Page 28 of Burdens
I’d left the single piece of stale bread and the beans concoction sitting underneath it untouched, the tray in the same place he’d placed it. My father’s favorite weapon was most definitely not poison, but it had been years since I’d last seen him. Things could have changed, so one could never be too careful.
I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in probably over a week, but I’d survived longer at the hands of my father.
My eyes snapped open at the faint sound of footsteps approaching. I quickly stood up and faced the cell door, preparing for whoever was coming. Through the iron bars, I watched the basement door be yanked open. Unsteadiness rose in my chest when a group composed of two men I’d never seen before and Amalia stormed toward my cell.
What the fuck is going on?
When they stood in front of the cell door, I knew straight away from the look on their faces they weren’t coming over to have a simple chat and spend quality time. At least, not the type of quality time I’d be very fond of right now.
The taller of the two men appeared to be in his thirties, with light brown skin and a short, trimmed dark brown beard. He was wearing navy dress pants with a white button-down shirt. Remnants of sweat glistened on his bald head, which meant it was most likely early afternoon because that’s when the heat here was at its height.
I studied him carefully while he stood there doing the same. He looked familiar but not enough to ring a bell. He gestured for the man behind him to open up my confines. The young man, who looked at least ten years his junior, moved in front of him and fumbled with the bolt to unlock the door.
He had fair skin, his forehead and cheeks slightly sunburnt, with a full head of curly red hair. His black shirt was smeared with dust and his light brown pants were frayed in various parts.
I glanced over at Amalia, trying to read what was about to happen, but the look on her face this time was one I’d never seen before. I hadn’t heard or seen her since I’d woken up what must have been at least a week ago and the faint sliver of light she had shining in her green eyes last time seemed to be fading away, a looming darkness in its stead.
“Wa tla9na, Sabiri?1,” the man behind snapped in my native language, urging the redhead to rush.
I recognized his voice from a few days ago when he’d been with Amalia when I’d woken up from my slumber. He was also the same man who’d called my name during the ambush that killed Dale.
By the look of it and the fact that he knew my name, he must be someone high-ranked because my father would never tell anyone about me unless it was absolutely necessary. If he was, then I must have brushed paths with him when I was younger. But I’d locked away a lot of that time as far as I could at the back of my mind.
As soon as the lock was unfasted, he walked in leisurely, Amalia following close behind. The young redhead scurried behind them, dropping the clasp to the ground in his wake, the clinking sound filling the heavy silence looming over us.
They stopped a mere few feet in front of me, while the boy stayed behind them, his hands clasped in front of him as he fidgeted in place. He didn’t have any weapons on him, but I’d noticed the tall one had a silver Beretta tucked in the back of his pants when he came in. And I knew Amalia had a least one weapon.
“Ah, Noah. It’s good to see you,” the tall man greeted me as he drew closer, but the smile he gave me didn’t reach his eyes.
“It seems you know my name, but I don’t have the displeasure of knowing yours.” My gaze didn’t falter from his as Icataloged where everyone was to figure out if there was any way I could make a run for it.
He peered over at Amalia and let out a laugh that grated against every single one of my nerves. “He’s got jokes,” he said, then turned his attention back on me. “My name isn’t really of importance, but if you must really know, I’m Hamza. Pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand for me to shake as if this was a normal introduction between two people.
My gaze flicked to his outstretched hand before meeting him head-on again. “Can’t say I feel the same.”
He dropped his hand back to his side and his jaw clenched, but he quickly recovered and let out another snicker. “Bensaid,” he called over his shoulder, still staring at me. “You didn’t tell me he was funny.”
She gave him a non-committal shrug, not that he could even see it.
“What do you want?” I snarled.
“Can’t I just pay a visit to my favorite prisoner?” he mocked, the lines around his mouth tightening as he toyed with a golden band on his ring finger that I hadn’t noticed before but one I would recognize anywhere.
For generations, whoever led the Barrera cartel gave his right-hand man, his most trusted advisor, the same ring that was engraved with the family crest—the face of an Atlas lion.
We might not exist, but we’ll always make sure to be heard.
I used to think that the statement was powerful and I took pride in being a part of something like that, until I discovered what really lay underneath the beast my father had created when I was thrown into the throes of his world.
I also recognized it because it used to belong to my uncle Reda.
“What is it that you really came in here for?” I demanded again, my tone harsher this time.
He was wasting my time and I didn’t have the energy to spend it talking to an asshole who was on a power trip. I knew I was pushing his buttons and that he didn’t like the challenge in my tone, but I decided to keep going, hoping he’d make a rash decision that would give me an opportunity.
I raised a brow. “What is it,Hamza? Scared?” I challenged.
He chuckled darkly and inched closer, close enough that his next words were whispered low, only for me to hear. “You’ve changed quite a bit”—he paused, coming even closer, and I could see he had my name right between his teeth—“Little Barrera.”
