“Holy shit. No magazine.” I tug off my cap and run my hand through my hair. “These were all locals he paid to sacrifice themselves. But what’s his end game? Leave us in here to die of dehydration? Is the room air tight?”
“Zephyr will know something’s wrong. Leo will be here in thirty minutes, max,” Austin says.
“Raziq isn’t the type of guy to leave anything to chance. Leo outed himself at the market. This doesn’t end well for us.” Griff sinks down onto his ass, phone in hand, and pulls up a photo. The woman is beautiful. A tall, willowy blond with a brilliant smile and love reflected in her eyes. “At least I called Sloane before we left the safe house and told her I loved her.”
Next to me, Austin rubs his fist over his heart. “Mikayla left me a message early this morning. But I didn’t want to wake her up.”
My legs go weak, and I drop to my knees. These two men are going to die because of me. Leo too. What about Amelie and Philippe? They won’t get out of Afghanistan without a male escort and a hell of a lot of cash to pay off the border guards. They’re dead too.
I failed everyone. Lisette and Mateen most of all. Raziq will kill her. Slowly. Painfully. And Mateen will grow up with his fanatic uncle as his only role model.
Minutes pass, each one seeming to last an hour. Austin and Griff record messages for their women—in case our phones make it out while they still have battery left. But I can’t. Even if Zephyr gets in touch with Ford. Even if Second Sight or McCabe’s team searches for Lisette. She won’t live long enough to hear it.
“Nomar?” Austin grasps my shoulder and points to the door the kid ran through. “Look.”
Curls of smoke seep around the edges. An orange glow starts to appear in the top corner.
“Suffocation, then.” The first whiff hits my nose. “Wait. That’s not a house fire.” The diffuse glow gets brighter. More distinct. It spreads in a line all the way down to the floor. “Someone’s cutting through.”
“Friend or foe?” Austin asks.
“Leo couldn’t get here this fast. And while your ‘retail therapy’ in Istanbul was extensive as fuck,” I say, holding Pritchard’s gaze, “a thermal lance wasn’t on the list.” I grab my M4 and take aim. Behind me, Austin and Griff mirror my movements.
Three minutes. Four. Five. The door gives off so much heat, sweat stings my eyes.
“Get ready.” I adjust my grip, my finger resting lightly on the trigger.
The metal creaks and moans, an old ghost searching for someone to haunt. A loud bang follows and, as if in slow motion, the door falls inward like a domino.
“Identify yourself,” I shout. “Or we start shooting.”
“All the trouble I went through to save you, Viper, and this is how you repay me?” A man lingers behind the wispy smoke, nothing but a silhouette backlit by the glow of the cutting tools. “I suggest we hurry and—as you have always been so fond of saying—get the fuck out of here. Unless you are somehow immune to the three rather large explosive devices set to go off any minute now.”
I step forward, unwilling to believethisis the man saving my life. But the smoke clears, and I lower my weapon.
“Holy fuck. Shapur.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Lisette
The stars wink overhead.Such beauty in the harsh loneliness of this country that has taken everything from me. I stare up at them. Counting. But I never get higher than thirty before I drift on a sea of exhaustion and sorrow.
I have not moved in hours. I am not sure I can. Every muscle aches, the pain bone-deep when I breathe. My hands are numb, but as the shadows started to fall over the roof hours ago, the first blisters appeared on my fingers. I tried to pull my sleeves over the cuffs many times, but I failed, and the sun beat down on my skin for hours.
I never thought I would be happy for the burka. But at this moment, I think it is the only reason I am still alive. The whip did not break my skin, and the material saved my entire body from burning.
Kabul is so far away. Lights glitter in the distance. The city is dying, men like Raziq adding to the despair. But still, it holds on.
It must be close to midnight. Will he leave me out here until morning? Until I die? For all the heat of the day, after dark, the winds picked up, and I start to shiver. Nausea crawls up my throat. I feel the pain from all the way down to my toes.
Eyes closed, I rest my forehead on my arms. I should sleep. Or try to. Is Mateen tucked in a comfortable bed with a full belly? His uncle will revere him for the rest of his life. He will not torture him as he does me. But the sweet, sensitive boy who cares for others will soon be gone.
The door behind me opens. I flinch and try to turn, but my vision tunnels from the effort. Someone unlocks the cuffs. My arms fall, my hands hitting my thighs. Before I can flex my fingers, a man hauls me up and throws me over his shoulder.
“Where are you taking me?”
He says nothing, only carries me down two flights of stairs with an arm banded around my legs. But I am no longer chained, and the scents of spices and fresh naan reach my nose. My mouth waters. The last thing I ate was half an MRE early this morning.
