Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
NOAH (PRESENT)
Amalia was the last person I’d ever expected to see and despite ten years being gone, she was still just as strikingly beautiful as she’d ever been.
The serrated knife I’d driven into my heart when I’d left her felt just as fresh as the day I’d put it there. I didn’t have many regrets in life, but she was my most salient one.
I knew I’d made a mistake the moment I’d landed in Bemes after abruptly leaving the Academy. But I hadn’t had a choice.
I’d wanted to reach out, to go back after everything I had to deal with was over with and beg her to forgive me for leaving without a goodbye, but I couldn’t. I’d known it was a cowardly move, but I just…
Couldn’t.
Maybe her being here was a sign, but it couldn’t be one I read too much into. I had to focus on getting out of here and accomplishing what I came here to do.
Her presence unsettled me even more when I realized she was working for my father. Omar Barrera didn’t hire women to work for him unless it was to entertain his business associates. But by the jab she’d given me before leaving, that was definitely not what she was here for.
She must have done some terrible things for my father to appoint her to any rank, let alone employ her as his enforcer.
My mind mulled over our conversation, but it kept latching onto a small part that had bugged me ever since she said the words. She had called my father’s territory theirs.
Not his, theirs .
That fact left me with two potential conclusions. Either she was too good at her job even when the others weren’t around or the job had gotten to her. If the latter was true, it meant that if I wasn’t careful enough, Amalia could unravel the truth and jeopardize my plan to bring my father down.
Which might turn out to be a tad bit more difficult with being a prisoner and all.
I waited until her steps quieted and I heard the entrance door to the basement shut to move. I removed the ties around my wrists and my legs protested as I pushed myself up.
I brought a hand up to massage my throbbing jaw while I explored the cell I was held in. I studied the space to see if there had been any changes made since I’d last been here.
It wasn’t as large as I remembered it to be, but the smell, aside from the stench, was still the same—musty and damp with a hint of honey. No matter how many times he’d stuck me in here to “build my character,” I’d never figured out where the smell of honey came from.
My finger brushed against the cold stones making up the back walls until they nudged against the shallow marks I’d left behind a long time ago. Wisps of ancient memories flickered at the edges of my vision, the echoes of his words still bouncing against these walls to haunt me.
“Such a disgrace.”
“I can’t believe you’re the only child I have and this is who I have to give my whole empire to when it’s time.”
“Your mother should have gotten rid of you when she still had the chance.”
I could still see the look of disdain on his tanned and harsh face as he looked at me curled in the corner of this cell. I could still remember the endless nights spent sleeping on my stomach on this same hard floor, pain biting each of my thoughts until it became too unbearable to stay awake.
The physical scars may have faded, but the memories never seemed to. I’d tried to shove the images away, to free myself of his constant reminders that I hadn’t been the son he’d aspired me to be, but it had never been that easy.
I’d struggled to rid myself of the stains his words left, the marks his rage painted me with. I’d tried really hard by being the best at everything, by trying to fight the parts of him in me when it bubbled too close to the surface.
My father only ever loved one thing. It wasn’t me or my mother, or even his family. The only thing he ever cared about was his title and the money his businesses and organization brought him.
When I was younger, I’d convinced myself that once I passed my initiation, things would change. He’d become the father I’d always imagined he’d be. The love that people tell you every parent has for their child would finally turn on and it would just click for him that I was more than just a means to an end.
But I’d been foolish to ever think that would happen.
Truth was, my father had never been a father to me. He’d never cared about anything that related to me except my taking over if anything were to happen to him. I’d known that since I was a child, but I reminded myself that things were different now.
I might be his prisoner, but I would find a way out because I wasn’t the weak kid who’d always cower against his father’s wrath. I was my mother’s son and I would fight my way out, one way or the other just like she’d done all those years ago.
I kept looking around the cell, inspecting every brick for any loose foundation. When I was younger, I used to spend hours doing the same thing, only to never find anything, but it’d been almost thirty years since my last time here, so one could hope.
But I wasn’t known to have much luck.
At least I knew where I was on the property. I didn’t know much about my father—bonding wasn’t really his thing—but I knew one thing for certain. He was sentimental about this house, and I highly doubted he’d made many renovations since my uncle, my mother, and I escaped or ceded any land of his.
I mean, he didn’t have to.
My father’s world was divided into five territories run by three notorious families—the Alaouis, the Slimanis, and finally my father’s, the Barreras.
The Slimanis had long relinquished most of their territories to my father, his soldiers running the majority of their operations. He’d tried to do the same to the Alaouis, but they were currently his only rival still withstanding.
And it wasn’t for his lack of trying.
This part of the cartel had never been made public knowledge because each clan kept their operations concealed and hidden through their multibillion companies. The Alaouis had their jewelry behemoth corporation to use for their money laundering and subject acquisitions while my father monopolized the world of luxury textiles.
My job at the Bureau gave me one of the best clearances and I still wouldn’t have known this if it wasn’t for being born in it. Omar had been training me to overtake everything right until the day I left, but from the way we’d parted ways, I doubted he’d had me in mind to carry his legacy.
The only legacy my father had left me with was a simple mantra. It was the same one that I repeated to myself as I closed my eyes, gliding down the wall on the far back. I tipped my head back onto the cold wall, thinking of my next steps while listening to the small droplets of water hitting the hard floor to the beat of a measured cadence.
I have to get out.
It must have been two or three days since I’d woken up for the first time, but I wasn’t exactly sure since it had been eerily quiet after Amalia had left me with a throbbing jaw.
Besides, it wasn’t like I received regular visitors or had a window in my cell to indicate how long it’d been. The only source of light I had was from the few flickering light bulbs along the hallway wall.
But this wasn’t new to me. I’d tried to clock the days and weeks in the past, but eventually they all blurred together.
The notion of time here always seemed to disappear. Hours quickly became days and before you knew it, you were passed out from dehydration and hunger.
My stomach growled at the thought of food. Amalia had been true to her words and a tall, skinny kid who couldn’t be older than fourteen years old had left some food in my cell. He’d barely looked at me when he slid the plate through the cell’s bars before hurrying back to wherever he’d come from.
I’d watched him disappear, hoping he wasn’t going through the same things I’d been through as a child because that was a worse punishment than being stuck in here.
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 I cataloged 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.”
My lips curled up in disgust at the condescending nickname one of my father’s soldiers used to give me when he wasn’t around, to remind me how much of a failure I was to my father.
Flashes of a face that used to visit me in my cell at night to beat me black and blue whenever my father was too busy to do it himself flooded my mind. Then recognition clicked at who Hamza was.
Acid pooled in my veins as I pushed the images out and looked out of the corner of my eye to assess Amalia’s reaction, realizing she hadn’t heard him.
I would have to eventually tell her, but my father’s name wasn’t something I was particularly proud of.
Hamza backed away, a satisfied smile curling his lips into a sneer. Fury pounded through every inch of my body, decimating any phantom pain that remained from what he’d inflicted on me all those years ago.
I launched off the wall as the rage took over. Grabbing his collar, I brought him toward me and swung, landing my fist into his nose. He spluttered back, cursing as he held his bleeding nose. Blood seeped through his fingers and landed on his pristine white shirt, spoiling its front.
I went in for another punch but didn’t make it far. I was jerked backward, an arm wrapping around my throat and squeezing. I moved my palms up to wrap them around my opponent’s forearm and dropped down to haul them over my shoulder.
They landed in front of me with a loud thud, and our gazes clashed.
Amalia.
Before I could fully register it was her, her foot hit me hard in the ribs, sending an electric shock through the left side of my body. I ignored the pain and grabbed her foot to push her away, but she retaliated by uppercutting me in the stomach.
I didn’t want to hit her, but she was making it difficult not to defend myself.
She exploited my hesitation to her advantage and used the flat of her hand to smack me in the ear. My balance became unsteady from the impact and I tumbled forward, my palms landing on the ground to steady me.
My vision faltered for a moment from the impact to my eardrum. I blinked to right it and looked at her just in time to see her knuckles aiming for my jaw. I stopped it before she could make contact and grabbed her wrist to maneuver it behind her back, holding it there. Then I tugged her back to my front, my arm squeezing her throat as I put her in the same position she had me just a few minutes ago.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she choked through gritted teeth, her nails from her free hand clawing at my skin. She brought her elbow back, hitting right on my bruised ribs to try to get me to release my hold on her.
I brought my lips against her ears and huffed out, “You aren’t giving me much of a choice.”
The sound of a gun going off resounded against the walls, a bullet ricocheting against stone and dust falling over our heads from the impact.
“Enough,” a loud voice boomed.
I eased my hold on her windpipe as we both looked up to find Hamza holding his gun in his hand, the barrel aimed at the ceiling. Was he crazy? The bullet could have hit her or the kid from the rebound.
“Don’t make me aim the next one at you,” he added, streaking blood covering the bottom half of his face.
I shifted my gaze to the kid, finding him tucked in a corner, trembling from the commotion we caused.
Now I felt bad. It wasn’t technically my fault, but the last thing I wanted was to scar someone with more bad memories than I was sure he’d already experienced if he worked in any position under my father.
So I withdrew my hold against Amalia. I was only letting her go because I felt pity for the kid, but otherwise, I would have kept going. I hadn’t sparred with her in a long time and I would be lying if I said I hadn’t missed it.
She didn’t immediately move, instead reaching for her boot. I only saw a fleeting silver reflection before a sharp pain radiated across my thigh. I looked down at my leg to notice a tear in my black pants, blood blooming from the small cut she’d just inflicted.
I stared at her, stunned, because she just fucking cut me.
She got up and sheathed the blade back into the side of her black boot. She brushed her hands on her front. “Let’s go,” she commanded. Hamza opened his mouth to say something, but she stopped him. “I said, let’s go,” she repeated, her tone more demanding as she walked out of my cell.
He looked over at me, his nostrils flaring. “I came here to get you a nicer living arrangement, but guess you need a little more time in here.”
I laughed dryly. “I’d rather stay here, but thank you so much for your consideration.”
He pointed his bloody finger at me. “You’re lucky to be who you are,” he snarled, then turned his attention to Sabiri. “Lock him up.”
“ Wakha, Sidi Hamza ? 2 , ” Sabiri replied, his voice barely above a whisper
On his way out, Hamza grunted and kicked the bucket I’d used to relieve myself over the past few days. I’d placed the tray on top of it to contain the smell, but they both toppled over, urine and the slop of beans mixing and spreading across the wall and on the floor.
The stench of ammonia caught my nostrils and I scrunched my nose, brushing a finger underneath my nose to help alleviate the burning smell. Sabiri shuffled to put the lock on the door and lock it with a key before he hurried toward them.
Once they shut the steel door, I groaned and scooted myself toward the back wall. I rested my back against it and reached for the hem of my shirt, tore a piece from it and tied it around my thigh.
All I had to hope for now was that it didn’t get infected before I got out of here.
I was furious that she’d cut me but still impressed nonetheless. She never backed down from striking my nerves and I liked it, I always did. That’s what was so frustrating about her.
No matter how many times I’d told myself that I had to stay away, it just pushed me to want more.
1 ? Hurry up, Sabiri.
2 ? Yes, Mr. Hamza.