95.
A silence filled the line, one that sent a chill down Akram’s spine.
“Did you say anything else?” Faraz’s voice was low, calculating.
“No! I swear, I didn’t.” Akram tried to steady his breathing.
“Look, I gave him enough to keep him busy, nothing more. I know how to play the game, Faraz.”
Faraz gave a humorless chuckle, sending a shiver down Akram’s spine.
“You think this is a game, Akram? Murad is many things, but a fool isn’t one of them. You sold him my whereabouts—you think he won’t use it?”
“I was careful,” Akram said, his voice rising.
“If you’d rather he tear through the city to find you, then maybe I’ll just let him—”
“Careful?” Faraz’s voice was like ice.
“Listen closely, Akram. If Murad’s interference leads to any… complications, I’ll hold you responsible. You remember what happened to those who crossed me, don’t you?”
Akram swallowed hard, his pulse quickening.
“I remember.”
“Good. Then make sure you don’t forget it.”
Faraz hung up, the call cutting off with a sharp beep, leaving Akram staring at the phone in his hand. He felt a knot of dread twisting in his stomach. This was no longer a game; he was caught between two men with a score to settle, each as ruthless as the other.
Stuffing the burner phone back into his pocket, Akram leaned back against the bar wall, letting out a shaky breath. He knew he had to tread carefully. Because in the battle between Murad and Faraz, it was only a matter of time before someone ended up in the crossfire—and Akram had no intention of being the one caught in it.
Akram’s thoughts spiraled as he stood by the bar, replaying Faraz’s last words. He was no stranger to the threats of men like Faraz, but the tightening fear in his chest reminded him that he'd taken a gamble by telling Murad even the smallest detail. Faraz had long arms and a cruel memory for those who crossed him.
Just as he was steadying his nerves with a sip from his glass, the door to the bar creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped inside, scanning the dim room. It was Hassan. A sense of panic surged through Akram. He couldn't let Murad’s right-hand man spot him here—not after that call with Faraz. He quickly slipped behind the nearest column, hoping Hassan would simply order a drink and leave.
But Hassan’s steps were unhurried as he walked past the bar counter, glancing around, his gaze piercing through the shadows like he was expecting to find someone hiding.
“Akram!”
Hassan’s voice rang out, confident and commanding, as if he’d known all along that Akram was still there.
“Come out. You’re not as invisible as you think.”
Akram winced, knowing there was no point in hiding. He took a deep breath, plastered on a casual smile, and stepped out from his cover, hands raised in mock surrender.
“Just here for a drink, Hassan. No need to make it dramatic.”
Hassan crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Funny, Akram. Because the last time I checked, you were here to play informant, not hide and eavesdrop. Or did you think Murad wouldn’t notice your… nervous little exit?”
Akram felt his heart race, but he forced a laugh.
“Nervous? Me? Don’t flatter yourself. You know Murad and I go way back. Just an old friend checking in, that’s all.”
“An old friend,” Hassan repeated, clearly amused.
“Funny how that loyalty always wavers, though, especially when you’re facing two sides of a very messy family tree.”
Akram’s face fell, unable to hide his growing discomfort under Hassan’s steady gaze.
“Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but I don’t owe Murad anything.”
“Oh, I think you do,” Hassan countered, stepping closer, his tone sharpening.
“See, Murad isn’t just asking you for favors. He’s asking for the truth. And when it comes to family, you know as well as I do that Murad doesn’t take betrayal lightly.”
Akram clenched his jaw.
“I didn’t betray anyone. I told Murad what I knew, simple as that. What he does with it is his business, not mine.”
Hassan chuckled, a glint of mockery in his eyes.
“Then maybe you should try telling that to Faraz next time he calls.”
Akram froze, his casual facade shattering at the realization that Hassan knew about his call with Faraz. He tried to play it off, his tone forced.
“Faraz? What are you talking about?”
But Hassan’s expression hardened.
“Don’t insult my intelligence, Akram. Murad wanted answers, and you just gave him more questions. Now, if you want to stay on his good side, I’d suggest you stop playing games.”
Akram’s shoulders slumped, his confidence all but gone. He nodded reluctantly, knowing he was caught between two forces he could barely hope to navigate on his own.
“Alright, fine. I get it. Just… tell Murad I’m not his enemy. Not now, at least.”
Hassan didn’t reply, only giving a small nod before turning to leave. But as he walked away, his parting words hung heavy in the air.
“For your sake, Akram, let’s hope you’re right about that.”
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