Aden

Chapter Six

Leila

What was it about hating your father's side? Was it universal? Or did it only boil down to certain cultures? Because I loathed my father's side. They were the epidemy of evil. They never spoke to my father and when they would come into the bar, they'd fight and swear at my father in Farsi.

They were disappointed that an Iranian man opened a bar to sell alcohol. They acted like saints, but they were all liars. They all drank, smoked, and had premarital sex and some were still cheating on their wives.

My father had two brothers and four nephews and two nieces. I didn't know any of them. I was shunned the moment my uncle walked into the bar and started cursing at my mother and I cussed him right back in Farsi.

His eyes widened, and I still remember him raising his hand to teach me a lesson when my father knocked him down on his ass. He kicked him out that day and told him to never come back.

I still remember his funeral. They showed up after we put him in the ground to ask for the ownership contracts for the bar, said it was their right since he was their brother.

I was mourning, angry, and hysterical as I screamed at them all to get out. Thankfully, every biker was with me, around me, and they gave me the strength to be strong-willed. All of them had their fingers hovering over their guns, threatening them, and they all left slowly.

My elder uncle gave me a look before speaking to me in Farsi; you'll get what you deserve. My entire being shuddered in fear at the words that he used later on when he attacked me in the alley.

I could still feel his hands sometimes, still smell the stench of beer in my nose, and feel him inside me tainting me, breaking me. I hadn't seen him since that night, thankfully, and I had prayed God got to him first.

He hadn't. He was right there standing across from me with his son beside him. They were the same height, their dark devil eyes had the same glint in them. Since they deemed it bad to have long hair, their hair was cut short, and their beards shaved since a man couldn't have a long beard.

They were only religious in parts they wanted to be religious in. It made me sick to see them. It made me sick to see him. I was thankful the bar was slightly packed, but none of the bikers I knew were around. Luke was in the backroom and the counter was empty.

I was wiping it when they stepped in. I remember the chills and goosebumps that erupted in pure fear when I saw him walk in casually. I wanted to smack the grin right off his face. I wanted to grab the nearest bottle of alcohol and smash it on the top of his head.

I wanted to see him bleed for what he did to me. I wanted to cut him right open and watch him bleed out to death. For what he did to me, he'd be getting off easy. The anger, hatred, and utter violence inside me were simmering and I hated this person who wanted revenge, but I couldn't come up with another emotion.

"Dorood, Leila," He greeted, his voice gnawing at the back of my mind, crawling into my subconscious and gripping that one memory.

"Get out."

He tsked, his finger wagging back and forth while his stupid son, Hafez, shook his head at the disrespect. "Leila, mahboob-"

"Don't." I snapped. "Don't call me dear. I'm not your dear. I'm not your niece. We're nothing. Leave the way you came."

His eyes were fucking beady. "This bar belongs to us. A woman..." He made a disgusted face. "Cannot own and work a bar. It is disgraceful."

"Oh, it's disgraceful?" My voice went higher.