Page 48 of Burdens
“Stand back,boy,” he growled, his voice dripping venom. He peered at me with his weathered light-brown eyes, his bushy gray eyebrows forming a single frustrated line.
My jaw clenched at him calling meboy. That’s what he used to call me whenever he was displeased with my behavior, right before he’d beat me black and blue with the same rod.
He stepped closer when I didn’t respond. He leaned in, laughing dryly. “Glad to see you still listen,son.” He’d whispered the last word only for me to hear before spatting at my feet, a look of disgust on his face.
Being this close was a grave mistake on his part. I might have once been unable to hurt him back then, but those days were long gone.
Using his weakness to my advantage when he moved to turn away from me, I lunged forward and grabbed the right end of his staff with one hand through the opening of the cell bars.
Caught off guard, my father stumbled backward, his eyes wide, and I used the small distance he’d created to swiftly whip the wooden rod around and over his head, my free hand reaching for the other end.
Then I brought the staff over his front and pinned his back against the surface of the cell door, jamming the object against his throat and tightening my hold in a vice grip.
“How’s that for listening,” I growled under my breath, blocking out the sensation of his nails breaking the skin of my forearms as he tried to relieve the pressure on his windpipe.
For a moment, only the sound of labored breathing and the harsh rasp of metal against flesh filled the air as my father flailed around, trying to get away from my grip. Omar’s face turned ashen from the lack of oxygen, his body growing limp.
I didn’t care if I killed him, but a sudden sound cut through the ragged breathing and grunts—a sharp and unmistakable click.
With my grip unrelenting, I looked up to find the glint of a barrel trained steadily in my direction. I met Amalia’s gaze and I couldn’t find an ounce of warmth looking back at me.
“Let him go,” she ordered through gritted teeth.
I tightened my grip against my father’s throat, awarding me with a bullet whizzing past my ear.
“I said. Let. Him. Go. Or the next bullet won’t miss.”
I released my grip and removed the weight on his throat, letting my father crumple to the floor. I stood straight with his staff in my hand, my chest heaving from the exertion as he lay in a heap at my feet. He gasped for air, desperately trying to get oxygen back into his starving lungs.
A small satisfaction ran through me as I watched him be the one catching his breath for once. I prepared for the aftermath and threw his staff back at him. My father staggered to his feet,his breathing still labored as he lunged for me but the evident iron bars stopped him short.
Omar’s face contorted in rage and the burning fire in his eyes intensified the perverse gratification of seeing him so worked up coursing through my veins.
Instead of cowering from his frustration, I stood firm and crossed my arms over my chest. My eyes held his with a steely resolve and I gave him a cold smile.
“Weld el kelba?2,” he growled under his breath, his fingers grabbing onto the bars and shaking the immovable cell door, the hinges groaning from the force he was applying. “Keys,” he asked no one in particular.
When no one moved, he whipped around even more enraged. “I gave an order.”
The taller of the boys fumbled through his pockets in search of said keys, his fingers trembling. The seconds ticked by and he was apparently taking too long for my father’s taste because Omar stepped forward, his hand shooting to seize the kid’s throat, barely reaching it since my father was no match with his five-foot-six frame.
Caught by surprise, the kid stumbled backward, his back hitting the wall behind him. He didn’t struggle against my father’s grip, knowing better, and let my father look through his pocket.
The boy’s face turned red until Amalia’s voice boomed in the hallway. “Barrera,enough,” she said in a harsh tone.
My father released his hold on his victim’s throat and redirected his wrath toward her, but before he could say a word, she interrupted him.
“We have to leave and finish what we came here for in the first place. Remember?” she said, gesturing with her gun toward Gabriel’s body still slumped.
Surprisingly, my father’s expression simmered down. He grabbed the bottom of his jacket and straightened himself. Then he glared at the kid who had been on his knees catching his breath after my father had released him.
He reached for my father’s staff and handed it to him. Omar seized it forcefully from his fingers and walked down the hallway toward Amalia, not sparing a glance in my direction.
My gut churned, waiting with bated breath. If he dared touch her, I didn’t care how impossible it would be to tear this iron door down, I would do it and kill him for laying a hand on her.
He took me by surprise again and just breezed by her, exiting the basement without a word.
I looked over at Amalia to find her eyes trained on me. I could tell she was wrestling over something, but I didn’t know what. And with everyone in the room, it wasn’t like I could just ask what was on her mind.
