The Disgraced Prince - Sneak Peek into my WIP (A Crossfire of Hearts)

Raw and unedited

Jan 24, 2024

The hallway was dark, cold, and smelt of blood.

Hamza couldn’t tell which he hated more – the dank cells that outlined the hallway or the acrid odour that tingled his olfactory senses. The metallic tang reminded him of the river of blood that had swept him onto the path that he now travelled. The screams of the latest occupant of one of the cells that would have otherwise been empty like the rest, assaulted his ears as he drew nearer.

Lateef.

The bastard had thought it was wise to manipulate his accounts and steal from him. The money he had taken wasn’t the problem, so much as the betrayal. It hit too close to home and made Hamza wonder what it was about him that made it easy for him to be betrayed. Maybe Lateef would finally answer that question.

Maybe then, he would know why his brothers had broken the seal of trust they had sworn, that the competition between them would remain fair until the end. And they had done it in such a brutal manner that he couldn’t help wondering that maybe he had truly deserved it.

Scrunching his nose as he entered the dimly lit cell, disgusted by both the smell and the sight before him. He beheld Lateef, stripped down to his underwear, seated on the floor, his body glistening with the repelling mix of sweat and blood. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and the most prominent of the wounds on his body was the open gash on his forehead.

For a former soldier, and a man in his line of work, he regularly threaded the fine line between illegality and danger. And one would think he would be used to such ghastly sights by now. But being used to them didn’t mean he loved seeing them. What would his wife, Mainna, who was as soft as the insides of a ripened soursop and his doe-eyed daughter, Aliyah think of him if they saw him now? Not that it mattered anymore because whatever their reservations about the man he had become were, they could not tell him. They had gone to a place where their voices were forever lost to him.

Beside Lateef on each side, stood two of his men, both of them were dressed identically in black t-shirts tucked into black jeans trousers. One of the men, Tijani had a gold chain around his neck, and heavy gold rings on all his fingers, the golden shine of the rings were tainted with blood. In one of his hands was an arm length rebar curved at the top.

Alex, the other man, unlike Tijani, had no flashy jewellery on. He was simple in his black fatigue. Which was how Hamza preferred his men to look. But he mostly kept his reservations to himself because getting good men in a foreign kingdom was hard. Alex and Tijani were one of the few good ones, so as long as they did their jobs right, he hardly complained about how they dressed or what they did during their spare time.

Both of them paused what they were doing and stood up straighter as he entered. Though, by the looks of Lateef who was breathing hard on the concrete floor, it seemed they have had quite the fun.

“Messy,” he said, wrinkling his nose as he stared down at Lateef. He was so disgusted that he had to swallow hard to keep down the vomit that was rising to his throat.

“Where did you say he was found again?” he asked Kai, his trusted right hand who had followed him into the cell. Kai had earned the nickname, The General from the other men in the crew, not just because of his closeness to Hamza, but for his brutality that was second to none. In Hamza’s absence, Kai’s word was law.

“Morocco,” Kai answered. His voice was as stiff as his shoulders were.

“How insulting,” Hamza said. His distaste sat heavy and bitter on his tongue. “Was that how far you could run?” He asked, crouching in front of Lateef who wouldn’t meet his eyes. Despite his revulsion, Hamza gently patted his face like he would a brother or dear friend.

“There is only one place in the world that you could run to, and I wouldn’t be able to get you. At least not personally anyway. I mean you had the opportunity to do the funniest thing ever and you blew it.” He laughed at his own joke. Everyone in the room knew he was talking about his home kingdom, where he had been banished from.

“Hamza—” Lateef began, finally taking the courage to look at him. He swallowed; his throat seemed parched. Hamza held out a finger shushing him.

“Give the man some water,” he ordered.

“Hamzaaa…” Kai groaned, stressing the last syllable of his name.

“Oh, come on, now. We aren’t animals, he’s obviously thirsty.” His voice was so gentle and soothing – affectionate as if he were dealing with a child that Lateef’s shoulder relaxed, almost as if he was hopeful that his ordeal would soon come to an end. Of course, the end was near.

Kai gave a stern nod to Alex, who went out and came back a few moments later with a cup of cold water. Hamza took the cup from him and gently fed it to Lateef who lapped it up like a thirsty street dog, spilling water all over his bare chest.

Hamza watched with a wicked grin on his face as Lateef sloppily drank his fill. When he was done, he took the cup from him and handed it to Kai who then placed it on the only furniture in the cell, a rickety interrogation table that no one used.

“So, you were saying?” he asked, looking into Lateef’s good eye, his voice soft as if he were speaking to a lover.

“Hamza, I can explain, I can… it—”

“Relax, relax. I’m sure you must have some sort of excuse. Go ahead, let’s hear it. We are all brothers here.”

Lateef fell quiet and went back to staring at the floor. The only sounds in the cell were from his heavy breathing and the distant dripping of water from somewhere within the rows of cells. Hamza made a mental note to ask his boys to check it out.

“Oh, come on now,” Hamza drawled. He placed tender fingers under Lateef’s chin and carefully lifted his swollen face. Even then, Lateef still would not meet his eyes. The behaviour of a guilty man caught red-handed.

Red-handed. How he hated that word. He had been condemned with it.

“He literally has blood on his hands. Is there a better definition of red-handed?” The voice who had spat those spiteful words at him all those years ago, was still as clear in his mind, as if they had just been spoken to him a few minutes ago.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment to erase the intrusive thought of the past and focus on the present and the issues he had to deal with.

“We do things for a reason,” Hamza said as he opened his eyes. The deceptive softness of his voice remained intact. “Maybe I have been unfair in my payments and judgements, or you have a sick mother or sister or child who needs surgery, you know—”

“It was the devil.” Lateef blurted out. I didn’t mean to steal from you. It was Satan’s doing, I swear it.” As Lateef pleaded frantically, Hamza could not take his eyes off his teeth now dyed the crimson colour of blood. He wondered for a moment; how many teeth Lateef must have lost from the torture he’d received.

“The Devil? Shaytan?” The slight rise in his tone indicated Hamza’s disappointment. He had wanted a grand explanation. He would have even appreciated a well-thought out lie. Hell, he would have taken a poorly thought-out one, something that painted him as the bad guy, unjust, wicked. Something that justified the betrayal. Something that would have finally answered the question. It gritted on his nerves to a painful extent that Lateef had followed the basic blueprint, that every liar and criminal used.

He studied Lateef quietly for a second and then laughed. “The Devil, Lateef?” he repeated unbelievably and then burst into a maniacal laughter.

“Boss, I…” Lateef tried again. Fear glistened in his one good eye, knowing he had given the wrong answer.

“I gave you options, but you chose the Devil. Ya Allah, of all things, you chose the Devil.” Hamza shook his head, disappointed. The laughter had disappeared from his voice and eyes. The cell was as quiet and cold as a graveyard at night. Kai stood stoically behind him as usual, and the two other men could have been mistaken for statues.

“You didn’t just steal from me, Lateef. You betrayed me. And it is that betrayal that I don’t understand, and I can’t forgive.” The sharpness of his cold words sliced through the tensioned atmosphere. Despite his chill tone, he ensured that his expression remained unreadable. It was an art that he had mastered as a child. Growing up as the third of seven sons in the Bachaman palace didn’t leave room for vulnerability or weakness. Not when they all fought for the attention of their father, King Alade Hassan Bachama who didn’t tolerate even the minutest signs of weakness from his sons. but treated his four daughters and three wives like they were delicate mirrors.

“Well,” Hamza said getting to his feet and wiping his blood-stained hands on his clothes. “Every day, I seek refuge in Allah from the accursed Satan and his madness. So, you see why I cannot have you around.”

Getting to his feet, Hamza turned to Kai. “How much did he steal from me?” he asked.

“A hundred thousand Idim,” Kai answered.

“Break his bones into a hundred thousand pieces.” He commanded. His tone cold and piercing. “Then burn his body and keep his ashes by a hearth.”

“No!” Lateef screamed. “Death, I can accept. But at least let me have an honourable burial.”

Hamza’s mouth turned downwards slightly, as if he were considering his request. Then he shuddered and turned back to him. “Thieves have no honour. And since you love the Devil so much you make dealings with him, burning your body will hasten your pathway to hell, don’t you think?”

With a half-smile at Lateef’s stunned face, he walked out of the cell. Lateef must have recovered fast because his cries and desperate plea for mercy escorted him out of the cell and followed him down the hallway.

Thank you for reading. This is an excerpt from the first draft of the book I'm currently working on. It's an enemies to lovers romance novel and it's the third installation in the Kingdom of Idia Series though it can be read as a standalone.