The Womb and the Knife

  Judge Nagy walked into his dining room, where Jeb Grimsby sat manacled to a heavy dentist chair facing the Judge's high-backed seat. Nagy remained standing as his house staff wheeled the prisoner into place.

  “It's been a long time, old friend. I am glad to have you. It's important we have this final sit-down at this table. Breaking bread together.”

  “Fuck you, Nagy. You are a monster.”

  “Coming from a cannibal? That’s rich.”

  “At least I didn't hide my hunger,” Jeb spat. “You hide your delicate taste behind your smile. Your law. Your games. You are no different than me.”

  “Oh, I am very different from you, old friend. As the wolf is from the hyena. Just because we hunt in packs doesn't make us brothers.”

  “You eat like me.”

  “Have I ever told you the story about me and my daddy, Roccor Nagy? It was back when my brother was alive. I bet you didn't know I am a twin.”

  “No, you haven't.” Jeb struggled against the thick leather straps buckled securely around his wrists, legs, and neck. He was completely immobilized, a specimen on a board.

  “If you don't mind a little indulgence on my part... When my brother and I reached the age to hunt, my daddy sent us out with a knife and the clothes on our backs. Told us to survive for five days. When my mother closed the door in our faces, I knew we were in the big muddy. Cold-blooded, right?”

  “What does this have to do with us?”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “By day three, my brother and I were starving. Daddy didn't show us how to hunt, but my mother knew how to work a knife. So there we were. Cold. Hungry. Scared. With one knife between us. By day four, I understood what the knife taught: only one of us could use the knife at a time. One of us had to be the bait for us to eat. Sure, we could trade, and we did. By sundown on day five, I knocked on the door. Bloody. Feverish. But alive. It was the first time my mother hugged me and called me son.”

  “What's your point?” Jeb Grimsby asked, his voice trembling for the first time.

  “My point is, old friend... what wasn't decided in the womb was decided by the knife. My mother taught that lesson to me. That is why I am here, and my brother is not.”

  The Judge placed a well-used and extremely sharp buck knife on the table between them.

  “As I sent my wolf to settle up with your boys, we are here in the womb to settle our score.”

  “You two-faced devil. We had a deal, and you stabbed me in the back after my family gave you a seat at the high chair.”

  “Don't get me wrong, Jeb. I will be eternally grateful for your family's work. You benefited from my protection and intelligence to stay a step ahead of the law. What you and your family did was give some key people a wake-up call to how dangerous the Red Mesa can be. You brought important people back to the table where unity could be possible.”

  “You used my family for political gain? You snake.”

  “It's not as bad as you make it out to be. Your family are patriots to a new union. One where the savages will have some discipline and the monsters will know their place.”

  “My boys will survive this hunt of yours.”

  “Like my Asher survived what you did to him?”

  “That was not right,” Jeb muttered. “My boys took it too far.”

  “They did indeed.”

  “We can still work this out. My family is extensive. They will wage war against your house if something happens to me.”

  “Not if they are enemies of the state. You should be thanking me that I have sent my own beast after your family. It will be done quietly, allowing me to use your name in emeritus as a key shaper of the brave new world I am going to create.”

  “Damn you to hell, Will Nagy.”

  “God forgives, my friend. But I do not.”

  Nagy clapped his hands together, creating a deafening pop. He briskly rubbed them together and reached for a white apron. He wheeled over a cart laden with polished dentistry and taxidermy tools, each shining with a bladed intensity. When Nagy reached Jeb, he turned a crank to lower the chair backward.

  He dipped his hands in a bowl of alcohol. The sharp scent woke Jeb from his groggy state.

  “Okay, my friend,” Nagy said, reaching for a slender, silver-handled

  knife. “Tell me where it hurts.”