Now that the trial has been put to rest, Rueben believes that life is on an upward trend. It's not long before he understands he is sadly mistaken.
Around every corner lies a new demon lurking with the desire to rip the rug out from under him. He m...
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𝗥ueben clenched his jaw and let out a loud groan as the second pair of handcuffs clicked around the metal pipe, securing him in place. The three men in front of him had him on his knees, both of his arms stretched out and handcuffed to the pipes on either side of his body.
His brain was still foggy from the smoke inhalation and the sounds given off by the bombs. He kept his head angled to the ground; the strands of his blonde hair were the only thing he could see – though, they seemed to be reddened at the tips. He must be bleeding somewhere.
A pair of dirty boots stepped into his sight and sent a sear of pain across his scalp as his head was yanked up by the roots of his hair. He kept his lips in a tight line, but the downward angle of his eyebrows gave away the anger that was flowing through his body.
"Rueben," the first guy laughed at him, "Long time no see."
"Tobias," he growled.
His blonde hair shook as he chuckled again; he let go of his hair and stepped back, giving him a total view of him. He was completely different than he had been three years ago when he worked as Lilliana's guard. He was scrawny and quiet, though the psychotic part of him was always apparent.
"Actually, I go by Nico now," he grinned, crossing his arms over his chest, "After leaving the mafia, I came to love myself more – especially my first name."
"I don't care what you go by," he spit, "Let me out of this and fight me like a real man."
"Ooo," Nico's black eyes burned with hate, "—you're trying to get under my skin by making me feel emasculated?" he crouched down, putting them at eye level, "Hate to break it to you, but I'm not that helpless, do – anything – you – ask, kid I was back then."
"Really? 'Cause you still talk big and act like a pussy to me."
Nico pulled a knife from the back of his jeans and slashed it across his cheek. Rueben winced, turning only a bit away, feeling the sting of the new, open wound. Still, his enemy's dark eyes gleamed with more than hate now – anger was there too. He could boast about whatever he wanted; at the end of the day, he was still that fragile minded idiot he'd always been – too focused on drowning in his mental psychosis to care about the consequences.
"Hey, go easy on him," a second voice flooded the room, "We still have much to discuss."
Rueben snapped his head toward the sound as Tomás stepped out of the darkened corner. His brunette hair was shorter now, but his eyes were still that brilliant blue; he used to see so much potential and shine in them, but looking at him now – he saw none of that. He was always the nice once – the sweet one; that part of him was certainly dead now.
"Tomás," he breathed anyway, "What happened to you?"
He just shrugged, "I found my place."
"With him?" Rueben couldn't help but laugh, "I'd be surprised if you meant anything more to them than a timid lackey."
