he bucks like a fish before falling still.
Nonetheless, it never hurts to be thorough; I bring the axe down on his neck, and his head tilts to one side, separated from his body. The colours for his fear and agony fade away from the air, but the red of his blood pools around my boots to take its place.
I don’t linger. Hurried footsteps are receding down the hall, away from me.
I’ve come to relish the sound only recently.
I step over the dead man as I follow after them, but I have to use a lot of effort to ignore the footsteps that follow behind me through the old building.
“I’ve told you I don’t need you here,” I tell them, for what may be the thousandth time.
“Someone has to be here,” Baal’s reply is the same.
“Then surely I don’t need both of you,” my temper flares. It’s been doing that a lot since then.
Since Evie.
Since Christian.
“It’s the Don’s order,” Aster’s reply is the same as well, like clockwork.
I get that Aster has been a stick in the mud since birth, but since when did that apply to Baal?
“Shouldn’t you, of all people, have other things to do?” I ask Aster.
“It isn’t more important than family,” Aster says without missing a beat.
I’d believe he cares.
If his energy wasn’t that same obnoxious white.
Twenty-eight years and Aster continues to be a mystery.
It’s been weeks of this routine with them, and I’m still as displeased as the first time they dared to tag along with me. It makes me snort but I have nothing more to tell them as I continue through the dimly-lit halls.
I’d released four rats tonight.
As long as they didn’t interfere with my catching them, they could do whatever they wanted.
The building I chose for my hunt has been abandoned for decades, nestled quietly on the northeast side of the city. It’s my favourite place to blow steam, to get away from my thoughts, to improve my mood…
Five weeks in, and so far it has done none of those things.
A sound from an empty room nearby makes me stop. I like to imagine how the rats feel when they hear my footsteps, and I wonder how steeped in terror this one must be when I turn and step into the room.
Aster and Baal wait at the doorway, and I hum a low, deep tune as I walk deeper into the space, the relaxed and lazy version of a song I don’t know the name of, as I tap the butt of the axe against the tables.
This place was a private school once. When that went bankrupt, it was sold and turned into a lab for a pharmaceutical company.
Mother’s business ate them up years ago.
So all that’s left are worn tables, damaged chairs, broken lights, and the skeletons of dusty lab equipment and sinks built into every surface.
Maybe even a handful of ghosts I’d created over the years—vile personas really—watching from the shadows in the dark.
Men who couldn’t keep their hands off our family’s goods… men who needed to be taught a lesson…
But all men who needed to be put down per the Don’s orders.
I haven’t used this place in a long time, but recently it’s gotten so loud in my head—the impulses I usually keep leashed have been lashing out more frequently. It’s like I’m constantly susceptible to violence.
Hunts like these are the best way to sate it. To take the edge off.
I hover in the space, but I can smell the rat already. The scent of piss clings to him so strongly, it doesn’t matter that the ceiling light is broken.
My humming dies in my throat as I turn and leave—as I step out of the room, and gesture for Baal and Aster to walk away.
They both do this silent huff—that looks insultingly judgy—but they turn and walk away anyway, as I lean against the wall.
They barely make ten steps when the rat takes the bait and runs out of the room, tripping over my feet with a startled cry.
With a single downward swing, my axe cuts into his leg, and his scream is visceral.
This one tries to crawl too—I don’t see why they keep trying to do that—
Someone jumps on my back, wrapping their arms around my neck and roaring bloody murder, and my brows crease when I realize it’s a second rat.
It escaped my notice that there were two of them inside the room.
I turn to Baal and Aster, who’ve stopped some ways away, “What is he doing?”
The corner of Aster’s lips twitch, “Getting the jump on you, it seems.”
Suddenly Aster has jokes.
My life really must be going to shit.
I drop the axe, driving the rat into the wall at our backs and elbowing him in the ribs until his clumsy grip loosens.
When I turn to face him, my hand snaps out around his throat and he gasps for air as he claws at my fingers.
In my periphery, a one-legged rat reaches for the axe I’ve left on the floor.
With a well-placed kick, the weapon slides down the hall and the man below me whimpers.
Now he can do that thing they all like to do so much.
Crawl.
It’ll be a game of who gets to who first; he has about as much time as it takes for me to kill the one in my hands.
Who’s now turning blue from asphyxiation.
I release him to grab the collar of his shirt instead, and when he breathes deeply, I bury my fist into his ribs.
Once. Twice. Three times.
I feel when they break beneath my knuckles. And when I grow tired of breaking his bones, my fist strikes across his cheek. One or two of his teeth fall onto the floor and with every strike, I think I finally feel my mood lightening. It’s like a balm that eases the itch only barely.
Until I remember the source of the song I was humming moments ago.
Christian’s ringtone.
Syndicate’s opening song.
And suddenly, Christian is taking up every inch of my mind again.
His voice. His scent. The colours of his energy.
Until it’s been seconds and my fist is hovering in the air.
And the itch becomes unbearable again.
I snap the rat’s neck with lost patience, and when I turn, the crawler is finally reaching for the axe.
I watch him try to wield it—try to stand.
I give him the chance at least, for a one-legged man, before approaching him calmly. Lazily.
Five weeks later—exactly thirty-six days—and Christian and I haven’t spoken outside of the professional salutes and affirmations.
I hardly see him around the estate anymore, and every time I track him down outside of jobs, he’s with Lucia.
Lucia Ambrose.
If not for how platonic their relationship is, I would’ve disposed of her long ago. Thankfully, after tapping into the cameras I placed in her apartment, I realized quickly that Lucia isn’t interested in Christian—at least not romantically.
They both watch movies, go shopping for clothes and groceries, cook together and go for drinks—
It fills me with such burning jealousy, Baal has had to physically stop me from shooting her between the eyes twice already.
They’ve both become each other’s support—bonded so closely together, to help each other when they’re hurting.
And it’s a different feeling knowing Christian chose her to support him and not me.
It’s a different feeling knowing that when we brush, even by accident, or when we lock eyes, I can see how desperately he wants me.
Yet he steers clear of me like I’ve wronged him.
‘Space.’
Days and days and agonizing days of it.
When the one-legged rat swings the axe down towards me, I step aside, kick him in his bleeding leg, and watch him fall to the ground. His voice is hoarse now from all his screaming, but we’re in such a remote part of the city, there isn’t even the slightest chance of anyone hearing him.
I crouch over him, reaching for the axe and hooking it under his chin, and the itch in my chest flares to life as he squirms beneath me. His nails against my skin are almost soothing in comparison. When he goes limp beneath me, I feel calmer than before—the erratic energy inside me has subsided.
I swing the axe onto my shoulder as I walk back to my brothers and Baal is watching me with pursed lips. I know he’s been wanting to say something to me for days; thankfully, they’re both quiet as we continue further into the building.
One more rat to find, and I’m hoping tonight’s violence will take me through the week this time as well.
“Reuben, this has been going on for too long.” I’m surprised when Baal breaks the silence, with a worried voice.
“I’m doing my job,” I reply evenly.
“No. You’ve had that look in your eyes since—”
My eyes snap towards his, and my stare is so sharp, his words trail off into silence. His shoulders fall with a resigned huff, “Your episodes have never gone on this long.”
Episodes, huh. Long periods of violence. Unprovoked aggression. Fits of temper.
“Is that why you’re here?” There’s a bite to my words. “To make sure I don’t step out of line and hurt someone I shouldn’t?”
“We’re here to make sure you don’t hurt yourself, Rubenito,” Baal’s voice softens and my lips pull tightly into a thin line.
“Have you tried talking to him since?” he asks. “To Christian?”
My eyes darken. “He doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“Ever since you brought him back to the house, you’ve been… better. Why not try—”
“He’s not a medication I can take to keep me happy,” I snap.
The silence between us lasts only a moment before Aster interjects, “Is he getting better?”
My feet come to a stop.
“You’re making him see a doctor, aren’t you?” Aster wonders aloud. “How is it going?”
There’s a restless energy inside me that makes me shuffle my weight from foot to foot.
“… I don’t know,” I confess quietly.