Page 29 of Burdens
My lips curled up in disgust at the condescending nickname one of my father’s soldiers used to give me when he wasn’t around, to remind me how much of a failure I was to my father.
Flashes of a face that used to visit me in my cell at night to beat me black and blue whenever my father was too busy to do it himself flooded my mind. Then recognition clicked at who Hamza was.
Acid pooled in my veins as I pushed the images out and looked out of the corner of my eye to assess Amalia’s reaction, realizing she hadn’t heard him.
I would have to eventually tell her, but my father’s name wasn’t something I was particularly proud of.
Hamza backed away, a satisfied smile curling his lips into a sneer. Fury pounded through every inch of my body, decimating any phantom pain that remained from what he’d inflicted on me all those years ago.
I launched off the wall as the rage took over. Grabbing his collar, I brought him toward me and swung, landing my fist into his nose. He spluttered back, cursing as he held his bleeding nose. Blood seeped through his fingers and landed on his pristine white shirt, spoiling its front.
I went in for another punch but didn’t make it far. I was jerked backward, an arm wrapping around my throat andsqueezing. I moved my palms up to wrap them around my opponent’s forearm and dropped down to haul them over my shoulder.
They landed in front of me with a loud thud, and our gazes clashed.
Amalia.
Before I could fully register it was her, her foot hit me hard in the ribs, sending an electric shock through the left side of my body. I ignored the pain and grabbed her foot to push her away, but she retaliated by uppercutting me in the stomach.
I didn’t want to hit her, but she was making it difficult not to defend myself.
She exploited my hesitation to her advantage and used the flat of her hand to smack me in the ear. My balance became unsteady from the impact and I tumbled forward, my palms landing on the ground to steady me.
My vision faltered for a moment from the impact to my eardrum. I blinked to right it and looked at her just in time to see her knuckles aiming for my jaw. I stopped it before she could make contact and grabbed her wrist to maneuver it behind her back, holding it there. Then I tugged her back to my front, my arm squeezing her throat as I put her in the same position she had me just a few minutes ago.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she choked through gritted teeth, her nails from her free hand clawing at my skin. She brought her elbow back, hitting right on my bruised ribs to try to get me to release my hold on her.
I brought my lips against her ears and huffed out, “You aren’t giving me much of a choice.”
The sound of a gun going off resounded against the walls, a bullet ricocheting against stone and dust falling over our heads from the impact.
“Enough,” a loud voice boomed.
I eased my hold on her windpipe as we both looked up to find Hamza holding his gun in his hand, the barrel aimed at the ceiling. Was he crazy? The bullet could have hit her or the kid from the rebound.
“Don’t make me aim the next one at you,” he added, streaking blood covering the bottom half of his face.
I shifted my gaze to the kid, finding him tucked in a corner, trembling from the commotion we caused.
Now I felt bad. It wasn’t technically my fault, but the last thing I wanted was to scar someone with more bad memories than I was sure he’d already experienced if he worked in any position under my father.
So I withdrew my hold against Amalia. I was only letting her go because I felt pity for the kid, but otherwise, I would have kept going. I hadn’t sparred with her in a long time and I would be lying if I said I hadn’t missed it.
She didn’t immediately move, instead reaching for her boot. I only saw a fleeting silver reflection before a sharp pain radiated across my thigh. I looked down at my leg to notice a tear in my black pants, blood blooming from the small cut she’d just inflicted.
I stared at her, stunned, because she just fuckingcutme.
She got up and sheathed the blade back into the side of her black boot. She brushed her hands on her front. “Let’s go,” she commanded. Hamza opened his mouth to say something, but she stopped him. “I said, let’s go,” she repeated, her tone more demanding as she walked out of my cell.
He looked over at me, his nostrils flaring. “I came here to get you a nicer living arrangement, but guess you need a little more time in here.”
I laughed dryly. “I’d rather stay here, but thank you so much for your consideration.”
He pointed his bloody finger at me. “You’re lucky to be who you are,” he snarled, then turned his attention to Sabiri. “Lock him up.”
“Wakha, Sidi Hamza?2,” Sabiri replied, his voice barely above a whisper
On his way out, Hamza grunted and kicked the bucket I’d used to relieve myself over the past few days. I’d placed the tray on top of it to contain the smell, but they both toppled over, urine and the slop of beans mixing and spreading across the wall and on the floor.
