I study my hands and shake my head. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” The energy in the room is shitty, and I don’t want to keep thinking about what Daniels sacrificed for me. Desperate for a subject change, I joke, “Next you’ll be saying Parker should join our team as some kind of wrangler.”
“Well, now that you say it…” Jake says, shrugging sheepishly.
“Dude, what the fuck are you talking about?” Anders asks.
He holds up his hands. “I’m just saying…we’ve got a lot going on and we don’t always keep our shit together, and she runs an organization business on the side.”
“Yeah, and if I had a problem with a towel closet, she’d be the first person I’d call.”
Odd thunks his brother on the forehead.
Jake pulls up a website on his phone. “She’s organized for a ton of local celebrities, but when you go to her website and socials, she says nothing about it. She’s known for her discretion, and on top of Tagalog, she’s fluent in Japanese, Mandarin, Vietnamese, and Russian.”
“Wait, Russian?” Thane asks, curious.
Jake nods, pulling up a few more items on his laptop. “And get this, her dad was stationed in Okinawa for a bunch of years before they transferred him to Hawaii. He was big-time. She never served, but she knows the life.”
I hold up my hands. “Okay, hold on. Start over. You like Omar for the team, and seeing him in person, yeah, he’s intimidating. But I mean…has he even picked up a gun since leaving Iraq?”
Jake shakes his head. “No, but…that general? His mentor?”
“The warlord guy?” I ask, impatient.
“Yeah. I can’t confirm, but he was suspected of going after young girls. When Omar turned eighteen, the general was found on one of his father’s properties, strung up with his guts hanging out. Local medical examiner says the general dude was alive for a long time, hanging from that tree. Two days later, Omar emigrated to the United States, and there wasn’t a single instance of contact with his father before he died.”
“So, he’s good with taking out bad guys, and the family doesn’t want to fuck with him.”
I look at Anders, and we’re thinking the same thing. If Omar’s worried that they’re being followed, then they’re after Rafi, not him. Bringing in Omar makes it easier for us to protect Rafi if it comes to that, which is a no-brainer for me.
“Jake, I think you’re right. Omar understands the mind of the enemy and has that murderer-with-a-heart-of-gold quality we enjoy on this team. I might even be okay with Parker, though I’m still not sure what she would actually do. But we are absolutely, 100 percent never ever ever going to use Rafi for anything.”
The guys look at each other and smirk. Yes, I’m being obvious. No, I don’t give a shit. Nobody gets to endanger my guy.
Speaking of which, I wonder if Rafi’s sent me an update. He wanted me to go with him—he has a list of bars he and Asadi were starting to explore before he died, including the old Poodle Dog Lounge. It’s called the Aristocrat now, and it’s a little divey, but generally safe.
As I pull up my phone, a message comes in from Rafi with a selfie of him drinking a local cider. I hold my phone a little more closely and recognize the guy one stool over. If I had to guess, Rafi has no idea who he’s sitting next to.
15
Rafi
I walk into a building that has a large poodle painted on the outside of it and can’t tell if this is the coolest bar ever or if I’ve made a huge mistake. The smell of days-old beer is mixed with cue chalk, Axe body spray, illicit cigarette smoke, and maybe a dash of weed. They don’t have any music going, so the noise is all people chatting and the comforting smack of billiard balls. The people-watching is first-class—there’s a combination of bikers, rednecks, and hipsters sort of all mingled together. A rainbow flag hangs on the back wall, but it’s not a gay bar, just an Austin bar. I think this’ll be just fine.
Oh, habibi. This was on our list.
Everett already had plans with the guys, so I was tempted to put this off for a different day. But I have an emotional hangover from yesterday’s therapy session, so I decided to come anyway. I think I’ll benefit from the solitude of an unfamiliar place.
I move quickly and claim the only available seat at the bar, noting the pool tables and Skee-Ball machines. There’s an old-fashioned jukebox and a tiny space set aside for open mic nights and a harried waitress running back and forth between the bar and the outdoor patio.
I’m not in the mood for liquor and I hate beer, but thankfully they have some good local cider options. I go with the grapefruit Austin Eastcider, and thankfully, the bartender’s side-eye is minimal.
I take a quick selfie and send it to Everett, just so he doesn’t worry. I’m not totally comfortable, but the place has a good vibe and you can tell it’s mostly people from the local neighborhood.
Rafi, darling, you know why you’re here.
I think I just wanted to feel you here with me. I’m so lonely.
I know you feel that way, habibi, but you are not alone, and you don’t need to stay alone because of me. I want you to be happy, to be in love again. There is no one more beautiful in love than you.
