Page 38 of Burdens
In a hurry, I reached for the side pocket of my bag and grabbed the nasal spray, then peeled it out of its package. I rolled the stranger on his back as much as I could since his hands were still tied and tilted his head back. After inserting the tip of the nozzle into one nostril, I pressed the plunger firmly to release the naloxone into his nose.
Time felt like it stretched infinitely as I waited until he fucking finally jerked awake.
“Wh-what happened?” he whispered, his voice hoarse like he hadn’t used it in days.
I turned to his side and cut his restraints before helping him sit, but he wavered, so I slapped him across the face.
He brought a hand up, rubbing the reddening area. “What the fuck was that for?” he tried shouting, but his voice cracked at the end.
I opened the zipper of my duffel and grabbed a hooded jacket. “Listen, we don’t have time for explanations or formalities. Put this on and get up,” I ordered him, throwing the piece of clothing to him.
It fell in his lap and he looked at it, bewildered.
“Did you not hear me? Hurry or this place will be swarmed with more of the men who brought you here. I don’t think you want that to happen, do you?”
His gaze met mine and a haunted look shadowed his eyes. I didn’t know what they’d put him through nor did I care, but my warning must have woken him up from his trance because he tugged the jacket over his head, wincing while doing so.
He pulled the hoodie over his head and moved to stand, only to fall to his knees.
God, I’m already regretting my decision to take him with me.
I switched my bag to my other shoulder and reached for his right arm, wrapping it behind my neck. He was much taller than my five-foot-seven frame, but I used both hands to grab his waist and helped him make another attempt at standing.
Once he was up, I hurried us out the door and to the service elevators that led to the back doors because if Zakaria had enough energy to call anyone, they’d use the main door to get in.
The service elevators needed a special key that each owner of a penthouse owned, and to my scarce luck, the building only gave one to each tenant, which I’d grabbed from his wallet on my way out.
When we made it to the back streets, we walked to where I’d parked my car and helped him inside. The overnight3assas?4 walked over to me and before he could say anything to try to help me pull out of my parking spot, I stashed a purple bill in his hands and climbed into the driver’s seat.
I plugged my phone into the rental car and shot a quick text message to the pilot, warning him about the addition to our flight plan. Then I tossed it in the cup holder and beelined for the airport hangar where Barrera’s private jet was waiting for me to take off.
1 Old Moroccan currency. It was used between 1880-1921, but the word is still commonly used when describing money whether in stores when purchasing items or when conversing with others about money.
2 Ah, motherfucker.
3 Oh, god.
4 Person (usually a man) who watches over cars on the street and “helps” you park them in exchange for a small fee of your choosing.
CHAPTER 10
AMALIA (PRESENT)
Surprisingly,the stranger next to me hadn’t said a word during the whole journey to the airport. I’d expected questions or some sort of resistance when we arrived, but he’d simply nodded when I ordered him to come with me.
Better the devil you don’t know than the one you do, I guess.
We’d made it just in time to the hangar to board the jet and we were now about to take off. Our travel time was only for an hour, and I couldn’t wait to get back. I hated being away since I couldn’t keep my eyes on everything and Hamza’s men always seemed to mess things up whenever I was gone.
Last time I’d left for longer than twenty-four hours, I’d found one of my prisoners, one I still needed information from, dead because they were bored and wanted something to play with.
I could only imagine what they’d done to Noah in my absence. A pit formed in my stomach at the thought, but I blamed it on not having eaten since this morning and not because I didn’t want anything happening to him.
I ignored the looming thoughts whenever I dared to conjure his name and moved my gaze toward the stranger sitting in front of me. He seemed lost in thoughts, a haunted look onhis features as his index finger’s brittle nail scraped repeatedly against the beige leather captain’s chair he was seated in.
What the fuck happened to him?
I didn’t want to care, but he was so young and reminded me so much of my little brother Ángel. Of his innocence that ended up being tainted by the blows of reality.
