My body.
I knew Ahmad was abusive. Knew he beat her. Controlled her. But the way she said that…
“Mehar.” My voice came out quiet. “What did he do to you?”
She didn’t look at me. Kept her eyes locked on Ahmad, who had gone gray.
“Tell her.” Mehar’s voice was deadly calm. “Tell my sister what you did to me every night. Whether I wanted it or not. Tell her how you’d pin me down and take what you wanted because you thought it was your RIGHT. Tell her how you’d quote Quran afterward, tell me I should be grateful, tell me it was my DUTY as a wife to submit.”
Submit.
The word hung in the air like smoke.
Rape. He’d raped her. My little sister. For YEARS.
Something cold and sharp crystallized in my chest. Something that felt a whole lot like murder.
“That’s not—” Ahmad held up his hands, his voice going soft and reasonable like he was about to give a lecture. “Sister, please, you must understand. In Islam, a wife is obligated to?—”
“Don’t you DARE.”
Mehar lunged forward and cracked the butt of the gun across his face so hard I felt it in MY teeth.
Blood sprayed. Teeth clattered. Ahmad spun like a top and crumpled to his knees, hands flying up to his face, crying out like the little bitch he was.
“Don’t you DARE speak to me about Islam.” Mehar stood over him, breathing hard. “Don’t you DARE use the Quran to justify what you did to me. You’re not a Muslim. You’re not a man. You’re a monster wearing a kufi and a fake smile.”
“Please—” He was crying now. Actually crying. Snot and blood running down his face. “Please, Mehar, I’m sorry, I’ll change, I’ll be better, I’ll?—”
“Get on your knees. Properly.”
He scrambled to obey, kneeling before her like she was a queen and he was begging for his life.
Which, I guess, he was.
Mehar smiled. And that smile? That smile was the scariest thing I’d ever seen in my entire life. That smile said “I’ve been dreaming about this for years.”
“Open your mouth.”
“What?”
“Did I stutter? Open. Your. Mouth.”
He did. Trembling. Crying. A whole grown man reduced to nothing.
Mehar stepped forward and slid the barrel of the gun between his lips.
“This feels familiar, doesn’t it?” Her voice was almost sweet now. Mocking. “How many times did you force me to do this? How many times did you shove your tiny dick down my throat and tell me to be grateful?” She pushed the gun deeper. He gagged. “Not so fun when you’re on the other end, huh?”
Ahmad’s eyes were wild with terror. He looked past Mehar to Prime, desperate, pleading—man to man—begging for backup.
Prime just leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, face blank as a mannequin. He met Ahmad’s eyes and shook his head slowly.
“Wrong tree to bark up, homie. This ain’t got shit to do with me.”
No mercy. Not from him. Not from any of us.
Mehar racked the slide and chambered a round.
