Page 123 of Heartless Game

I stretched out my hand to stop the shaking, heading in the direction of the dining room. Each step felt necessary; each step felt like it tightened the noose that was always around my neck. But I forced myself forward.

And froze in the doorway.

My father sat at the head of the table, a white gauze bandage on his neck.

My sister Liza sat next to my brother Reuben, their backs to me. On the other side of the table, my brothers Sasha and Jordan sat. Everyone’s eyes, however, were on the two women at the foot of the table.

I stared at Tovah. She was next to an older woman who looked a bit like her. Tovah’s mother. One of my father’s men stood behind Tovah’s mother, holding a gun to her head.

In the middle of the table, the Shabbat candles burned. Everyone’s plates were full, but no one was eating. Except of course, my father, who was chewing on brisket like there was not a worry in the world—until I saw him wince and touch a hand to his throat.

I split my attention between him—the bomb ready to go off at any moment—and Tovah, who sat there, alive.

Alive.

I almost fell to my knees from relief, until I looked more closely at her.

She was covered in bruises. Her arms, her face. She had a black eye, and her cheek was swollen. Blood had dried on a cut under her chin.

Those screams.

They’d hurt her.

He’dhurt her.

“Which one did it?” I asked her.

“Hello, Isaac, it’s nice to see you,” my father said, voice thick with pain. “Thank you for joining us for Shabbat dinner.” He tsked. “But wearing your hockey gear? That’s inappropriate.”

I ignored him, my eyes on Tovah. “Which one?”

Tovah shook her head. “Isaac, you shouldn’t be here,” she said. “This place is bad for you.”

Bullshit.

“Which. One,” I asked, gritting my teeth.

It was her mother who pointed at one of my father’s soldiers standing in the corner, sipping a whiskey without a care in the world.

I didn’t hesitate or consider the fact that I’d never wanted to kill. Just pulled the gun out of my pants, lifted it and pulled the trigger.

A moment later, blood bloomed in the middle of the man’s head and he slumped against the wall behind him, sliding to the ground, dead.

“Anyone else?” I asked Tovah’s mother.

“No,” she said.

The man behind her cocked his gun.

I shot him, too.

My father pushed back from the table and rose to his feet. I expected him to call for more guards, but instead he clapped.

“Oh, Isaac, my boy. My son. I always hoped you had it in you. I worried you were too much like your mother, but you do take after me, don’t you?”

“Drop the bullshit,” I growled. “You’re going to let both of these women go.”

“Now, why would I do that, when we’re having a nice family dinner and getting to know each other?” He gestured at Reuben and Jordan, who sat, shoulders stiff, not willing to intercede, the cowardly bastards. Sasha was slumped sideways in his chair, looking bored with all of us.

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