My fist clenches at my side and I have to take several breaths before I can speak again. “The main thing is you’re both alive. Where are you? We’re in Dogubeyazit waiting for Dad to come back with our visas so we can travel into Iran.”
“We’re at a safe house, I can’t say more, just in case, although I think Afshin was working on his own,” he says, and I remember the name from years ago. Afshin was the man who killed his family.
“Are you okay to travel? Is she okay to travel?” I fire, knowing that he’ll tell me his story soon enough. We just need to get to them first.
“Yes, wait for my message, I’ll arrange a meeting point. Give me your address and I’ll get the coordinates to you.” He sounds tired but is back to business like always, and I’m guessing running on autopilot. I reel off the name of our hotel and then we hang up.
Taking a huge inhale, I stare down at the screen of my phone for a moment.
“Well?” Knox grunts, and I get up from my knees, turning to face them.
“They’re both alive, in a safe place, and he’s organizing a way for us to meet up. We’ll take it from there,” I tell them, more relief washing through me when I see Jude sitting up and his eyes focused for the first time since we read that fucking letter.
“And Nightingale?” Jude questions, and I swallow.
“He didn’t say too much, it wasn’t a secure line, but she’s able to travel and they’re together,” I inform him, wishing I could have spoken to her, heard her voice for myself, but I didn’t want to delay seeing her or him, so I didn’t push the issue.
“So, what, now we wait?” Knox questions, and I can hear the frustration in his voice. I feel it too.
“Yes. He’ll send a message but said for us to wait here, so maybe he’s going through non-digital channels,” I say, turning to face the window again, looking out over the street that is rapidly becoming dark as the sun sets.
Though you best hurry the fuck up Tarl, I think, my eyes unseeing the scene before me. I just need to feel her, to see her, and know that she’s okay.
“HURT” BY BAHARI
LARK
I blink my eyes open with a groan; the sound makes me freeze as the memories of the last time I woke up bombard my mind. I tryto sit up quickly, a cry falling from my lips as pain flares hotly at my left shoulder and radiates down my arm.
“Fuck!”
“Glad you’re awake,Azizam,” Tarl’s melodic voice sounds next to me, and I turn my head to see him sitting by my bedside, a single lamp illuminating his beautiful, yet tired and lined face. My entire body relaxes, my heartbeat slowing at seeing him there, his presence a soothing balm like it always is, regardless if he got us into this mess. “I was beginning to worry.”
“Where are we?” I ask croakily, looking around at the bare room. It’s mostly in darkness, so I can only make out the shapes of furniture; an ornate-looking cupboard and chest of drawers, but not much else seems to be here.
“At the house of an old friend of my family,” Tarl tells me, leaning forward in his chair, holding out a glass of clear water. “Drink this, then we need to get going. Aeron will be pissed if we keep him and the others waiting.”
My gaze snaps away from the water, glad I wasn’t holding the glass as I would have dropped it. “They’re here?” My voice is soft, my throat tight as my eyes burn with unshed tears.
“Not here,Koshgelam,” he sighs, pushing the glass up to my lips and not continuing until I’ve taken a sip. “But nearby.”
He makes me drink almost the whole glass, and as I shift, I wince at the pain in my shoulder, my arm in a sling, I assume, to help stop the jostling. I’m also no longer in Knox’s T-shirt, but some soft, flowing, high-waisted trousers, and a baggy, white shirt. Tarl helps me out of the bed, and we pause as I let the wave of agony wash over me. It’s then that my bladder makes its presence felt.
“I need a piss,” I state, my voice not as scratchy as it was before because of the water Tarl gave me. He chuckles, and I’m reminded of the time that feels like a lifetime ago now, when Jude held a jug in between my legs while I was tied to the St.Andrew’s cross. My cheeks heat, and I’m glad for the darkness which hides my blush.
“You say that so eloquently,Koshgelam,” he teases, leading me across the room and to the only door. We stop and he reaches out with his left hand, which has a large, white bandage wrapped around it.
“Shit, Tarl, your finger!” I exclaim, my eyes widening, stumbling into him as he uses the hand to open the door, not even wincing when his bandaged hand makes contact with the decorative knob.
“I’m okay,Aziz-e delam,” he whispers, looking down at me before he helps me out of the room.
My mind spins with all that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours, at least, I think that it’s only been that long. It’s dark out, the hallway we’re in lit by lowlights. It’s unadorned, though there are arches over the doorways, and Tarl pauses before one, again using his injured hand to open it. We step inside, and I gasp at the beautiful bathroom before me. It’s covered in small, blue and white tiles and arched windows with screens, allowing a small amount of moonlight into the space adding to the soft lamps that dot the room.
“This is quite possibly the prettiest fucking bathroom I’ve ever seen,” I gush, taking in the low-sunken, hexagonal tub that takes up a large part of the floor. Tarl laughs softly again.
“I’ll make sure our future house has a traditional Persian bathroom,” he assures me with a grin, and my heart does a backflip at the thought of having a future house with these guys. “Here’s the toilet,Eshgham. I’ll help you.” We’ve come to where there’s a screened-off portion, and a gleaming white toilet awaits. He lets go of me, stepping in front of me and pulling my trousers down.
“I swear you boys are into golden showers,” I mumble, sitting down on the seat and letting go all while he stands there watching me. I giggle, and his smile is bright in the low light.
