Page 36 of Burdens
Right on time, footsteps approached the front door and I walked into his large dressing room. After the jingle of his keys plopped down on the entryway table, I began counting the seventy-two steps he would take to his bedroom to shower after his time at L’Oasis, a cabaret he religiously visited every Wednesday.
I waited for the sound of his footsteps to hit the clay curved staircase on the left side of the living room, but instead, the echo of a thud and Zakaria’s groan reverberating against the tiles made its way up to where I was on the upper floor.
My brows pulled together, confused.
What the hell is that?
I moved to reach for my back pocket, but before I could grab my phone to see what was happening downstairs from the cameras I’d installed there on my initial visit here, I heard him move again, finally making his way upstairs.
I watched him closely from the slight gap formed between the ajar door of his walk-in closet and its hinges. Zakaria stripped from his tan suit, throwing the discarded clothes somewhere to the side of the room until every inch of his naked body was exposed, his flaccid cock dangling as he turned to admire himself in the large mirror next to the bathroom door.
I rolled my eyes and reined in the bile burning my throat on its way up.Pathetic.
He then walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. The sound of his shower stream came on and I took the opportunity to take my phone out to see what he’d dropped downstairs.
Maybe it was cargo that I could take as a bonus payment from my visit. He didn’t care about having his men steal from us, so why not repay him the same courtesy.
Pulling up the cameras, I tapped on the screen that showed his living room.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
Instead of a duffle bag, most likely filled with bags of cocaine like I’d presumed, a man with his hands bound behind his back was lying unconscious on his side like he’d been carelessly tossed. Half of his body rested on the patterned tile floor while the other half was right on the edge of the rug.
The man in question couldn’t be older than mid-twenties. His clothes were torn and disheveled, cuts and fresh blood painting almost the entirety of his body. Black matted hair stuck to his bronzed skin, a large bleeding gash right above one of his bushy brows peeking through his dark strands.
The shower cut off and I brought my attention back to the task at hand. I pocketed my phone and grabbed my dagger. Steam billowed into the room as Zakaria cracked the bathroom door open and I padded into position, ready and waiting.
He was completely oblivious to my presence as he stepped inside the closet with a towel fastened around his waist, so when he walked past me, I brought my dagger down hard and sliced against his right Achilles tendon.
His screams pierced my ears, and the corner of my lips briefly quirked up in satisfaction as I relished the pretty sound. I never thought I’d enjoy someone’s suffering, but being in this field for so long, I’d learned to enjoy it instead of dreading it, especially when they came from someone who’d earned their fate.
“Wa n3al din moh?2,”he shouted as he fell to the ground, crying out in agony as he reached for his feet. Then he brought his hands up to his eyesight and his screams hitched to a higher note.
I took a moment to savor the look of horror casting over his face at the sight of the blood dripping down the sides of his hands, trailing down his forearms.
Then I stood, arms at my sides. My knife dangled from my fingers, blood dripping from the tip and adding itself to the fountain gushing from Zakaria’s severed heel.
He lowered his hands when he took notice of my presence and when he found me staring at him, his facial expression morphed into surprise.
Most likely from finding a woman at the other end of his misery. That look on men’s faces when that happened never got old.
“Who the fuck are you?” he yelled between angry sobs, trying and failing to stand up.
“My name is none of your concern,” I said quietly. “What’s important here actually concernsyou.”
“Do you fucking know who I am,kah—” I stepped on his injury, cutting him off, and an agonizing scream filled the air, replacing his demeaning insult.
I shook my head and cleaned the bloodied tip of my boot against a clean part of his towel.
Men and their inflated sense of worth to call a woman by her name.
I approached and loomed over him, noticing the shift in his eyes. He was preparing himself to attack me, but before he made the grave mistake of underestimating me, I pressed my foot over his throat and leaned down so my weight could bear onto him.
Tears loomed in his eyes from the pressure and I dragged the tip of my knife over his face until it found the hollow part of his cheek. I titled my head and raised a brow, grinning. “I do know who you are, but why would that matter when I have you atmymercy?” I asked mockingly.
His words were muffled since my foot was still crushing his windpipe.
“Oh yeah, sorry about that.” I shifted my foot to relieve some of the pressure but pressed the tip of the blade harder against his skin. “You were saying.”
