The thought crackles through my thoughts like static.
He wouldn’t answer the call when she was dying. Didn’t give a damn when her blood was soaking through the sheets. But now? Now he’ll be outraged—furious—becauseI saved her life. Because I touched her.Because she lived without his consent.
I squeeze my eyes shut, and my jaw tightens as I swallow my unease.
“Let him come,” I whisper to no one.
I did the right thing… even if a man said it was wrong.
Two weeks. Two weeks of restless nights, overworked muscles, and too much time to think. Two long, torturously grueling weeks. That’s how long Abby made me stew before Hawk finally called us into the briefing room.
When I walk in, I’m certain my face lights up like a kid at Christmas because of the look on his, the stoic one that means we are grabbing our go bags and heading to some—hopefully—hairy place.
By the time the jet’s wheels hit the tarmac in Jadiriah, my nerves are sanded raw, like I’ve been vibrating at the wrong frequency for days. The aircraft door opens, and heat slams into me. Not a dry heat. Not that desert air you can easily breathe. This is thick, oppressive, humid air that feels like hands are pressing against your chest, keeping you from drawing in a solid breath. My well-earned shallow inhale fills my nostrils with the scent of scorched concrete, jet fuel, and the acrid yet sweet smell of burning rubber.
Sweat beads instantly at my temples and slides down my spine as I take the stairs to the tarmac. By the time I reach the bottom, my shirt clings to me like a second skin.
“Jesus,” Damon mutters behind me. “It’s like walking straight into Satan’s asshole.”
Hawk glances over his shoulder with a slight scowl on his face. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. That brief glare is enough to shut Damon up and cause the rest of us to fall into step without so much as a second thought. Hawk doesn’t have to announce authority; it radiates from him, steady and unchallenged. It doesn’t hurt that with our shared histories, Gunnar, Damon, and I would follow him anywhere.Including straight into Satan’s asshole.
Gunnar falls in beside me, silent as ever. He has been quiet since we boarded the jet, spending the flight rotating between sleeping and mapping exit strategies from this hot-box of a country. Damon, on the other hand, has been uncharacteristically chatty for the past twelve hours, leaving me on the receiving end of a few too many bad jokes. Together, we somehow function like a well-oiled machine. Balanced, and lethal as fucking hell.
Jadiriah stretches beyond the runway in a shimmering haze of orange and gold. Low, sun-blasted buildings near the airfield give way to gleaning towers in the distance. Glass and steel spear upward like monuments of excess. Even from here, the divide is obvious. Polished wealth clustered in little pockets with the rest of the city cloaked in smoke, forgotten as it bakes under the brutal sun.
Our contact is waiting near the terminal. He doesn’t need an introduction, but he’s impossible to miss. AbrahimMunari is flanked by two men who look like they stepped out of a goon catalog. They are wearing dark suits—despite this grueling heat—matching earpieces, and their eyes haven’t stopped tracking our every movement since we began traveling in their direction. I know their kind: security meant to be seen more than they’re meant to be used.
Abrahim is immaculate. His cultural attire is pristine white, with intricate gold embroidery along the neck and down the center of his chest. It probably costs more than my first car.Fuck, it’s probably real gold.The sunlight catches on the diamond-crusted face of his watch with every subtle movement he makes. His beard is perfectly groomed, matching his exquisite posture. This is obviously a man whose only irritation is when things don’t go his way, because clearly, even his worst days still end quite comfortably.
He smiles as Hawk approaches, a faux grin that has been well rehearsed in mirrors but still doesn’t reach his eyes. “Mr. Hawkins,” he greets, with a heavy accent, as he extends his hand. “Welcome to Jadiriah.”
“Appreciate you meeting us personally,” Hawk replies, shaking his hand. “This is my team.” Abrahim’s gaze slides over all of us, slow and deliberate, as he takes in our group. He gives a silent nod—of approval, I think—and his flashily dressed squad ushers us to an awaiting black SUV with windows tinted so dark it’s like stepping into a coffin.I assume. The doors shut softly, sealing us into the blessed air-conditioned silence. I lean against the cool leather seat as the frosty air washes over my sweat-glistened skin.
The outskirts of Jadiriah smear past as we drive into the city. Open-air markets spill into the streets. Vendors shout from the cracked pavement. Fabrics blow and snap in the occasional gust of wind. The spices from the food vendors are heavy enough in the air to filter through the vents of our luxury SUV. When we reach the heart of the city, the sidewalks are no longer lined with beggars or children playing. They’ve been replaced with the glitter of luxury storefronts of brands I can’t pronounce.
“Local guys,” Damon mutters from the seat beside me, when we both notice this is our second time down this block. “Always weird.”
“Always,” I agree with a chuckle. “That’s why we get called in for all the heavy lifting.”
Gunnar doesn’t comment, but his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly as he clocks the same thing we are. The way our driver keeps doubling back and making unnecessary turns, he’s either paranoid or far better at counter-surveillance than we are.The latter of which, I highly doubt.The third option? It’s for theatrics.
The arrival at the estate is recognizable well before we reach the gates. High walls crowned with cameras line the left side of the block. At the base of them, guards are posted at regular intervals, all with rifles slung low and looking more ceremonial than practical. The gates slide open in silent precision when we approach. We drive through them and swerve along the curved driveway through lush, manicured gardens so perfectly green they don’t look real.
After passing a row of lush palm trees, we park before the residence. Massive doesn’t even begin to describe this estate.Modern fucking castle might be a better way to reference it.The interior is grand and cold, with the marble floors and vaulted ceilings that only accentuate the echoes of our heavy footsteps. The walls are adorned with art, which I assume is expensive.
We are led to a sitting room that looks like it was designed to be intimate, but is far too large to actually achieve that effect. With his men holding sentry at the door, Abrahim takes a seat opposite us. He is relaxed as he crosses his legs. “My sister,” he begins without preamble, “has disappeared.”
Straight to it. No theatrics. Just a nonchalant statement of fact delivered with the emotional inflection of a man who misplaced his watch.
Hawk nods. “Start from the beginning. Tell us everything you know.”
Abrahim exhales slowly before continuing, “Her name is Maryam. She is my youngest sister. She is… pregnant. Near term.” His jaw tightens briefly, and his throat bobs with a heavy swallow.Maybe he isn’t an emotionless robot, after all.“A week ago, she contacted me. She felt that something wasn’t right with her baby. I was in Tokyo on business, but she sounded so frightened that I sent a car to take her to Rahim Medical Center.”
I watch him closely as he speaks. His worry is real. The anger, too. We’ve worked our share of abduction cases, and his fear has sharpened into focus.
Abrahim doesn’t rush, but he doesn’t stall either.
“And you went to the hospital,” Hawk asks.
