Burdens (Vendetta #3)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

NOAH

Fuck .

I gripped my steering wheel tighter and tighter until the strained skin of my knuckles turned white and the leather on the sides burned my palms. I tried to take a deep breath and release the tension building in my chest, but it was in vain.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck ,” I groaned, the echo of my frustration bouncing within the confines of my car as I slammed a fist on top of my dashboard.

My entire life was a lie.

I’d spent years putting on a facade, building up walls constructed on well-thought-out and fabricated lies. I’d spent my whole life hiding who I truly was, where I came from, and everything that tied me to my past.

And for nearly thirty years, I’d succeeded.

Until today, when my past came crashing back like a tidal wave, erasing all my lies and leaving me with only one truth.

I had to rid myself of my father permanently.

I’d stopped wanting him dead a long time ago, but he’d left me with no other choice. In the aftermath of what had just happened to Jamal’s wife, things would stop adding up and someone would find out the truth about who I really was.

And I couldn’t do that to Jamal. I couldn’t have him find out that the person responsible for all his pain and suffering was none other than my own father.

I always thought I’d have more time, that there would be a perfect moment for me to tell him. I kept promising myself I’d wait until he was older, until he was more mature to understand why I’d kept the truth from him.

But the next thing I knew, my lies had become a habit and had erased all of my previous promises. And now, I couldn’t bring myself to deceive him. He’d already lost so much. I didn’t want to be another person on that list.

I’d never felt more ashamed of where I’d come from than that day and that was already hard to beat. So it hadn’t been long before every word that came out of my mouth was false whenever he asked about what had happened to his parents, or asked me where my family was.

But that part of my fabricated life had always been easy to explain because the truth always worked in my favor. The only family I ever had was forever gone.

Selfishly, I’d always hoped that one of my father’s countless enemies would just put a bullet between his eyes and rid me of the weight I’d carried with me over the last two decades.

To my dismay, no one had.

Now the truth had to come out, but I wouldn’t let it happen until the source of all my burdens was six feet underground.

The only thing my father had failed to do to me.

I brought my hand up, my fingers brushing against the small raised scar at the base of my neck, a reminder that he’d almost succeeded.

Images of my father teaching me one of his lessons assaulted me at every turn. His hand was raised high and on its way to strike me when I felt my bed shift. My eyes squeezed shut at the sore pain radiating across my cheek. The cool tip of his knife was pressed against the base of my jugular, but this time…

I could feel it. Feel the skin there break under the pressure of his blade.

Wait, that never happens.

My father was an abusive asshole, but he’d never actually cut me.

Tomorrow was my twelfth birthday and I was to be initiated into the cartel. He wouldn’t jeopardize that since I was his only heir, to his dismay, of course.

My confusion was short-lived when the tip pressed harder against my skin before I felt it pierce the flesh and a sharp pain radiated throughout my body.

The tendrils of my nightmare dissipated and my eyes shot open, snapping to the ones of the person looming on top of me.

The person trying to kill me.

The basic fight training I’d gone through kicked in and I brought my palms up, hitting him in the face. My sudden attack caught him off guard and his serrated knife cut across my skin, drawing blood before it fell on my pillow, next to my head.

“Stop fucking fighting,” he grunted. “We both know you’re dying tonight, so there’s no point in trying.” One of his large hands slammed against my trachea, crushing it, while his other one reached for the knife again.

With what little nails I had, I clawed at his hands to get him off. But it seemed that the more I fought him, the more my air supply was cut off. I kept trying to fight him off, but any strength I had left slowly bled out of me.

I hadn’t noticed I’d shut my eyes, but maybe it was because I’d realized what was imminent. Acceptance of my fate sank into my veins because something inside of me knew I wouldn’t survive what he was about to do to me.

My brain should have focused on how long I had before I’d bleed to death. How my mother would feel when she found me like this. But I could only think of one thing.

How this death might be a sign of mercy, giving me what I’d always dreamed of.

Freedom.

I was a prisoner to my father and I would finally be set free.

The knife pressed against the fresh wound once more. I peeled my eyes open with the last ounce of strength I had. If one of my father’s enemies was about to kill me, then he would have to do it while looking me in the eyes.

The blade moved against my skin as the intruder opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. A deafening silence hovered in the air as blood gushed from his mouth. It splattered all across my face and I barely registered what had just happened as his large body collapsed on me.

I struggled under him, lifting my weak arms to push him off, but he was too heavy. I shut my eyes to muster any strength I had left and moved to lift him off again, this time succeeding—too easily.

My eyes slowly peeled open, only to find my mother standing next to my bed. A dark expression painting her features replaced her usual radiating smile. Even the way she was dressed was different.

Her light brown hair was pulled tightly into a ponytail when she usually wore it down. She was wearing a black outfit when she always wore a different version of a kaftan or a dress if she was accompanying my father to one of his numerous functions.

She swiftly tore a piece from the bottom of her shirt and used the fabric to put pressure on the cut on my neck. “We need to go, baby,” she said as she helped me sit up at the edge of my bed. Her gaze trailed to the door behind her before she looked at me again. “Hold this tightly to your neck and don’t let go until I tell you to, okay?”

I briefly nodded as she used her fingers to wipe off the blood on my face.

The urgency and panic in her voice sent goose bumps skittering across my skin, but despite her hurried tone, her fingers were surprisingly gentle. I was still trying to understand what had just happened when I saw that her other hand held my father’s emergency gun with a suppressor at the end.

Wait, she did this?

My eyes traveled farther down and locked on the dead body now lying on the floor of my childhood bedroom. Blood pooled onto the dark wooden floor and a wide circle, oiled and dark, began to form around his body.

I’d seen men murdered countless times over the last two years to prepare for my initiation, but seeing this man lifeless on my childhood bedroom floor changed something inside me.

Something I’d never get back.

“Vamos, Noah. No tenemos mucho tiempo ? 1 ,” my mother said, pulling me from my thoughts.

I turned my attention to her to find her hand extended toward me. I looked down at it, pausing while a million thoughts assaulted my mind.

If I took my mother’s hand, I would finally leave the life I’d never wanted to be a part of.

But was it really what I wanted?

I was born into a dark palace, created for the sole purpose of becoming the heir to one of the most notorious cartels in the world. I might not have wanted to take over my father’s empire, but leaving what I’d known my whole life for the unknown felt jarring even at my young age.

My eyes roamed over the stranger’s dead body until they landed on the object that had almost taken my life. Moonlight reflected off it and my gaze locked on the familiar insignia engraved on the heel of the knife.

Realization dawned on me in an instant when I made out what the crest was.

My father was behind this.

No one was given that knife to execute someone unless the command came directly from him.

In that singular moment, my entire life found itself rewritten, paving the beginning of what my future looked like. Something inside of me fractured and who I once was, was snapped clean in half.

Before and after.

Taking my mother’s hand would solidify that my father had sent someone to kill me, his own flesh and blood. The truth would leave scars lingering on my soul, a brutal stain I’d never be able to rid myself of.

But that pain seemed like the lesser evil at the moment, so I finally grabbed my mom’s hand with my free one.

She breathed out a sigh of relief and pulled me toward her, briefly wrapping her arms around my back. Then she helped me down my bed and headed for my bedroom door, grabbing one of my light jackets from behind my room’s door.

She draped it over my shoulders and turned around to step out of my bedroom. That’s when I noticed she had a backpack strapped on her back.

“Where are we going?” I asked her as I hurriedly slid on my slippers before following her down the corridor, where a large oil painting of my father was hanging on display near the end of the hall.

“Tan lejos de este agujero infernal como podamos ? 2 ,” she replied, and I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. My mother never cursed in front of me.

“That’s a bad word, Mama.”

She turned around and gave me a small, sympathetic smile. “It’s not if I’m telling the truth.”

Only my mother could find a way to make me smile after I’d nearly been murdered.

We finally made it to the painting, and I looked up at my father’s replica. He and I never had a good relationship to begin with, but he was still my father. And I’d thought I was still his son despite my shortcomings he always loved to remind me of.

Guess being his own flesh and blood wasn’t enough to avoid being executed.

My mother pushed on the painting and ushered me in the secret corridor that lay behind. She glanced around, most likely making sure my father’s henchmen weren’t around, but no one was in sight. Which didn’t surprise me since he probably ordered them to be on the other side of the property because he was planning to have me killed.

He wouldn’t want them to know he was behind the murder of his own heir.

After making sure no one was following us, she finally stepped into the dimly lit space and closed the concealed door behind her. She guided me through a winding maze of halls and tunnels until we reached a dead end.

My brows furrowed. How are we getting out?

Although I knew about the hidden passages in our house, I wasn’t allowed to venture into them. As per my father, my incompetence would get me lost and he didn’t want to waste his resources on finding me.

I got the answer to my unspoken question when my mother moved her hand above my head and pushed against the concrete wall.

A gust of wind washed over us, rattling my bones as we stepped outside. It was usually extremely hot here in the summer, but the temperature drastically dropped at night. I shivered despite the coat I was wearing, so I grabbed one side with my free hand, tucking it closer to my chest.

My eyes roamed to determine where we’d landed and realized we were toward the far left end of our courtyard.

My mother peeked over the central fountain and over to the closed glass door that joined the living room inside and the outside. When satisfied with whatever she was looking for, she said, “Come on, baby. This way.”

She then fastened her hand tightly in mine and walked us slowly, our backs pressed against the vine-covered high walls, the lush plants and trees decorating the majority of the yard concealing us.

She paused in her steps and crouched down, reaching for leaves and pushing them aside to reveal a hole big enough to fit a person in the wall. She swiftly climbed through it and gestured for me to do the same.

I tightened my hold on my neck and grabbed the edge with my free hand to help me through the concrete wall. My body was halfway through the hole when the sound of a thud echoed in the air.

My mother placed a finger on her lips and mouthed, “Stay still.”

After a few moments of silence, she helped me get through the rest of the way. Once we were both on the other side, her eyes flitted to where my hand was still holding the piece of her shirt over my neck before locking her gaze with mine. Her hand that wasn’t holding mine came to cradle my right cheek, her thumb brushing over my cheekbone.

“I know this is a lot, but I just need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

I nodded because I did trust her unconditionally. My mother had always tried to protect me against my father’s temper and even though she wasn’t always successful despite her hardest efforts, I would follow her anywhere.

“We don’t have much time, so we’ll need to walk faster,” she softly commanded, letting go of my hand.

She reached for the side pocket of her cargo pants and pulled out a phone. She pressed a few keys before putting it to her ear. As she waited for whoever was on the other end to answer, she grabbed my hand again and walked us down the sandy pathway behind the mansion.

She breathed a sigh of relief when the person on the other end finally answered. “We’re two minutes out and Noah’s injured. The cameras are playing on a loop, but it won’t be long before someone catches on.” She glanced behind us as we made our way down the path before her gaze swiftly roamed over me from head to toe as if she were looking for any other injury. “So you better fucking hurry.”

She didn’t wait for a response and hung up on whoever was on the other end of the call before shoving her phone in her back pocket.

“Are we almost there?” I asked faintly, my arm getting numb from holding the soaked fabric against my neck.

She paused in her steps. “Yes, baby. We’ll be there very soon and everything will be fine,” she said, but her voice wavered at the end as if she wasn’t sure.

She started walking again and I followed closely behind her, hoping that wherever we were going, we were almost there. Despite everything that happened tonight, this was the first time I started to wonder if we’d make it.

My father wasn’t a good man and if he knew she was leaving him and taking me with her, he would never let her or me live. His wounded pride wouldn’t let him find reprieve and he wouldn’t stop hunting us until we were either back with him or dead.

And I didn’t know which was more terrifying.

The screech of tires suddenly filled the quiet night and dust kicked up in the air. Once it settled, a rusty navy car came into view at the end of the alleyway. My mother grabbed my hand and picked up speed.

The passenger door flung open and my eyes widened when I realized who was behind the wheel. Reda, my father’s right-hand and most trusted man, yelled at us to get in as we closed the distance.

Too shocked to think of what him being here meant, I climbed in when the sound of two men laughing echoed in the dead air. My mother whipped her head around as two of my father’s night guards spilled into the back alley of our house.

We all watched with bated breath as they looked up. The glare of the street lamp illuminated their faces as their eyes widened when they realized who we were and what we were doing.

“Lalla ? 3 Camila, stop,” one of them yelled at my mother as they both drew their weapons and broke out in a run toward us.

My uncle cursed under his breath as my mother jumped inside and slammed the door closed just in time before the first bullet hit the door. I flinched into her arms and she hunched herself over my body to cover me.

“Hold on,” my uncle Reda said before flooring the gas pedal, going from zero to a hundred. We were lurched forward from the sudden speed and my mother lay her hand on top of the glove box to hold us steady as Reda skidded across the dirt track.

The sounds of bullets erupted in the air as they ricocheted off the back of the SUV we were in. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying for this to be over. Eventually, one bullet fired at us made contact with the back window and blew it out, debris flying behind us. More bullets riddled the SUV with holes until the car surged to the left as we seemed to slide onto a road.

The dirt track shifted into concrete and my uncle Reda accelerated down the street, driving even faster until we were in the clear. I didn’t know how long we drove for, but I was just grateful for the short reprieve from having bullets targeted at us.

The car eventually slowed to a stop and the engine shut off. My mother lifted herself off me and exited the car. I finally opened my eyes and looked up to see her hand stretched out to help me out. I grabbed it and hopped off. She closed the door behind me and squeezed my hand in reassurance.

Uncle Reda had already exited and was at the back of the car, rummaging in his trunk. I glanced around and finally registered that we were on a landing strip. A small aircraft was ready and a tall man I’d never seen before stood at the bottom of the boarding stairs.

My uncle closed the trunk and walked toward the stranger, holding two duffel bags in his right hand. As they embraced, I glanced up at my mother and asked, “Mama, who is that?”

She kept her gaze on the small airplane and said, “Our ticket to freedom.”

I dragged myself out of the memory and turned the engine of my rental on. After exiting the hospital’s parking lot, I headed straight for the airport.

There was no more hiding from the truth.

We might have succeeded in escaping him all these years ago, but it was time for me to face my father one last time.

1 ? Come on, Noah. We don’t have a lot of time.

2 ? As far away from this hell hole as we can.

3 ? Lady (used as a title of respect).