Page 2 of Burdens
“Stop fucking fighting,” he grunted. “We both know you’re dying tonight, so there’s no point in trying.” One of his large hands slammed against my trachea, crushing it, while his other one reached for the knife again.
With what little nails I had, I clawed at his hands to get him off. But it seemed that the more I fought him, the more my air supply was cut off. I kept trying to fight him off, but any strength I had left slowly bled out of me.
I hadn’t noticed I’d shut my eyes, but maybe it was because I’d realized what was imminent. Acceptance of my fate sankinto my veins because something inside of me knew I wouldn’t survive what he was about to do to me.
My brain should have focused on how long I had before I’d bleed to death. How my mother would feel when she found me like this. But I could only think of one thing.
How this death might be a sign of mercy, giving me what I’d always dreamed of.
Freedom.
I was a prisoner to my father and I would finally be set free.
The knife pressed against the fresh wound once more. I peeled my eyes open with the last ounce of strength I had. If one of my father’s enemies was about to kill me, then he would have to do it while looking me in the eyes.
The blade moved against my skin as the intruder opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. A deafening silence hovered in the air as blood gushed from his mouth. It splattered all across my face and I barely registered what had just happened as his large body collapsed on me.
I struggled under him, lifting my weak arms to push him off, but he was too heavy. I shut my eyes to muster any strength I had left and moved to lift him off again, this time succeeding—too easily.
My eyes slowly peeled open, only to find my mother standing next to my bed. A dark expression painting her features replaced her usual radiating smile. Even the way she was dressed was different.
Her light brown hair was pulled tightly into a ponytail when she usually wore it down. She was wearing a black outfit when she always wore a different version of a kaftan or a dress if she was accompanying my father to one of his numerous functions.
She swiftly tore a piece from the bottom of her shirt and used the fabric to put pressure on the cut on my neck. “We needto go, baby,” she said as she helped me sit up at the edge of my bed. Her gaze trailed to the door behind her before she looked at me again. “Hold this tightly to your neck and don’t let go until I tell you to, okay?”
I briefly nodded as she used her fingers to wipe off the blood on my face.
The urgency and panic in her voice sent goose bumps skittering across my skin, but despite her hurried tone, her fingers were surprisingly gentle. I was still trying to understand what had just happened when I saw that her other hand held my father’s emergency gun with a suppressor at the end.
Wait,shedid this?
My eyes traveled farther down and locked on the dead body now lying on the floor of my childhood bedroom. Blood pooled onto the dark wooden floor and a wide circle, oiled and dark, began to form around his body.
I’d seen men murdered countless times over the last two years to prepare for my initiation, but seeing this man lifeless on my childhood bedroom floor changed something inside me.
Something I’d never get back.
“Vamos, Noah. No tenemos mucho tiempo?1,” my mother said, pulling me from my thoughts.
I turned my attention to her to find her hand extended toward me. I looked down at it, pausing while a million thoughts assaulted my mind.
If I took my mother’s hand, I would finally leave the life I’d never wanted to be a part of.
But was it really what I wanted?
I was born into a dark palace, created for the sole purpose of becoming the heir to one of the most notorious cartels in the world. I might not have wanted to take over my father’sempire, but leaving what I’d known my whole life for the unknown felt jarring even at my young age.
My eyes roamed over the stranger’s dead body until they landed on the object that had almost taken my life. Moonlight reflected off it and my gaze locked on the familiar insignia engraved on the heel of the knife.
Realization dawned on me in an instant when I made out what the crest was.
My father was behind this.
No one was given that knife to execute someone unless the command came directly from him.
In that singular moment, my entire life found itself rewritten, paving the beginning of what my future looked like. Something inside of me fractured and who I once was, was snapped clean in half.
Before and after.
