Shit, he finds my cell. He puts it in his back pocket and keeps rummaging through our things, then throws some sheets of paper over his shoulder. There’s nothing else left inside the bag but a brown envelope. He sees it, grabs it, and out of instinct my body moves to him, but The Bedouin stops me by shaking his head.
The man notices and understands there are valuables inside.
FUCK! Bruno’s letter is in there, along with my passport.
He opens it, turns it up-side down and both the letter and my passport drop to the ground. I just hope he can’t read English.
First, he grabs the letter and puts it inside his pocket, then picks up the passport.
I frantically look at The Bedouin. The man will see my photo. He’ll put two and two together and realize I’m an American woman in the middle of the Red Sea.
My heart starts to race.
He opens the passport at the second page.
I need to do something.
Turns to the third and bio-data page.
I need to do something!
He sees my picture and immediately looks at me with his bat-shit crazy eyes.
This isn’t good…
Chapter Thirty-Two
CARTER
I’m sitting on my Harley, right outside this old warehouse, sweating like a pig. It’s too fucking hot today. I wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, and I can’t help but wonder if this is the right move.
All right. Let’s go through it, Carter.
The options on the table were eitherscrew Rageorscrew Sarah, and since I don’t like either, I choose ‘screw myself’. Now, I’m totally aware that my reputation will undeniably take a hit because of this, but frankly, I don’t give a flying fuck, especially considering that as soon as Bruno finds out that not only I’ve disobeyed the direct order ‘keep Sarah safe’, but that I personally put a stamp on her ass and sent her to Saudi… Oh yeah, I’m dead.
That’s if I live long enough for him to kill me.
I’ve toldDaremoto meet me here. He didn’t know the place and demanded I provide coordinates. I did. And he’s coming, all right.
I look up to see a convoy of a few black SUVs approaching along the gravel road.
That’s them. One hundred percent sure.
Three black Suburbans with tinted windows stop in front of me. All the babysitters step out of their vehicles, except the drivers. The one in front of me opens one of the rear doors, and Daremo shows his face at last, getting out just as the dust settles. He straightens his suit with a quick jerk and walks to me.
I get off the bike and stretch my back. This Yakuza prick wants to be a boss? With his height? I’m twice his size.
“Is he here?” he asks.
“Yep, he’s in there, all right,” I respond.
“Really?” He then pauses for a second to take a look at me. “You don’t look like someone who just kidnapped him.”
“Oh, do I sense a sliver of admiration right there?” I point at his face.
“Stop messing around,” he growls.
“Whoa! All right! If you need to know, he is pissed and was a pain in the ass to subdue. He fucked up two of my guys really bad,” I reply.
