Daria burst into tears. “Please, Hasan. You said you’d show mercy if I was honest.”
Hasan’s heart stirred against his will. For a moment, he hesitated, mercy and duty fighting against one another. A deadline was a deadline. Though it seemed cruel to withhold mercy, it would have been unfair to his other debtors, who had either paid on time or suffered the consequences. Plus, if word got around that he had given an extension to Daria, then every Raj, Kumar, and Anil who owed him money would be flinging their sisters into his path. Zeyar would have said that they weren’t running a charity?—and though Hasan was rarely in agreement with his brother, he couldn’t disagree with facts.
He looked at Daria again. She sobbed loudly, like one of the village performers his grandfather used to take him to see as a boy. His mouth flattened into a thin line. As unfair as it was to his other debtors, it would have been even more unfair to Daria to punish her for her brother’s mistakes, especially when hehadpromised to be merciful.
“Two more nights,” Hasan ground out. “That’s all. Then I burn this place down, no matter who’s inside.”
Daria gasped a sigh of relief. As she started a fresh wave of waterworks, Hasan ducked around her, slamming the wooden door shut behind him. Vinay lowered his paper and made to stand, but Hasan shook his head discreetly. Vinay sank back down.
Hasan pretended to head toward the street, then ducked into the gap between two homes and came around the side of the Jana house, squatting beneath the window.
As he strained his ears, he heard a commotion coming from inside the house.
“Useless! You were supposed to seduce him,” a familiar male voice roared. Glass shattered in a resounding crash, punctuating the shout.
“I tried,” Daria sobbed. “I e-even t-tried undressing in front of him....”
“Well, clearly you weren’t appealing enough,” Darsh Jana jeered at his only sister. “What good are you? I ask you to do one thing?—persuade the Jackal to forgive a debt?—and you can’t even do that! You have no marriage prospects, no useful talents?—you’ll be a spinster all your life, a burden in my household.”
Hasan opened the door and came back inside, but Darsh, so caught up in his fit of rage, didn’t seem to notice him. Daria kneeled in front of Darsh, who stood with his back to Hasan. The tea tray had been overturned, the glasses shattered, chai running in rivulets across the floor. Daria looked up from where she was picking glass off the floor and caught sight of Hasan. Her eyes widened. Before Darsh could turn, Hasan grabbed him by his collar and wrenched him around so that he was facing the photograph of his dead parents.
Hasan met Darsh’s eyes in the frame’s reflection. “What kind of brother whores out his younger sister in the presence of their parents’ image?”
“H-Hasan?” He’d gone pale as a Welk, shaking hard. “If this is about the money, I’ll have it next week, I promise?—”
“You’ve run out of time.” Hasan shook his head. “I’m here to collect. If you don’t have money, then I’ll take something else.”
“But I have nothing else!”
“Untrue.” Hasan smiled. “You were willing to give me your sister.”
Darsh stilled. “Surely you don’t mean Daria?—”
“Oh, I do,” Hasan promised. “She’ll come with me.”
He released Darsh and spun, catching Daria by the wrist. “You have three minutes to get dressed, and then we’re leaving regardless of what you’re wearing. Make it count.” The second he released her, she ran from the room.
“You can’t take Daria,” Darsh said. “She’s my sister.”
“Your sister?” Hasan laughed. “And what kind of brother have you been to her? You are a burden. Instead of paying off your own debts, you try and sell her innocence. Instead of finding her a caring husband, you force her to lie with your own mistakes. Why is it that you protest to my taking her? Is it because you care for her well-being? Or is it because you can no longer use her for your own ends?”
Darsh was silent, struggling to choke down his misplaced pride, no doubt. Finally, he gritted out, “I’ll be a better brother. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not me you should apologize to. It’s her.” Hasan jerked his chin at Daria, who had reentered the room in a worn-out salwar kameez.
“I’m sorry,” Darsh said, not quite looking Daria in the eye.
She reached for him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”
“Great,” Hasan said. “Truly heartwarming. Now let’s go.” He seized Daria’s wrist again, but her brother leaped in their path.
“But I apologized!”
“The apology was for her, not me,” Hasan snapped. “An apology is not going to replace the fifty thousand gold crowns you owe me.”
Darsh lunged at Hasan, fists balled, but Hasan had seen this coming a mile away. Without releasing his hold on Daria’s arm, he swung his free hand through the gaping hole in Darsh’s stance and struck him squarely in the chin. Daria cried out as Darsh hit the floor. He didn’t get up.
When they were outside, Hasan whistled through his teeth. Immediately, Vinay threw down his paper and stood, crushing his cigarette under his heel before coming to Hasan’s side.
