Hold on, Lisette. I’m coming.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Lisette
The floor shakes again.Nomar found us. But Raziq has so many men. I cannot count the number I have seen, but it must be at least twenty. There are a dozen rooms on this floor. At least half as many above and below.
I need to get to my son. But one of the guards threw me back into Mateen’s bedroom and locked the door. My blisters tear as I dig my fingers under the burka and pull the paper clip from my bra. It takes me precious seconds to straighten the metal and break it in two.
My legs are still numb, my arms not much better, but I drag myself to the door. Searing pain snakes around my torso as I reach for the knob.
I can do this.
The first piece of metal scrapes against the tumblers. Quiet pops and dull bangs sound every few seconds. Tears clog my throat. Nomar could die. Austin. Griff. Leo. Because of me. The last tumbler falls, and the knob turns so quickly, I lose my grip and collapse to the floor with a whimper.
But the door swings open.
Muffled shouts come from down the hall. I cannot make out the words.
Pulling myself up is the hardest thing I have ever done. Until I try to take a step. Dizzy, I collapse against the door jamb.
The black mesh over my eyes is suddenly so claustrophobic, my breath catches in my chest. My hands shake, but I rip the cape from my head. Whatever Raziq does to me now, I do not care. I need to see. To be…meagain.
A man rushes out of one of the rooms by the stairs and heads down to the first floor. He did not see me, and I creep closer. My muscles tremble violently. There are so many steps, and no bannister.
Mateen is down there.
I can do this. For him. Bracing my hands on the walls, I try to hurry. But halfway down, my foot catches in the too-long burka. I fall—in slow motion until the last second. Then everything moves so quickly. My wrist cracks against one step. My head hits another. Whimpering, I draw my knees to my chest.
“Get the boy!” Raziq shouts. “Bring him to the garage and start the Hummer.”
The garage. If he takes Mateen away from this place, I may never find him again. Using the wall for support, I push to my feet and chance a quick look out of the stairwell. Raziq’s office is to the left. Two men stand in the doorway, arms crossed, guarding their boss.
“Let me go! I want to see Maman!” Mateen cries from my right.
One of the taller guards—Naveed, I think—strides from the sitting room at the end of the hall with my son thrown over his shoulder. “Quiet! Your mother is not coming with us.”
He screams so loud, it hurts my ears. Naveed slaps his bottom, hard.
“No! Stop!” I come within a few steps of them before Naveed whirls around, his gun pointed at my head.
“The boss wants you dead, whore,” he says with a sneer.
“Maman!” Mateen twists and digs his fingers into Naveed’s black hair, pulling hard enough, pain crinkles at the corners of the man’s eyes. His legs flail, one foot catching the guard’s arm.
The gun clatters to the floor between us. I dive for it. My fingers close over the handle. It is so heavy.
Naveed slams Mateen into the wall. His body goes limp.
No!
I aim for his leg. He still holds my son. The shot hits him in the calf. Blood stains his brown pants. He drops to one knee with a groan. Mateen slides off his shoulder and curls into a ball on the ground.
His eyes flutter open, then lock on me. Tears slip down his cheek.
“Run!”
Naveed lunges for Mateen, and I fire again. This time, the shot hits his chest. He curses under his breath. Weaker this time.
