“Like hell you did,” I snarl, my patience snapping. In one fluid, decisive movement, I unbuckle her seatbelt and drag her body across my lap. She lets out a sharp gasp of surprise, her hands flying out to brace herself against the opposite door while I maneuver her until she’s draped face-down over my thighs—vulnerable and exposed—with her ass perfectly positioned.
“You don’t do reckless shit that might leave me without you,” I grit out, my voice shaking at the edges with the terror that’s been riding me since the moment Abrahim lunged at her. I lift my hand and bring it down hard on thecurve of her ass, the sound a sharp crack that fills the silence. She jerks against me, a muffled cry escaping her lips.
“There are… consequences… for scaring… Daddy… like that,” I say hoarsely, my words punctuated by more stinging slaps through her pants. I’m not hurting her, not really, but I am trying to imprint the lesson on her so she never,everforgets it.
After the sixth strike, her body goes limp against me, the fight draining out of her. I hear a soft, hitching sob. I stop and rest my hand on the heated curve of her bottom. Gently, I pull her up and shift her onto the seat beside me. Her face is turned away, but I can see the glistening track of a tear on her cheek.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whispers, her voice small and wrecked.
Her words undo me.
I reach out, wiping the tear away with my thumb. “I know, Doc,” I whisper against her forehead, my protective need replaced by a fierce desire to comfort her. I tuck her under my arm, pulling her close until her head rests against my chest. She comes willingly, curling into me.
Gunnar finally locks his phone and drops it onto his thigh, glancing at us through the gap between the seats. “Have we reached the end of the, um, corrective discussion? Or should those of us in the front seat keep pretending we didn’t hear it?”
“Discussion’s over. Your selective hearing can stand down, Dad. Though at your age, that issue might be permanent.”
The Jeep hums over a stretch of rough concrete as Hawk finds himself unable to contain his chuckle. “Thatwasfoolish,” he says, echoing me, his gaze falling on Blake in the rearview mirror. “How did you know?”
Blake’s gaze flicks forward to meet his. “I didn’t. Not for sure.” She pauses, then adds almost bitterly, “But it’s hard to believe her brother knew nothing about what was happening to her, considering howconcernedhe was about her disappearance.”
I lean back against the seat, my jaw tightening.I don’t know how we missed it.Abrahim’s worry had appeared real, but selective. He showed us the version of himself we wanted to see to feel good about the job we were doing.He played us.That piece of shit doesn’t care in the slightest about the reality his sister has been living.
Gunnar turns halfway in his seat. “So, now what?”
The question sits there, thick and unavoidable.
“We get Maryam,” I say, firm and decisive.
Blake turns to me abruptly, her eyes narrowing. “No.”
“What?” the three of us confusedly ask in chorus, not quite registering her single word.
“I’m not telling anyone until I know, with certainty, she’ll be safe.” Blake sounds unwavering, almost impenetrable in her conviction.
“Blake—” I start, heat flaring under my skin, but she cuts me off with a look that stops me cold.
“I want her out of this country and a distant memory to her family.” The disdain in her tone twists my frustration andadmiration together until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
I glance at her from the corner of my eye. My irritation softened, though only slightly. She’s infuriating. Stubborn. Maddening in ways that scrape against every instinct I have for control and contingency. Her conviction isn’t just stubbornness. It is a shield, protecting the people she cares about. And for all the frustration it causes me, I can’t help but respect it. And—God help me—I love her for it.
Gunnar exhales and shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. Hawk’s jaw flexes, but he doesn’t argue. “I’ll call Reese. Maybe she hasn’t burned every connection she has in DC.”
Blake shifts to look at me, confusion written across her face. “Reese?”
“His wife,” I share as we pull into the safe house.
Inside, Hawk disappears to call Reese. When he finally returns, he fills us in on their call. “Reese is working on it. She is reaching out to some people to see if she can get an expedited humanitarian parole. Maybe refugee status.”
“English,” I grumble.
Hawk fights the urge to roll his eyes at me. “Whatever will get her into the US.”
“And then what?” Blake asks very matter-of-factly.
Hawk shrugs lightly. “We’ll figure that out.”
“We need to make sure she’s safe.”
