Chapter Fourteen
Azrael
The bar in Tel Aviv smelled like stale beer and bad decisions. I’d made plenty of those in my time, but sitting across from Eli in the dim back room, I knew this might be the worst one yet. The wooden table between us bore the scars of countless deals gone south, knife marks and cigarette burns telling their own stories. I kept my face neutral, waiting. In my world, the first one to speak usually lost.
Stripes’ Russian contacts had set this meeting up. It was our best chance at extracting Mazida with the least possible resistance. While he might not be the very top guy, he was close enough.
Behind me, Samurai leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. Not a bodyguard -- I didn’t need one -- but a reminder I wasn’t alone. I had a brotherhood, ties to other men like myself, and those ties came with responsibilities. Stripes stood near the door, his gaze missing nothing.
Eli tapped his fingers on the table, the sound barely audible over the muted bass from the main room of the bar. He wasn’t nervous. Men like him didn’t get nervous. He was impatient.
“You’re a hard man to find,” he said finally, his voice carrying the slightest hint of an Israeli accent, telling me he spent most of his time elsewhere. “If your Russian friends hadn’t requested this meeting, I may have missed this opportunity.”
“Not if you know where to look.” I kept my tone flat. “But then, I wasn’t hiding from you.”
Eli’s lips twitched. Not quite a smile. “Let’s not waste time. I have Mazida Quadir. You want her back.”
I didn’t flinch. We’d known her brother had kidnapped her and brought her here, to Tel Aviv, but until we got here, we hadn’t realized he’d handed her off to someone else. Someone more powerful, and far more deadly.
“What I want is for you to tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now.” I kept my hands visible on the table. It was a power move. I didn’t need to reach for a weapon to be dangerous.
Eli actually smiled then. “Because I’m not the worst monster in this room, Azrael. And because Mazida is not here. Kill me, and she dies alone in a place you’ll never find. After my men have had their fun, of course.”
I felt rather than saw Samurai shift his weight behind me. A warning: Don’t make this personal . I ignored it.
“What do you want?” I asked, already knowing I wouldn’t like the answer.
Eli leaned forward, his expensive suit rustling softly. “Three men. Three problems that need to go away.”
“Assassination isn’t my specialty,” I said, which wasn’t exactly true. I’d killed before, but always for my own reasons. Never as a hired gun.
“No? The avenging angel who takes out trash humans? That’s what they call you now, isn’t it?” Eli’s eyes narrowed. “Or is it only righteous when you decide who deserves to die?”
Stripes cleared his throat, a subtle warning in the sound. I’d known the old Russian long enough to recognize it. He was telling me to keep my temper in check.
“Mazida will be released if you eliminate three of my rivals,” Eli continued, his voice cold and precise now, all business. “Each one is a cancer. Each one deals in human flesh, in children. The kind of men you hunt anyway.”
“I do what I must,” I replied, jaw tight. I didn’t like being manipulated, even if the targets aligned with my personal code. “But I don’t work blind. Names. Locations. Security details.”
Samurai stepped forward then, his footfalls nearly silent on the grimy floor. “This will put the club at risk,” he said, voice low and even. His dark eyes locked with Eli’s. “We’re not mercenaries.”
“The club isn’t involved,” I said sharply, turning to look at him. “This is on me.”
Samurai’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You wear the Boneyard patch, Azrael. There is no ‘just you’ anymore.”
I knew he was right, but I wasn’t backing down. Not with Mazida’s life on the line. Not with Zara counting on me.
“Details,” I said to Eli, turning back to face him. “Or we walk.”
Eli nodded once, then motioned to Stripes. “Your man already has what you need. I sent it when you entered the building.”
Stripes pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers tapping the screen. “ Da , it’s here,” he confirmed. He moved to stand beside me, turning the phone so I could see.
Three photographs appeared on the screen. Three men, all middle-aged, all wealthy-looking. Below each photo was a name, an address, and a brief profile.
“First target is Javier Mendoza,” Stripes said, enlarging the first photo. “Arms dealer who expanded into trafficking five years ago and moved into this country a year ago. Compound outside Jerusalem. Heavy security, twelve men minimum.” He swiped to the next. “Second is Boris Kerensky. Russian national with diplomatic immunity. Operates from a hotel penthouse in Jerusalem.” Another swipe. “Third is Hassan Al-Bahir. Saudi businessman. Currently on his yacht in the Mediterranean. Moves every few days, never docks for long. But it looks like he’ll be attending meetings over the next three days in Gaza.”
I studied each face, memorizing details. “Timeline?”
“One week,” Eli replied. “All three, confirmed dead, or Mazida joins them.”
“And the proof she’s alive?” I wasn’t making deals without verification.
Eli removed a phone from his jacket, tapped the screen, and slid it across the table. A video played, showing a woman in a sparse but clean room. She looked tired but unharmed, reading aloud from today’s newspaper. Mazida Quadir -- Zara’s mother -- with her distinctive features she’d passed to her daughter.
I watched the video twice before sliding the phone back. “If she’s harmed --”
“She won’t be,” Eli interrupted. “Not if you do your job. But understand this: these men have protection. Governments look the other way because they’re useful. If you’re caught, no one will claim you.”
“I’ve been a ghost my whole life,” I replied. “Being disavowed won’t be anything new.”
Samurai moved closer to the table. “We need assurances. Devil’s Boneyard stays clear of this. No blowback.”
Eli studied him. “Your club has its own reputation, Samurai. Don’t pretend your hands are clean.”
“We protect our own,” Samurai replied, unflinching. “We don’t assassinate for hire.”
“Even to save an innocent woman?” Eli asked, raising an eyebrow.
I’d had enough. “The club stays out of it. This is between you and me.” I leaned forward. “But I want daily proof of life, and when the job is done, you deliver Mazida to a location of my choosing, personally.”
Eli considered this, then nodded slowly. “Acceptable. But understand this -- fail to eliminate even one target, and our deal is void.”
“And understand this,” I countered. “If Mazida isn’t returned exactly as she appears in that video, I’ll find you. No matter where you hide.”
The threat hung in the air between us.
“Three men who deserve to die,” Eli said finally. “For the life of one innocent woman. It seems a fair exchange.”
I stood up, signaling the end of our meeting. “Nothing about this is fair.”
As we prepared to leave, Stripes showed me more intel on his phone -- building layouts, security rotations, daily routines. The old Russian had mapped everything with military precision, his eyes hard as he pointed out potential entry points and escape routes.
“These men, they are careful,” he said quietly. “They have many guards, many eyes. It won’t be easy.”
“Nothing worth doing ever is,” I replied.
Samurai remained silent as we left, but I could feel his disapproval. Once we were outside in the warm Tel Aviv night, he finally spoke. “Phantom won’t be happy about this,” he said, referring to his cousin, another club member. “We hunt predators, yes, but not like this.”
“I’m not asking the club to help,” I repeated. “This is my mission. My responsibility.”
“And what happens after?” Samurai asked. “When powerful men are killed and people start looking for who did it? You think it won’t lead back to us?”
I had no answer for that. He was right to be concerned. But if it came down to it, I’d leave the club. I wouldn’t let them pay for what I was about to do.
Stripes put a hand on my shoulder, his grip strong. “The club is your family, Azrael. Family stands together, even when the decisions are shit.” He glanced at Samurai. “We’ll help him. Quiet, da ? No patches, no colors. We leave our cuts behind for this one.”
Samurai stared at him for a long moment before giving a slight nod. “Three targets. If we help, you’ll be able to get to them faster. Handle this safer.” He fixed his gaze on me. “But after this, we decide as a club how we handle such matters. No more solo decisions. Charming should have been notified before you went off and agreed to this bullshit.”
I nodded, knowing it was the best compromise I’d get. As we walked toward the bikes we’d rented, I thought of Zara, of the promise I’d made to her to bring her mother home. I’d cross lines I’d sworn never to cross, become little more than a mercenary. But for her, I’d do it. For her, I’d become whatever monster I needed to be.
The night air felt heavy with what was to come, but my resolve was set. Three men for one woman. A soul for a soul. And maybe, when it was done, I could look Zara in the eyes without any regrets.
* * *
I stood in the shadows of an alley, leaning against the wall. My sat phone felt heavy in my hand as I scrolled to Zara’s number, but I had to be on a secure line for this conversation. She’d be waiting, probably pacing, chewing on her bottom lip the way she did when worried. I’d seen it often enough in our short time together. I hit dial, bracing myself for the conversation ahead.
She answered on the first ring. “Azrael?”
“It’s me,” I confirmed. “You’re still up.”
“Like I could sleep.” The sound of her movements came through the line -- restless pacing, from the sound of it. “Did you find anything? About my mother?”
I closed my eyes, weighing my words carefully. Zara deserved the truth, but the whole truth would only put her in danger. “We’ve confirmed she’s alive.”
Her sharp intake of breath felt like it carried across the miles between us. “Where? Who has her?”
“Zara.” Just her name, but firm enough to stop the flood of questions. “You need to trust me on this. I have a location, and I have a plan.”
The silence stretched between us now, crackling with unspoken words.
“I found the man who has her,” I said finally. “He’s willing to release her, but there’s a price.”
“Money? I can get money.”
“Not money.” I cut her off. “A job. More than one, actually.”
Silence followed, heavy with understanding. Zara wasn’t naive. She knew what kind of man I was, what kind of work I did. “You’re going to kill someone.” Not a question. Her voice had gone flat, emotionless.
I saw no point in sugarcoating it. “You know I can’t discuss the details, but these are men who traffic women and children. The kind of men I’d hunt anyway.”
“But not like this,” she said softly. “Not because you’re being forced to.”
“Does it matter why, as long as your mother comes home safe?” I asked after a brief pause.
“It matters to me.” The pacing had stopped. I pictured her sitting on the edge of the bed. “It matters because you’re doing this for me, and that means I’m responsible for whatever happens to you.”
“You’re not responsible for my choices, Zara.”
“Aren’t I?” Her voice caught, just slightly. “You weren’t for hire, but I asked for your help anyway. You were known as the Angel of Death, a man who sought justice. Not a mercenary. Not a hitman. But getting my mother back is going to force you into that position.”
“I promise, I’ll bring her home,” I assured her, my voice low and steady despite the war raging inside me. The line between what I would and wouldn’t do had been clear once. Now it was blurring, and all because of a woman I’d known for less than a month.
“At what cost?” she asked.
I had no answer for that.
“The club,” she continued, “will they help you?”
“Samurai and Stripes will.” I didn’t mention Samurai’s reluctance. “The rest of the club stays clear. This isn’t their fight.”
“But it’s yours?” The question carried weight beyond its simple words.
Was it my fight? Yeah. Mazida was my mother-in-law, or the closest thing I had to one.
“Someone took your mother,” I said finally. “That makes it my fight.”
Her breath caught at that. “I need you to be safe. Even if you’re taking on more than you bargained for, I need you to keep your promise to come home to me.”
The distant street noise faded as I focused on the faint static on the line and the sound of my own steady breaths as I listened intently to her words.
“I’ve never been safe a day in my life,” I told her, in a rare moment of raw honesty. “That’s not who I am.”
“It could be,” she countered softly. “After this is over. After my mother’s home.”
The possibility hung in the air between us -- a future I hadn’t allowed myself to imagine. A life beyond the next target, the next monster to eliminate.
“One step at a time,” I said, unwilling to make promises I couldn’t keep. “First, we get your mother back.”
“And then?” The question was loaded with possibilities.
I took a slow breath. “And then we figure out what comes next.”
“When do you leave?” Her practical nature reasserted itself.
“Tomorrow. Early,” I said. “The first target is outside Jerusalem.”
“How long?”
“One week to complete all three jobs.” I didn’t tell her what would happen if I failed. She didn’t need that burden.
“I wish I could be there with you.” The stubbornness was back in her voice.
“I need you exactly where you are. Safe.”
“One week,” she repeated finally. “I’ll be here when you get back. With my mother.”
“Yes, you will.”
“Azrael?” Her voice had gone soft again. “Thank you. For doing this. For being who you are.”
Something twisted in my chest. Gratitude wasn’t what I wanted from her, but I wasn’t sure what I did want. Or rather, I knew, but wasn’t ready to admit it.
“Get some sleep, Zara,” I said instead. “I’ll check in when I can.”
“Be careful,” she whispered. “Please.”
“Always am.” It was a lie, and we both knew it.
After we hung up, I straightened, waiting, motionless, staring at the phone in my hand. The mission ahead was clear. Three targets, one week, one woman to save. Simple on paper. But nothing about this was simple. Not the job, not the stakes, and certainly not my feelings for Zara Colton. Somewhere out there, Samurai and Stripes would be preparing, gathering intel, checking weapons. Good men crossing lines they shouldn’t have to cross, because I’d dragged them into my mess. And somewhere, Mazida Quadir waited for rescue, not knowing that her daughter had set an avenging angel on her trail. In one week, I’d either be bringing Mazida home to her daughter, or I’d be dead. There was no middle ground in deals like this.
And if I survived? That question haunted me most. I had no answer. Only the mission ahead, and the nagging feeling that when this was over, I’d be changed in ways I couldn’t yet imagine.