not able to say a word.
“I dare you to think of lying.” The prince tightened his grip on the tie and pulled harder.
Joseph was barely able to nod.
“You lowlife scum!” Curses were yelled, filled with rage and hate. His hand that was fisting Joseph’s hair came up in the air, ready to be thrown to my brother’s face.
“Mazen,” Janna choked out through her gasps, making the prince turn to glance her way. A look of worry flashed in his eyes, which softened for only a second before he looked at my brother again.
“Get out of here before I blacken your other eye like I did the first,” he growled. “I’m not done with you.” He pushed him roughly, causing him to fall to the floor, right at the same second I heard a thud right beside me.
Janna had passed out.
“Are you fucking happy with yourself now?” Joseph…Yoseph, or whoever snarled, looking at me with blaming eyes.
He blamed me for his wife’s fainting. Like I had done all the wrong, caused all the hurt, all of the pain. Like I had knocked her up at the age of seventeen, knocked her up when she was one of the people who believed in no sex before marriage, knocked her up when she was one of the people who punished those who have sex outside of wedlock–by killing them off, I might add.
He should’ve only blamed himself. Everything was his fault, not mine. What I did wasn’t wrong, not at all. It was right. If I was married to someone who had destroyed others’ lives for his own happiness and well-being–I would’ve liked for someone to tell me, to let me know what kind of a person I’d married, and vowed to obey and please for the rest of my life. I would’ve liked to learn that the happiness I had–if any–was stolen from someone else, leaving them miserable and wretched.
I would’ve liked to know that my husband buried someone alive to bring me a life.
I had done nothing wrong in telling Janna the truth, and I didn’t regret it, not even the slightest bit.
“If you know what is good for you, you’ll keep that filthy mouth of yours shut,” the prince warned with a deadly glare, shutting Joseph up right that second, before focusing back on Janna in his arms.
When she fainted, the two of them had run to her, a panicked and a frightened ‘Janna’ were cried out loudly from both of them. The prince carried her after pushing Joseph away by the shoulder when he tried to carry her himself, then he placed her on one of the couches, fixing pillows under her legs then rubbing behind her ear to get the blood pumping to her head normally again.
I just sat there on the floor, right where I had been standing just five minutes ago. One hand was tangled in my hair that had gotten messy when I yanked the crown off of my head, and the other was drawing unrecognizable designs in the thick carpet beneath me with one finger.
My eyes were watching my hand as if I was curious to find out what I was drawing, not that I was trying to distract myself from looking at the scene playing out in front of me, the scene of two men. Two brothers.
One of them was a brother looking all concerned and troubled for his sister. A brother that was an Arab, a Muslim. A terrorist in my book.
When I looked at him, I wondered if he’d ever put a gun to the head of the unconscious girl lying in front of me. I believed in my heart that he would never do something like that, not because of the words he had told me yesterday about how he would’ve given up his whole life for hers–for he had said other hurtful ones to her not so long ago–but because of the look I was seeing in his eyes with my own: he was worried to death about his sister.
The man that was standing beside him with blond hair and blue eyes, dressed in a designer suit, all modern, all educated. He’d lived a life that was considered the best, he’d gotten everything he’d ever wanted and more. He craved nothing, he had a great job, he had friends, and he had a best friend…he’d held a gun to said best friend’s head. His only family.
How was that even possible?
How was it possible that the terrorist was looking all