Page 95 of Burdens
Even his once carefully slicked back hair stood at different angles, blood and soot matting it to his forehead.
“Father, glad you could join us,” I greeted him in a nonchalant tone. I forced my gaze to meet his and when I did, it was blazing with anger, his features contorted with more resentment than I’d ever seen on him before.
My grip tightened around my gun, but I immediately loosened it, not wanting him to notice. “Take off his gag,” I told no one in particular.
Nassim moved toward my father with his gun drawn and yanked the rag out. The moment the fabric passed his lips, he expelled his fury.
“What is this foolish charade?” he gritted out.
His voice caused my gut to clench, the impact of his low and gravelly voice sending a tailspin of flashbacks to swarm my mind.
Noah, no. Focus.
I internally shook myself out of it and listened to the rest of his hate-filled speech.
“I knew I should have killed you myself,” my father stated. “I should have forced that bitch of your mother to get rid of you the moment she told me she was pregnant because somehow I knew, I just knew you wouldn’t live up tomyname, even when you were mother’s womb.” Spittle flew from his mouth as he raised his voice in the end.
Before I could stop myself, I asked, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you hate me so much?” I said, the words barely getting out from how much my voice shook. My chest heaved up and down, waiting for his response.
A cruel laugh left his lips. “You’re just proving my point, dear son. Your emotions were always the reason why I knew you would never amount to anything. You were my worst failure. You wereweakof mind, so why on earth would I want you to be my heir only for your pitiful, emotional self to take over something that ismine?” he explained, his words laced with venom. “You were always your mother’s son, always letting your emotions guide your decisions. You were just as useless as she was.” He sneered. “Speaking of which, I heard that bitch Camila died years ago. Wish I’d been able to find her and do it myself.”
Rage ravaged my veins, incinerating any self-control I was trying to maintain. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of reacting to his words, but I couldn’t stop myself from kicking my foot against the chair he was tied to, sending him plummeting toward the floor.
He cursed at me in Arabic, the last part of his insults cut short when his back slammed against the concrete floor.
I moved closer to where he was lying and stood above him. “Get her name out of your mouth,” I spat out, aiming my gun at his head. “And I am not your son.”
“You just keep proving me right.” He laughed in between coughs as he tried to catch his breath. “Besides, you don’t have it in you to kill me. You were never strong enough to do anything,” he mocked, his voice laced with venom.
I didn’t respond.
“Go ahead, shoot me,” he said, goading me.
I cocked the hammer back into position and placed my finger over the trigger but faltered. I tried to push his words away and just pull the trigger, but my earlier apprehensions slithered back into my brain.
He’s still your father.
Why was the abused always the one plagued with guilt? If the roles were reversed and my father was given the opportunity,he wouldn’t hesitate in pulling the trigger and finally having his wish of having gone fulfilled.
As if Amalia could see my reluctance, she walked up behind me and wrapped her arm around my own, her fingers resting on my hand that held the gun.
She leaned closer to my ear. “I’m right here,” she whispered softly, only for me to hear. “You can do it, Noah. But if you don’t want to, I’ll do it for you.”
I closed my eyes for a fleeting moment before meeting the gaze of the man who’d stripped me of so much.
When I’d seen him for the first time a few days ago, all I could feel was anger and resentment. But now, when I looked at the man who had been supposed to be my father, all I felt was indifference.
Complete and absolute indifference.
I wasn’t Noah Barrera anymore. I’d never truly been that person. Not because of what my father believed, but because it was never who I felt I was.
I was Noah Brown, the boy whose mother’s love nurtured him until he was strong enough to walk in his own lane instead of in the shadows of the monster who had raised him.
I locked my gaze with his, his eyes filled with a look of victory. Like he’d gotten the upper hand and proven himself right.
