He’s going on and on about a fundraiser he runs every year to raise money for a summer expedition. Apparently he doesn’t actually go on the expedition; instead he researches locations and raises the money. Dahlia mentioned before the professor wasn’t the adventurous type. I bet he’s never been on an expedition in his life, she said. He only admires the people who have enough courage to do what he teaches.
It doesn’t make sense though. Why would he fund the same expedition year after year but not take part of it?
As I’m wondering what it’s all about, I hear the words Saiful Azman, and I snap to attention.
“Every year I encourage my students to look for the Sword of Dreams,” Professor Barakat tells the class. “Fourteen expeditions have been completed, and so far, none one of them have been successful. Some people say we’re looking for a myth. Some people tell me I’m wasting my time. Those same nonbelievers haven’t read the evidence. They haven’t seen the sword painted in murals, or heard of it spoken of in legends.”
The professor steps around his podium, slowly pacing the floor. “I’ve been teaching for over twenty years now. I first started researching the Saiful Azman when I was a student at UGA. I even did my dissertation on its existence. I believe it exists. I also believe I will lead one of my students to uncover it some day. We simply need to be pointed toward the right direction.”
The energy in the classroom noticeably changes. Students lean forward in their seats, wearing hopeful expressions. They all want to be that student Professor Barakat is touting. I’m the only one sitting back, tensing up, feeling like I’m wearing a big sign on my forehead that screams, You’re all too late!
Unfortunately for Professor Barakat, he’ll never be able to prove the sword’s existence, because I’ll never reveal it. It belongs with Sam, not in some stupid fucking museum to be gawked at by people who didn’t give their life to finding it. Sam didn’t spend the little time he had here researching. He went out there and faced the world. He dug up earth with his own hands. He wasn’t a coward.
Barakat doesn’t deserve the sword.
Sam does. And I refuse to feel guilty about that.
The rest of the class passes by in a hazy blur of slides and the professor’s monotone voice. It isn’t until it’s over that I understand why I stayed to begin with.
I need to speak to him, face to face.
I need to understand what draws Dahlia to this man.
I need to…I don’t know. But I have a feeling speaking to him will give me the chance to figure it out.
People brush by me in a hurry to leave while I slowly walk toward the podium. Some of the students surround Barakat, bombarding him with questions. I stand back until I know I’ll get him alone.
“The sign up sheet for next summer’s expedition is online!” Barakat shouts. “Check the class website!”
Most of the students break away after hearing that, the crowd dissipating through the lecture hall’s double doors. Before long, we’re the only two people left inside. He doesn’t notice me at first, and I don’t say anything. I just stand there and watch him, wondering what the hell I’m gonna say when he notices me. He turns off the projector, then moves to his desk, filing away papers into his briefcase. Once he’s all packed up, he turns to leave, but abruptly stops short because I’m standing in his way.
“Can I help you?”
His eyes meet mine, and I freeze. I know those eyes, amber and warm like the setting sun. They’re Dahlia’s eyes. No one I’ve ever come across has that same remarkable shade except her…and now this guy.
Fucking hell, does this mean what I think it means?
I analyze his face, noticing the way it slightly resembles hers, the straight slope of his nose, his complexion, his cheekbones, everything. Realizing who he is and what he means to her—it makes me feel sick over the way I questioned their relationship.
“Do you have a question?” It takes me a few moments to realize Barakat is becoming frustrated by my silence. Clearing his throat, he says, “Is there something I can help you with, kid? Otherwise I need to get to my office.”
“Dahlia Reynolds,” I say, blurting out her name because I have no fucking clue where to start. “You’re her father, aren’t you?”
Barakat turns a few shades paler. He scans the classroom, then eyes the door before looking at me again. “What’s this about?”
“It’s true.” I shake my head, still in shock. “It’s fucking true.” Part of me is still in disbelief, even though I can see the evidence with my own eyes.
“Are you looking for money?” he asks, confused. “What do you want?”
“So she’s a secret then,” I surmise. “What is she—your love child? The wife doesn’t know about her? Obviously Christine doesn’t because she thinks Dahlia is your girlfriend.”
Professor Barakat slowly drops his briefcase to the floor. “You’ve spoken to Christine? She told you that?”
“She told Dahlia that. She saw her come to your house one night, and she assumed the two of you were having an affair.”
“Christ, I didn’t realize she saw her…” He turns away from me. “My wife knows about Dahlia, but my children don’t.”
Meaning what? He disowned Dahlia? She’s not allowed to be part of their family? “Why is she a secret?” I ask him. “Why don’t your kids know who their sister is?”
This guy is really starting to piss me off. I can’t figure out why, but he seems more concerned about protecting his other children than Dahlia.
“Who are you?” Barakat faces me again, studying me carefully. “And how do you know so much about my family?”
“You don’t get to ask questions until you’re done answering mine,” I tell him, my tone turning as low and as menacing as I feel. “Believe me, I don’t care that you’re a professor. I don’t care about your precious family. You’ll give me my answers, or I’ll go to Christine and tell her what you’ve been keeping from her.”
Barakat believes me. He nods and pulls out the chair behind his desk, lowering himself into it. I cross my arms and lean against the side of the podium, waiting for him to speak. I think he’s expecting me to sit, but I’m too angry. I need to keep my distance. Otherwise I might end up punching this guy in the face.
“My wife and I had a fight a month before our wedding. At that time, I was confused, wasn’t sure what I wanted, wasn’t sure if I wanted to get married at all. While we were separated, I met Lily—Dahlia’s mother. We dated for a while. She was…different than the Moroccan girls I grew up with. Free-spirited. Out-going. I fell in love with her.” He pauses, staring at the wall, and for a second it looks like he forgets I’m there.
“So what happened?” I prompt him. “Obviously you didn’t end up with Dahlia’s mom, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“No, I didn’t,” he sighs. “My wife came to me a few weeks later and told me she was pregnant. Things were different back then; the Moroccan community we grew up in was extremely traditional. I knew if I didn’t do the right thing, our friends and family would shun her. They’d shun me too. So we got married. It wasn’t until after Dahlia was born that I found out about her existence. Lily was angry with me for choosing my wife over her. By the time she finally told me, it was too late.”
“So you didn’t end up with the woman you loved. Big fucking deal. Sounds like you didn’t deserve her in the first place. What I want to know is why you’re still keeping your daughter a secret.”
Barakat scratches his jaw, and I can tell he doesn’t want to answer that question. A few seconds tick by before he speaks again. “My wife made me swear never to reveal Dahlia to the rest of our family. We have a powerful name to carry. My older brother was elected to be a representative on The Assembly of Councillors. My wife’s father is a prominent military leader in Morocco. It sounds harsh, but Dahlia would’ve been an embarrassment. All they’d see is the daughter of an American whore.”
I flinch at his words.
&nbs
p; “It’s not how I see her—or Lily,” Barakat quickly explains. “But they would’ve objectified them that way. I was forced to choose, either Dahlia or my family.”
I shake my head, too enraged to see straight. “Dahlia is your family, you fucking idiot.”
“I know,” Barakat whispers. “But I had no choice.”
“What about her choices?” I ask him. “Why did she come to your house the night Christine saw her? And why was she crying?”
I have a good feeling I already know the answer to that question, but I want to hear him admit it. When he doesn’t answer me, I slam my fist down on the podium, rattling the wood. “Why, Professor?”
He swallows, unable to look me in the eye. “Her mom had just passed,” he answers me in a shaky voice. “Dahlia wanted to get to know me. She wanted to meet the rest of her family.”
“And you turned her away, didn’t you?”
Barakat only nods.
“So she had just lost her mom. She was new in town, with no other friends or family. And the one person she comes to for help turns her away.”
“It wasn’t an easy thing to do,” Barakat says, still staring away from me. “I wish she could be a part of my life, but it’s impossible.”
“Did you know she comes to this class every Tuesday and Thursday just to see you?”
Barakat shakes his head. Of course he didn’t know. That’s why she wore the makeup and baggy clothes—so he wouldn’t notice her.
“Well she does. She comes here, probably to listen to your shitty-ass lectures because it’s the only piece of you she can have.”
Barakat blinks back tears. He’s trying to keep it together, but he’s not holding up so well. I don’t feel bad for him. All I have to do is think back to the way Christine accused Dahlia of destroying their precious family, and the way I practically accused her, and anger reignites my blood all over again.
I take a few steps closer to Barakat, clenching my fists. “You’re losing out on getting to know an amazing person. She’s smart, she’s funny, and she’s passionate about archeology just like you…” I stop, my eyes resting on Barakat’s briefcase.
The map.
I’d bet my entire inheritance Dahlia’s map led to the sword. God, why didn’t I realize it sooner? She was looking for it too. To impress her piece of shit father. She put her inheritance and her whole life on the line to prove herself to someone who probably wishes she didn’t exist. If she ever found out I had it, she’d hate me for it.
Tears are streaming from Barakat’s eyes now, but his expression is hollow. I’m not sure if he’s even paying attention to what I’m saying anymore. I should probably leave, but I don’t right away.
“Don’t worry, she won’t need you.” I stare at him with disgust. “She’s going to be happy. I don’t know how, but I’m going to make sure that girl is so happy she won’t have one damned speck of empty space in her heart for you to fill.”
Barakat looks up at me. His voice comes out choked. “Who are you?”
I don’t answer his question. He doesn’t need to know who I am. All he needs to know is what I’ve already said. Dahlia doesn’t need him. She may think she does now, but I’ll do whatever I have to do to make sure she never feels that way again.
My hands are shaking when I step outside of the building. I didn’t realize how much anger I was holding back. It wasn’t just anger for Dahlia. All the rage and bitterness I felt over the years for Harland is here with me now, brimming at the surface. Even knowing what I now know about why he left, and the disease he kept secret, I’m still angry.
He didn’t give me the chance to be there for him. I know I was too stubborn to listen, but he should’ve made me. If I’d have known he was sick…
I wouldn’t have lost those last few years.
Instead he gave them to Dahlia and her mother. Not that I’m jealous. I’m glad Dahlia had the part of him I couldn’t. She’s the one person in this world who deserved to have a father. A real one. But I still wish I could’ve had mine too.
For so long, I’ve blamed him. Then when I found his letter, I blamed myself. But we’re both to blame. I’m still mad as hell that he pushed me away, and I’d give anything not to be. I’d give anything to let that anger go because after everything he went through, after everything he gave up, he doesn’t deserve it.
My phone vibrates inside my pocket, and I’ve never been so goddamned thankful for the distraction. I pull it out to see Dahlia’s name lit across the screen. I answer right away.
“Dahlia, I’m so glad you called. I really need to talk to you.”
The phone shuffles for a second, and then I hear a voice I wasn’t expecting. “If you want to see her alive again, you’ll listen carefully to what I’m about to say.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DOLL
At one point or another, I’m able to fall asleep in the chair I’m tied up to. Definitely not the most comfortable sleep in the world, but I’m glad I found a way to pass the time because otherwise I’d be pretty bored. Although when I wake up, I don’t feel very rested. My body is so stiff from the awkward position, it makes me want to cry. Tyson only let me loose once to pee in a bathroom directly outside the office. At the time I tried looking around to get clues about where I’m being kept, but there wasn’t anything that stood out. I’m not even sure if I’m inside of a house, an office building or some kind of underground basement. The latter seems the most likely, only because there are no windows, no detectable sunlight coming from anywhere. Unless it’s nighttime, which would explain the lack of outside light, but I’ve been going in and out of sleep for so long now that I don’t know what time of day it is anymore. It was dark when Tyson abducted me. I’m not sure how much time has passed between now and then.
My stomach growls for the hundredth time, reminding me of how hungry I am. Complaining about it didn’t get me anywhere. Tyson said there wouldn’t be any food until Wesley showed up. Then he threatened, like so many times before that, to stick a gag in my mouth if I didn’t stop bothering him. The existence of this gag of his is questionable indeed. I considered screaming for the heck of it, but I didn’t want to push my luck. I’ll wait until I know I’m in a place where I have a better chance of being heard. In the meantime, I try to ignore my hunger pains by going back to sleep. It works for a while, but never for very long.
Muted voices carry from somewhere outside the room, jerking me to full alertness. I listen closely, praying for the chance to finally be let outside of this wretched chair. If I ever get out of this mess, I swear I’m going to smash the thing to pieces.
I’m holding my breath by the time the door clicks open. Tyson walks in followed by another guy I don’t recognize. I crane my head to look around them, my heart racing. Part of me is praying Wesley will be there, and the other part of me hopes he’s not.
My heart stops for a split second, and then he steps inside the room. His eyes dart to mine, his forehead relaxing when he sees me.
Wesley’s here. He came. It surprises me how glad I am to see him.
My eyes roam over every inch of his face and body, drinking up the sight of him. He looks like he’s been awake all night, his bloodshot eyes ringed with dark circles, and his skin paler than usual. But even though he looks like hell, he’s still the most welcome sight I’ve ever seen. I slowly let out the breath I was holding, feeling a heaviness lift from my shoulders.
“Stop right there,” Tyson orders.
Wesley pauses as he reaches for me, his jaw working as he turns to face Tyson. “Then untie her from the fucking chair.” I flinch at the cold severity in his voice. I’ve never seen him so furious. Granted, he’s doing a good job of keeping it in check, but it’s all there in the tense lines of his body.
“We’re not on your territory anymore, Wes.” Tyson drops his hand by his belt loop, resting his palm on the handle of a black pistol sticking out from the front of his jeans.
“Look, I told you I’d give you what you want,”
Wesley says, eyeing the gun. “But not unless she comes with us. You’re not taking any risks and neither am I.”
“How do we know you won’t run off the second you get a chance?”
“Because I want this to be over with. I want you and the rest of Black Templar to leave me the fuck alone.”
Black Templar? I’ve never heard of that name before, but I get the feeling it’s the “we” Tyson referred to earlier.
The man I don’t recognize moves to Tyson’s side. I don’t recognize him, but I notice he seems older than the typical college student, his dark hair graying at the sides. He gives Tyson the go ahead to release me, which gives me the impression he holds some authority. “Her presence will ensure his cooperation. We’re flying private anyway; they’ll be with us the whole time.”
Wesley moves to untie me before Tyson gets the chance. The rope unravels from around my wrists, and my muscles scream as I move my arms back around my sides. It hurts, but the pain is the most delicious feeling in the world, and I enjoy every second of it. As soon as I stand up, I kick the chair as hard as I can. It flies back into the corner of the room, turning on its side, but not breaking into the million pieces I hoped it would. “I hate that chair,” I mutter in explanation, noticing everyone’s stares.
“You’ll never have to sit in it again, babe,” Wesley tells me, and for the first time since he walked in, I notice the duffel bag attached to his arm.
“Are we going somewhere?”
Wesley doesn’t answer my question. Instead he moves in front of me, cupping my face in his hands. “I’m so sorry they’ve involved you in this.” It makes believe the things Tyson said are true. That Wesley never moved on the way I’ve seen him do with other girls…that he still has feelings for me. I’m trying to process what that means, but stop myself before I get too caught up in my own head.
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