“I know you’re scared, Veda. But if you do what you’re told, you won’t be hurt here. Change. Let the men take your photo, and then you will get food and water. Okay?”
Behind my back, Obalesh and Jaabir whisper to one another. They hate that I’m kind to the girls. That I don’t let them have their way with themerchandise. But the buyers will only pay for virgins.
Veda nods and turns around before she takes off her abaya. If the CIA doesn’t get her out, I’ll track her down and free her myself. I’ll free all of them. One day.
* * *
Shapur sitson a stone platform in the center of the steam room, a towel around his waist. Water is scarce here, even for the rich, but this decadence keeps his most trusted men happy. The public bathhouses are always packed.
“Was the merchandise acceptable?” he asks, dipping a large cup into the wooden bucket on the floor, then pouring warm water over his head.
Rage crawls up my throat.
They’re women. Not property, fuckstick.
After a breath, I nod. “More than adequate. Where did this batch come from? They didn’t look local.”
“Pakistan.” Shapur leans back on his hands and crosses his legs at the ankles. “They came in with the heroin. We saved a fortune on transport costs.”
Did he seriously pick these girls because he gotfree shipping?Fucker. I could end him with a single blow. Crush his windpipe and let him suffocate to death. No one’s allowed in here this late at night without an invitation. I’d be in Uzbekistan before any of the servants discovered his body.
Shapur rambles on about his new distribution network for heroin, cocaine, and meth, but I tune him out. I’m the one who set things in motion. Introduced him to the right people.
The steam starts to relax my muscles, and for a moment, I forget how much I hate this life. Until I lower my gaze and catch sight of the French words winding around my bicep.
“Il n’est rien de réel que le rêve et l’amour.”
Nothing is real but dreams and love. The memory of Lisette’s bracelet haunted me for weeks. So much so, on one of my days off, I found a back alley tattoo shop in Jalalabad and paid a small fortune for the permanent reminder of why I’m doing this. For her.
Tattoos aren’t common in Afghanistan. In Islam, it’s haram—forbidden—to mark one’s body. Thank fuck for long-sleeved tunics. Shapur didn’t see the ink until it was long healed, and I convinced him it was old. The result of a drunken night and a long-lost love from my youth. The best lies have a kernel of truth to them.
Deep cover is risky. Reality blurs, and the line between who you are and who you need to be can disappear in a heartbeat. This…helps.
I should have been gone months ago. But Shapur’s empire is still too fragile. His biggest rival—some asshat named Musa out of Kandahar—has cornered the market on opium, and until the CIA takes him out, I’m stuck. They claim they’re working on it. That it’ll happen any day. Hell, I told them exactly how to do it. But they’re dragging their feet, and my patience is wearing thin.
Shapur peers down his nose at me. Fuck. I want to punch the judgment right off his face. Between the tattoo and the barbs through my nipples, I’m a heathen of the highest order. But he needs me, and he knows it. If only he knew about theotherpiercing. The one hidden under my towel.
After a sigh, he runs a hand through his black hair. “I must ask you for a favor.”
“Name it. You’ve made me a very rich man. How can I repay you?” I’d vomit at my tone, but in Afghanistan, posturing will get youeverywhere.
“Retrieve my betrothed and her father from Sarawbi tomorrow and escort them here. We are to be wed in two days.”
I sit up straight. “And you’re only telling menow? I thought we were friends.”
His chuckle should reassure me, but I’m supposed to be his right-hand man. The one he trusts with all his secrets. If he’s hiding things from me, I’m fucked.
“I only agreed to the union this morning. Her name is Hajira, and she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
I study him, searching for any evidence he’s lying. His fingers drum against the stone. Nerves. A hint of worry. But underneath, excitement. Dilated pupils, a smile curving his lips. The man is legitimately smitten.
“How did you meet her? And when?” I don’t give a fuck, but I have to pretend I do.
“You will laugh,” he says.
Well, shit. Now Iaminterested. “On my life, I won’t.”
Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he shakes his head. “I am a rich man. Fathers demand outrageous dowries when they learn my name. But though we embrace the old ways for many things, you know we are not without technology. I used…an app.”
