Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
NOAH (PRESENT)
When you lost someone, you were supposed to feel sad. To feel like a part of you had been ripped apart and that you’d never be able to get it back.
But all I had felt was a numbness I couldn’t even begin to describe before it was decimated by anger left in its wake. Hot and burning anger that I’d lost the only person I had in my life who cared whether I lived or died. That cared whether I was happy or sad.
That did the best she could to heal the wounds I’d been inflicted with during my childhood by getting us out and giving the best life she could with the little she had.
My mother passed away ten years ago, and the anger had tempered, but the freshness of the blow hadn’t. I used to think that the further I got away from it, the less it would hurt.
That the pain would disappear and I wouldn’t have to feel this constant pressure inside my chest that never went away, the one that just lingered and threatened to take over the moment you gave it an ajar opening.
And when the pain took over, it felt worse than the day that it’d happened.
Dedifferentiated chondrosarcoma.
I had no idea what those two words meant, but I knew one thing. Those two single words took away one of the most important people in my life.
Two words.
Against one life.
I stood at the edge of the cliff and looked down at the angry waves crashing against the rocks below that matched my thundering heartbeat. Cold wind whipped through my clothes, making the fabric snap against my skin.
I welcomed it.
It was the only thing that seemed to tether me to reality at the moment.
I didn’t remember how much time had passed since I’d learned the news or how I’d gotten here because it seemed as if the concept of anything but those two words had vanished the moment I’d gotten the call.
My mother had died a few hours ago from a cancer I never knew about. She’d never told me. I had to learn it from a stranger who informed me she’d passed away peacefully in her sleep at the hospice she’d been admitted to three weeks ago.
I’d even spoken to her not too long ago and she didn’t tell me.
She didn’t tell me.
Why?
Why didn’t she tell me?
Why didn’t she let me say goodbye?
Why didn’t she let me come take care of her?
Why? Why? Why….
I felt lost.
And scared.
And angry.
And lost.
She was my person. And I’d lost her.
I screamed, the sound so guttural it made me drop to my haunches, my fingers gripping my hair. How was this possible? Why did this happen? She wasn’t supposed to leave me.
I knew realistically this day would eventually come, but I always thought it would be so far in the future that I’d be better equipped for it. If there’s even such a thing as being ready enough to lose your mother.
I always thought I’d at least get to spend her last few moments by her side, that I’d get to say goodbye and give her the peace she deserved.
I waited for the tears to come, but all I could feel was the intense tightening of an iron fist around my heart, branding it with irreparable scars.
I couldn’t breathe.
My vision became blurry and I closed my eyes.
My chest was heavy with each inhale.
I can’t breathe.
She’d sounded tired during our last conversation a few weeks ago and I thought it was just because she worked too much. I should have pushed and asked, should have jumped on a plane and gone to see her and make sure she was okay.
Why didn’t I go?
Why didn’t I call her more to ask how she was?
Why didn’t I fucking answer her last phone call?
She’d called me this week, but I’d been too fucking busy being happy to answer. I’d told myself that I would call her later. That I’d maybe tell my mother about her . Maybe even fly us so the two people I loved could meet.
I thought I’d have time.
But I’d been robbed of it.
“Hey, you okay?” Gabriel’s voice pulled me out of the memory.
“Yeah,” I answered.
I’d learned to remember the good memories instead of the only bad one, but whenever I thought of that day, it always felt like driving a freshly sharpened knife into a wound you’d thought had healed.
Instead of feeling like a dull hit, the aftermath spilled endlessly, making the pain you’d experienced resurface all over again.
Especially since my mother hadn’t been the only person I’d lost that day.
I heard Gabriel open his mouth, but the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the steps and approaching the door to the basement caught my attention.
Muffled voices sounded from behind the closed door, indicating that it was multiple people coming in, which meant it wasn’t just a guard checking in on how things were going.
Fuck.
I rushed to get my shirt and pulled it back on, the fabric still wet. I ignored the sticky feeling of it against my skin and made it back to my previous spot. “People are coming,” I whispered to Gabriel. “If you were unconscious, pretend you still are . ”
“Wha—” he started, but I cut him off.
“ Now .” I’d barely gotten the word out when the door cracked open. I hastily rested the side of my head against the wall to my left and pretended to be asleep before whoever they were came in.
I wasn’t sure how many of them there were, but regardless of who or the amount, if I wasn’t awake, they were less likely to rein me into trouble because every time a group had visited, I’d either gotten knocked around or stabbed.
Not that I really minded Amalia stabbing me.
The footsteps were approaching, and I noticed they hadn’t closed the door behind them, which meant they intended to bring someone out. None of them spoke as their steps grew closer, but they didn’t stop at my cell.
Something was wrong because silence was never a good thing. It always meant things were about to get worse.
Usually death.
I internally winced from the memories the sound brought as metal keys clinked together, breaching the deafening silence. A few seconds later, the hinges of a metal door screeched open.
I wanted to see what was happening but knew that someone could be standing in front of my cell watching, so I kept my breathing even as I heard them step inside whatever the place on the other side of the walls was.
The footsteps grew closer to where I sat, the sound echoing off the cold stone walls. Then they stopped.
Some sort of object tapped against the concrete before a voice I hadn’t heard in years spoke up. A dreadful chill shot down my spine in response, a myriad of memories assaulting my mind, but I pushed against them because now wasn’t the time to reminisce about the terrible old days he’d put me through.
“ Tga3ad ? 1 ,” he demanded of Gabriel, who must have followed my advice and acted as if he was still unconscious.
“I said wake up.” My father’s tone was much harsher as the sound of the object he was holding—most likely his wooden staff—collided with something more dense, a thud echoing to the side of my cell.
He whipped his rod again and I heard Gabriel sputter out a strained curse before asking why.
There was another loud thud against flesh before Omar spoke again, “Alaoui might do things differently, but here prisoners don’t ask questions. They follow commands.”
“Get him,” someone else said in Arabic and I immediately recognized Amalia’s voice.
I wasn’t oblivious to the fact that she worked for my father, but Gabriel was just a kid. I didn’t care what he’d done or how he’d landed there. He shouldn’t be suffering at the hands of a cartel, especially not my father’s.
I knew her. She wouldn’t hurt a kid, but I hadn’t seen her in ten years and who knows how long she’d been working for Omar. So I might be mistaken. She might have changed from the person I’d known and fallen in love with.
But I refused to let myself believe that. I wasn’t a hopeful type of person, but for her, I’d be the most optimistic person on the planet if it meant there was an infinitesimal hope that my Amalia was still in there.
Commotion broke on the other side, a cacophony of grunts and heavy breathing, until another thud, this time much louder than the previous ones, resounded next door.
I finally opened my eyes, deciding I had to do something even if I was behind locked doors.
Doors slammed shut and footsteps came down my way. I stood and walked over to the metal barrier just in time to see two men turning a corner and walking down a somber hallway.
I recognized one of them—Sabiri—while the other I’d never seen. He seemed to be around the same age as Sabiri, but where Sabiri had fairer features, this one had dark hair and brown eyes so dark they were almost black.
They dragged whom I assumed was Gabriel’s limp body by his armpits across the concrete floor, Amalia right on their heels. She briefly glanced in my direction, her gaze hard before looking away.
Another kid, this one much taller and bulkier than the other two, walked out. He stepped to the side to let the last person get through, his wooden staff dragging at his side.
My father.
My heart clenched with a mixture of emotions that I’d thought I’d long buried. Decades had passed since I’d last laid eyes on him, on the man who’d inflicted much pain in me, but the wounds still felt fresh, time merely dulling their sharp edges.
His presence was like a looming shadow, casting darkness in every room he walked into. It felt suffocating, the weight of the murkiness he left in his wake pressing down my chest, sucking the air out of my lungs and making it hard to breathe.
He didn’t have a single wrinkle on his suit and his expensive loafers barely had a dirt mark on them. The harsh lines on his face had grown older. Creases lined his forehead from the permanent scowl on his face and fine wrinkles decorated the side of his eyes.
He had his medium-length graying hair slicked back. The beard he always kept maintained was now dusted salt-and-pepper and longer than I’d ever seen it.
You would think that the passage of time would have softened him, that he would at least look at me and perhaps his gaze would be tinged with a hint of regret or remorse for what he’d put me through.
But I shouldn’t have expected more than what he’d granted me with.
He simply walked past me, barely awarding me a glance. But despite the brief exchange, it didn’t stop the coldness in his eyes from rooting me in place.
Even after thirty years and all the work I’d done to try to rid myself of the hold he had on me, I still felt like I had to walk on eggshells around him, afraid to set off another explosion of anger.
But a voice in my mind screamed at me that I was no longer the boy he’d terrorized.
The shock of seeing him finally washed off and I realized they almost had Gabriel out the door.
“Hey,” I called out, approaching the iron bars and gripping the cold metal with one hand.
They all stopped in their tracks, but only Amalia and my father turned around. She pinned me with a glare, but I diverted my attention to my father.
I met his gaze dead-on, not letting the emotions churning in my gut to be showcased on my features. “Take me instead. Whatever you’re about to do to him, you can do to me,” I said coldly.
He disregarded my request and moved to turn around, but I rammed my hand against the bars, a metallic clang reverberating through the confines of my cell.
“I’m talking to you,” I said through gritted teeth.
He whipped around and slammed his wooden staff against the metal grid right where my fingers were, but I removed them a second before his rod made contact.
“Stand back, boy ,” he growled, his voice dripping venom. He peered at me with his weathered light-brown eyes, his bushy gray eyebrows forming a single frustrated line.
My jaw clenched at him calling me boy . That’s what he used to call me whenever he was displeased with my behavior, right before he’d beat me black and blue with the same rod.
He stepped closer when I didn’t respond. He leaned in, laughing dryly. “Glad to see you still listen, son .” He’d whispered the last word only for me to hear before spatting at my feet, a look of disgust on his face.
Being this close was a grave mistake on his part. I might have once been unable to hurt him back then, but those days were long gone.
Using his weakness to my advantage when he moved to turn away from me, I lunged forward and grabbed the right end of his staff with one hand through the opening of the cell bars.
Caught off guard, my father stumbled backward, his eyes wide, and I used the small distance he’d created to swiftly whip the wooden rod around and over his head, my free hand reaching for the other end.
Then I brought the staff over his front and pinned his back against the surface of the cell door, jamming the object against his throat and tightening my hold in a vice grip.
“How’s that for listening,” I growled under my breath, blocking out the sensation of his nails breaking the skin of my forearms as he tried to relieve the pressure on his windpipe.
For a moment, only the sound of labored breathing and the harsh rasp of metal against flesh filled the air as my father flailed around, trying to get away from my grip. Omar’s face turned ashen from the lack of oxygen, his body growing limp.
I didn’t care if I killed him, but a sudden sound cut through the ragged breathing and grunts—a sharp and unmistakable click.
With my grip unrelenting, I looked up to find the glint of a barrel trained steadily in my direction. I met Amalia’s gaze and I couldn’t find an ounce of warmth looking back at me.
“Let him go,” she ordered through gritted teeth.
I tightened my grip against my father’s throat, awarding me with a bullet whizzing past my ear.
“I said. Let. Him. Go. Or the next bullet won’t miss.”
I released my grip and removed the weight on his throat, letting my father crumple to the floor. I stood straight with his staff in my hand, my chest heaving from the exertion as he lay in a heap at my feet. He gasped for air, desperately trying to get oxygen back into his starving lungs.
A small satisfaction ran through me as I watched him be the one catching his breath for once. I prepared for the aftermath and threw his staff back at him. My father staggered to his feet, his breathing still labored as he lunged for me but the evident iron bars stopped him short.
Omar’s face contorted in rage and the burning fire in his eyes intensified the perverse gratification of seeing him so worked up coursing through my veins.
Instead of cowering from his frustration, I stood firm and crossed my arms over my chest. My eyes held his with a steely resolve and I gave him a cold smile.
“ Weld el kelba ? 2 ,” he growled under his breath, his fingers grabbing onto the bars and shaking the immovable cell door, the hinges groaning from the force he was applying. “Keys,” he asked no one in particular.
When no one moved, he whipped around even more enraged. “I gave an order.”
The taller of the boys fumbled through his pockets in search of said keys, his fingers trembling. The seconds ticked by and he was apparently taking too long for my father’s taste because Omar stepped forward, his hand shooting to seize the kid’s throat, barely reaching it since my father was no match with his five-foot-six frame.
Caught by surprise, the kid stumbled backward, his back hitting the wall behind him. He didn’t struggle against my father’s grip, knowing better, and let my father look through his pocket.
The boy’s face turned red until Amalia’s voice boomed in the hallway. “Barrera, enough ,” she said in a harsh tone.
My father released his hold on his victim’s throat and redirected his wrath toward her, but before he could say a word, she interrupted him.
“We have to leave and finish what we came here for in the first place. Remember?” she said, gesturing with her gun toward Gabriel’s body still slumped.
Surprisingly, my father’s expression simmered down. He grabbed the bottom of his jacket and straightened himself. Then he glared at the kid who had been on his knees catching his breath after my father had released him.
He reached for my father’s staff and handed it to him. Omar seized it forcefully from his fingers and walked down the hallway toward Amalia, not sparing a glance in my direction.
My gut churned, waiting with bated breath. If he dared touch her, I didn’t care how impossible it would be to tear this iron door down, I would do it and kill him for laying a hand on her.
He took me by surprise again and just breezed by her, exiting the basement without a word.
I looked over at Amalia to find her eyes trained on me. I could tell she was wrestling over something, but I didn’t know what. And with everyone in the room, it wasn’t like I could just ask what was on her mind.
Not that she’d open up to me like she used to even if no one was around.
She finally looked away but right before she disappeared through the door, I caught the hint of a smile on her face, but it was so brief, I might have simply imagined it.
1 ? Get up.
2 ? You son of a bitch.