I snap my mouth shut before I laugh myself into a beheading. When I wrestle control of my shock, I ask, “You swiped right?”
With a chuckle, he trails his fingers through the water. “I did. The negotiation was over before Hajira’s father learned my name. Bring them here quickly, Guillermo. I have many enemies, and now that we are betrothed, I will fear for her safety until we are wed.”
With a nod, I push to my feet. “May you and Hajira have a lifetime of happiness, Shapur. You honor me with your trust. What time are they expecting me?”
* * *
An hour outside of Jalalabad,I pull over to relieve myself behind some large tufts of desert grass. I’m far enough from the truck, so I take a risk and call the Kabul exchange.
“Bank of Raman,” a man says in lightly accented Dari. “How can I help you?”
“Extension seven-eight-six. Deposits and loans.”
“May I have your name, sir?”
“None of your damn business.” The passphrase was my idea, and the asset on the other end of the line hates it. He sighs and, after a series of clicks, securing the line, tells me to proceed.
“The next auction is in six days.” I rattle off the address. “Eight packages, untouched.”
“Anything else, sir?”
“Yeah. Tell Constellation she broke our deal. I was supposed to be done in December. It’s fucking May. Next time I call, have an exfil plan for me. I need my goddamn life back.”
* * *
We’re halfway to Jalalabad,and my control is slipping. The moment I met Hajira’s father, Yar, I wanted to kill him. He hasn’t stopped berating the poor girl the entire drive. She’s too slow. Too ugly. Too fat. Her very rich, very powerful husband-to-be is going to reject her, and she’ll bring such shame to their family, her life will be less than worthless.
The icing on the cake? She’s barely eighteen. I’d bet my left nut she’s having second thoughts—if she even consented to the marriage in the first place.
We stop for water under the shade of a large, broadleaf tree, and Hajira sniffles quietly while her father continues his tirade. “You do not know what is good for you. I find you a husband who does not care how stupid you are, and you do nothing but cry.”
“Papa, please do not sell me to him,” she begs. “I want to go home to Mama.”
Fuck. I should have known. The weight of everything I’ve done the past eleven months hits me so hard, I can’t breathe. Digging my fingers into my bicep over my tattoo, I turn away. Ihave todeliver this girl and her father. If I don’t, my life won’t be worth shit. And neither will hers.
Shapur has trackers on all of his vehicles. He knows where I am, how long we’ve stopped for…hell, he’s so paranoid, he’ll probably be waiting at the gate when we arrive.
But I look at Hajira, and I see Lisette at twenty-four. Her fear when Faruk took her. The utter terror of not knowing what would happen to her. If she would ever see her family again.
Yar shuffles around to the other side of the tree to take a piss. I lean closer to Hajira and lower my voice. “When did you learn about this marriage?”
She sinks down to the ground, covering her face with her hands. “This morning. I thought…I would marry a man in my village. Not one…so far away I will never see Mama again.”
Her father curses, yanks her to her feet, and slaps her hard enough blood spatters the ground in front of her. “You do not speak to anyone until I have signed the marriage contract.” Turning to me, he curls his lip. “We are ready to go. Get back in the car, outsider.”
What choice do I have? Subdue the asshole and set off for Uzbekistan with an underage girl in tow? If anyone catches us together—without a chaperone—she could be stoned. Whipped. Branded a whore. Barbaric as fuck, but that’s what happens here.
This damn job isn’t worth it. The CIA’s been “working out” how to kill Musa for months—despite me telling them exactly how to get to him. Stringing me along, telling me they’re close. But with every auction, every shipment of drugs and guns, my hope of ever being whole again fades a little more.
I’ll deliver Hajira to her new home. For all his faults, Shapur might make a halfway decent husband. She’ll want for nothing. Except her mother. And her freedom.
But I’m done with this life. I can’t wait for an exfil plan. Before sunrise prayers tomorrow, I’m gone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Nomar
Shapur waitsat the front door, smiling like he’s just won the goddamn lottery. “Hajira. My jewel. You are twice as beautiful as your picture.” He does not touch her, but bows with his right hand over his heart.
