Page 26 of Choke

“I don’t believe in it, you know.”

I looked up as he spoke. His voice was hoarse, but his words flew with the precision of the bullet of an expert marksman.

“All the bullshit about God. I heard this madness from the moment I was born.” He chuckled softly. “I still can’t figure out why so many people believe in it. I don’t know what they get from it. It’s always seemed fucked up to believe in something that induces fear. It’s all I’ve ever seen. I know exactly what kind of vengeful notion God is.”

I buried my face in the cotton of his button-down shirt. “I stopped believing the day they told me that God wanted my father dead.”

Warm hands framed my face, pulling me away from his chest. I gazed into the steel-gray eyes, and for a moment, I wanted to believe that we were someplace else. That I was someone else.

“What do you mean, God wanted your father dead?”

“I wasn’t born in America. I came here just before I turned ten. I was born in Iran. My father was politically active. He was a good man who was tired of seeing his friends and neighbors persecuted for everything they did. I remember him telling my mother that it felt like even breathing washaram. That’s what it means. When you’re doing something that goes against God. Impermissible, whatever the fuck that means. It’s a joke, you know, calling thingsHaram, especially when the ayatollah does it. They sanction prostitution to make itHalal. Permissible. Then they marry the prostitute to the clergy or whoever comes along and give money to the ayatollahs. They marry her for a short period, whatever timeframe the man wants: a week, a day, an hour, or minutes. She’s forced intowhatever sexually deviant act the man deems fit, and she can’t object. It’s fucked up when you think about it. That’s the thing with the ayatollah and the clergy, isn’t it? Those men are supposed to be holier than thou, but they’re devoted to a god none of them believe in. They walk around claiming to be good Muslims, but they’re not. Not a single fucking one of them.”

“That still doesn’t tell me what happened to your father.”

Could I tell him what happened to my dad? I wasn’t sure I could talk about it. I could speak of the ayatollah and the regime and everything it did to innocent people, but could I talk about how I watched my father’s neck snap?

Somehow, the words came despite my doubts. “The Islamic call of prayer. A holy sound. It was the last thing I heard before they snapped my father’s neck and showed me his lifeless body. So you see, I’m not a fan of prayer or holy chimes as a harbinger of death to slay innocent people. I thought we escaped the barbaric holds of religious manipulation and subjugation, but I guess I was wrong.”

Emerging from the memories, I lift my gaze to the man before me.“You said you’d never see me again, Callum.”

“Correction, pretty girl. I saidyou’dnever seemeagain.”

19

ATLAS

“What the fuck, Callum? What’s she doing here?”

“She’s hurt. I needed to take her somewhere.”

“How about a fuckin’ hospital? Fuck, maybe call the cops and have her rushed off in an ambulance.”

“How the fuck would I explain what I was doing there, Atlas? ‘Sorry, officer, but he was bothering my stalking victim, and I can’t handle men being mean to her. I’ve got a problem. That girl is mine, and anyone who fucks with my shit gets it.’” Callum shrugs as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Besides, I would've hated the little shit to pick me out of a lineup. Didn’t have time to take care of the problem properly.”

I step toward Callum. “You don’t need to worry about being picked out in a lineup.”

Callum doesn’t step back. Instead, he steps toward me. “How can you guarantee that, pretty boy?” He crosses his arms, and his smug smile makes me want to punch his arrogant face.

I chuckle. “Your location setting.”

Callum frowns and digs in his back pocket, pulling out his iPhone. A scowl replaces his smile as he pushes a few buttons. “Motherfucker. I turned this off.”

Now it’s my turn to smile smugly. “And I turned it on. You should thank me for cleaning up your mess. Well, it’s not completely cleaned up, but it’s contained for now. I thought you’d like the honor of ridding yourself of the problem.”

“What are you going to do to him?” a soft voice asks hesitantly.

Callum and I turn to look at Mona. She’s been unconscious, so this is the first time she’s aware of my presence in the room.

“Mona.”

That’s all I can say. Her name. As if that one word is a silent prayer that can save my soul. Four letters that mean more to me than my life.

“Hi, Atlas.”

She appears so calm, but her trembling shoulders and downcast gaze speak of a deep-seated fear that shocks me. It’s not like Callum and I were cruel to her. We gave Alaric Cinder all the information he needed to help her sister and brothers-in-law break her out. I sacrificed my father to save her life, and I’d do it again.

An icy dread seeps through me as I see Mona’s wide, terrified eyes, despite my rational mind knowing she has nothing to fear. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it's certainly not this.

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