Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
D ana fought the urge to spit in the creep’s eyes. She’d give anything to take a knife and drag that scar down the rest of his face. He knelt with his forearm resting on his knee and flexed his hand as though he wanted to jab her with it.
In her head, she gnawed over an explanation as though carefully laying out a Tetris puzzle. She’d never been good at that game. The last piece always screwed her. “Considering I was in Afghanistan for two days, I really don’t have much to share.”
His mouth twisted. “Come on. You saw a lot. Your boyfriend killed several people. Start there.”
She swallowed. “Even if I could tell you how many lives he took, I wouldn’t know their names. I didn’t ask a lot of questions, and he didn’t offer information.”
“Bullshit.”
She tried again. “I went there under the impression he was being held against his will,” she said carefully. “If the situation was any different, I don’t know the details.”
“He didn’t tell you who he worked for?”
“No,” she blurted, without missing a beat. If she died here today, she’d make sure whoever had beef with Zain didn’t know he’d been undercover. No matter what, she had to keep that to herself. And she’d gladly accept death over whatever torture tactics her scarred-up friend had in mind.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife—just like the one he’d used in her apartment. Lovely.
She brought her gaze back to his face, summoning whatever bravado she could find. “By the way, I think you broke my lamp. You owe me a new one.”
One vicious blue eye narrowed.
“How’s your head?” she taunted.
He lunged forward, jamming his fist into her jaw. A labyrinth of stripes blinked in front of her eyes, and pain exploded across her cheekbone. She wiped a dribble of spit from her lips as the taste of blood filled her mouth. Pissing him off wasn’t smart. Buying time would be harder than she’d anticipated.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he hissed. “You answer my questions without wasting my time and I’ll kill you quickly. Fuck around and I’ll slice out your pretty blue eyes. Got it? ”
She blinked away the tears blinding her. “Neither option is very appealing.”
He flicked open the blade. “How about I start with your fingernails then, hmm?”
Curling her hands into tight balls, she hunkered closer to her knees. “I have nothing to hide. I was only with Zain for a couple of days. It’s not like we sat around spilling our secrets.”
He snagged her wrists, dragging them away from her knees. Anxiety contracted across her chest. She held her arm firm, refusing, but he was too strong.
“Stop.” Her command came out brittle.
He smiled, revealing crooked discolored teeth. Feeling as if she might pass out, Dana forced a breath in through her nose. Part of her wanted to depart from this moment, to slip into a blissful state of unawareness, but the crippling fear of what he’d do to her kept her alert.
“Just cutting you free, princess.” He fit the knife beneath one of the ropes, and the twine fell away with sickening ease. If that knife made rope fall apart that quickly, her skin would peel back like hot metal through butter.
She shook her hands, getting blood flow back. He recaptured her wrist and had her arm locked straight before she could even squirm.
He flashed the knife in front of her. “Answer my questions and you can keep your fingernails.” He brought the knife to her closed fist and pressed the tip of the blade against the edge of her palm. “What was your boyfriend doing with Jaysh? Was he undercover? CIA?”
Dana jerked her hand, and the movement caused the knife to slip deep. She gasped, but he didn’t release his hold. Blood oozed from her flesh. The cut smarted, but she didn’t make another sound.
“Tsk tsk. Making a mess already.”
She met his bottomless eyes. He was going to hurt her. If not now, soon. And he’d enjoy every minute. All she could do was play her hand and hope God would grant her a window of opportunity. “What do you want to know? I don’t know if he was undercover, but I can’t see it.”
His thumb dug relentlessly into the inside of her wrist. Impatience danced across his face, tightening his clean-shaven jaw. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m gonna ask you questions and you’re gonna answer quickly. If you don’t play right, you lose a fingernail. Got it?”
Sweat collected at her hairline. Her heart beat frantically in her chest. “I don’t—”
“Did you ever hear Zain speak about Jabar?”
She exhaled rapidly. “No.”
“Did he talk about a hospital bombing?”
“A what? N-No.”
The asshole drilled her with his gaze. He pried her pinky away from her palm and placed the blade beneath the ridge of her nail.
“I said no!” she shrieked.
The blade pierced the sensitive flesh beneath her nail.
Tears stung her eyes. She didn’t flinch for fear any movement would drive the knife into her nail bed. Gnashing her teeth, she glared at him. “I’m cooperating.”
“You’re denying everything,” he said coolly. But the current of evil running through his eyes struck her. “Last question to see if you’re lying.”
Dana’s pulse roared in her ears. What the . . . ? How—
“How close are you and Zain?”
She frowned. Moisture rolled from her brow to sting her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Are you fucking him?” he demanded.
Confusion held her tongue in its grasp. What the hell did her relationship with Zain have to do with anything, and how would he know if she was lying? He could be bluffing. But if he wasn’t and she lied, he’d rip off her fingernails—and then worse.
Her chest squeezed out a breath. Indecision momentarily paralyzed her.
He drove the knife beneath her nail and lifted. She let out a scream. The sharp metal peeled back her delicate nail, and hot, throbbing pain followed. He stopped, her nail half lifted from her flesh.
“Stop! Please, just stop.” Dana withered in his hold, her body limp and sweating, her chest heaving.
His mouth curved in a satisfied smirk. “Answer me.”
Tears spilled onto her cheeks. Every instinct told her this wasn’t the question to lie about. But for some reason, whether she’d slept with Zain or not was important. And if that detail could hang Zain... She wouldn’t take the risk. Not with his life. “No. No, I didn’t sleep with him.” She practically whispered the words, damn near begging her captor to believe her.
The man’s gaze darkened. “That’s a fucking lie.” He ripped the knife back, tearing the nail from its bed. Pain spread through her body like fire. Black-and-white lights blipped in front of her eyes. Her bloody fingernail danced across the cement.
He dropped her fingers, and she covered her injured hand, rocking and howling, her cries pitiful and deranged. He grabbed her arms again, and she screamed from the depths of her soul before kicking and thrashing, but the fight was no use. He had her wrists bound again in seconds.
He let her go, and she collapsed onto the floor, her senses overloaded. Dana was barely aware that he’d stood. Was barely aware of the sound of the door locking behind him.
With her body folded over, she closed her eyes and dragged in mouthfuls of oxygen. Each breath was excruciating. Bile sat at the back of her throat, hot and filling her mouth with acidity. She squeezed her fingers until she feared her bones might snap. Only the intense pressure lessened the pain.
She stayed like that for minutes or hours. Time grew legs and ran away from her. When her heart rate returned to a normal-ish level and she was able to hold up her head, she sat.
A fog settled around her as she stared at the empty room. He’d caught her in a lie, but before she could attempt to piece together what that meant, she had to do something about her finger. She’d need the use of her hands to escape or fight.
Lifting the hem of her shirt, she brought the material to her teeth and bit down. She gnawed until she managed to get her canine tooth into the fibers of the clothing. With a small hole made, she tugged the material. The shirt ripped. She worked quickly to pull off a strip along the bottom.
Sitting against the wall she took several deep breaths. She’d have to look at her finger to dress it, and the thought of seeing her nail missing made her head swim.
You can do this . You have to .
She trembled as she lifted her hand and unlocked her fist. Pain blasted through her nerve endings. She bit back a scream as she examined her pinky. Blood coated the end of her finger where her nail should be. The exposed flesh was raw and pulsating. A barely audible wail escaped her lips as she fought to wrap the injured extremity. She needed something to prevent infection, but there was nothing else she could do.
As it stood, she’d be dead before infection set in.
She had to push that thought from her mind. If she crumbled now, she wouldn’t have a shot at survival. Closing her eyes, she pictured Zain’s face.
His eyes. Those amber hues had stolen her heart the moment she saw his case file. Their depths were so raw and dangerously inviting that even in an image she’d been drawn to him.
The picture was one thing; the real man another. When he’d rescued her in the cave, she’d both feared and pitied him. He’d been so withdrawn, so achingly lost that all she’d wanted was to unravel his suffering. To shoulder some of it. To hold this mammoth of a man who’d appeared to have lost his heart.
She couldn’t have been more wrong. Zain wasn’t a man to pity. He’d struggled. There was no doubt about that. He’d seen and done things that the average person wouldn’t survive—but that’s what made him the unyielding force he was.
The man who, once again, would come through for her. He hadn’t let her die in the cave, had shielded her from a bomb, had protected her with his life without question. Wherever Zain was now, he was moving heaven and earth to find her.
She had to do everything possible to help him succeed. Because she wouldn’t allow Zain to carry another ounce of guilt or pain .
All she had to do was stay alive and make it easy for him to find her.
To start, she had to figure out who was behind this in the first place. She replayed her captor’s questions about her relationship with Zain.
Why would that matter? What piece did their involvement hold in this puzzle?
It shouldn’t matter if they’d slept together, but for some messed-up reason it did...
Her brain raced, trying to make sense of the mess, just as it had when Zain first kissed her. She’d thought he’d fallen for her, but he’d only wanted to fool Ali into—
“Oh my god,” she whispered. Ali was involved. Had to be. He was the only one who had a shred of proof regarding her intimacy with Zain.
That was how her captor knew she’d lied. He’d tested her and she’d failed. But what did Ali want with her? He wanted to kill her, of course. But what information did he want about Zain’s mission?
Considering she knew very little about Zain’s objective overseas, she wouldn’t figure that out. If Zain didn’t piece together Ali’s involvement, he wouldn’t find her. She had to secure her escape.
And fast.
***
“Hang on a fucking minute,” Rami cautioned. “You’re gonna blow this. ”
But Zain couldn’t contain his fury. Heat, scalding and lethal, burned his extremities. He’d been lied to. He’d been used. And now, those same cocksuckers had gone after Dana.
An innocent person in all this shit.
Zain paced the boardroom. The space was too small, and the walls and ceiling moved closer and closer to him, containing him in a box no bigger than a prison cell. He pressed his forefingers to his temples and closed his eyes over the roaring of blood against his eardrums. “Where’d you get this information?” he asked Ghost.
“Well, you’re not going to believe this, but Ali is an informant for the CIA.”
Zain blinked. “What? How do you know?”
Ghost sat and laced his fingers behind his head. “I have an intel guy in Afghanistan—”
“Who?” Zain demanded. He wanted names and he wanted answers.
“He’s the same colleague I called when Dana was attacked. He’s the best of the best. Hacker extraordinaire. He worked government-level jobs until they couldn’t afford him.”
“So how’d he find out about Ali?”
“Ali’s phone records can be traced right to Langley.”
Zain snorted. That was pretty fucking damning. The revelation sat like battery acid in his stomach. He couldn’t piece shit together fast enough, not when he needed this information yesterday and his mind couldn’t get over the fucking shock of how royally he’d been fucked.
“Ali was ordered to arrange the bombing of your SUV on the way to the airport. No surprise. But Maxine ordered the hit.”
Rage prickled in his eye sockets. He balled his hands into fists. That fucking bitch. She’d lied about everything. Tricked him. And gone after Dana. “I don’t understand,” he growled. “Why do this? Why go after her? Dana knew nothing. Hell, I fucking knew nothing other than that they wanted to get to Jabar. Hardly something to kill a civilian over.”
Ghost’s hardened face was unreadable. “There’s more.”
Zain continued pacing. He couldn’t keep still. Couldn’t contain himself another goddamn minute let alone listen to facts that were tearing his life apart. But he had to. He’d walk through a minefield and back if it meant they’d find Dana. “Tell me.”
Ghost rocked forward in the chair and the metal squeaked. He rested his arms on the table. “This is gonna be hard to hear, but you need to know.”
Zain froze. A low buzz of warning sounded in his ears.
“Before the CIA recruited you, a hospital in Afghanistan—can’t remember the city name—was bombed. A lot of innocent people died.”
Zain’s head bobbed with a mind of its own. “I was there. We saw the bombing. The news reported that Jaysh issued the attack...” His throat became scratchy as memories assaulted him. “It was the CIA. But it was an accident.”
Slowly, Ghost shook his head. “It wasn’t an accident. The hit was planned, and that’s why your entire crew was killed.”
Zain bolted toward Ghost, and Rami’s hand caught his shoulder. He shook off his brother’s hold and refocused on Ghost. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Ghost’s emotionless eyes met his. “Think about it. What’s the likelihood only one of you would survive? The CIA needed you. Only you had the capabilities to infiltrate Jaysh.”
Zain shook his head. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
Ghost sighed. “My guy dug up classified CIA documents detailing the attack on your unit,” his voice lowered, as if the details were too heavy to speak boldly. “They made sure every single one of ’em died but you. Fed you the story that Jaysh hit you with an IED when it was really them.”
Reality crushed Zain down. He brought his knuckles to his chest to erase the burning sensation, but it didn’t help. Like ash falling from an inferno, memories fluttered into place.
His fellow soldiers had asked a lot of questions about the hospital bombing. Zain had been on the ground but hadn’t witnessed it as closely as the others. A few days later, their trucks were hit with the IED.
And Zain had been rescued.
In his mind, the horrific scene had mostly been filled with blank space, but he remembered certain clips. Remembered the shrill, piercing pain. He’d wanted to die just to escape the noise.
He’d suffered a head injury and had been in and out of consciousness until medics arrived. In his moments of consciousness, he saw deceased soldiers. Some were so severely mutilated that death was imminent.
But George... he’d been alive. Seemingly unscathed compared to the others. In the hospital, when Zain asked doctors about George, he was told he’d suffered a bullet in the lung and hadn’t survived surgery. Maxine had given Zain the same story.
But that’s not how he remembered it. George’s death had sat like cement on Zain’s mind. It just hadn’t fit.
Now it fucking did. “George Harrow. Was there any mention of him?”
Ghost’s eyes narrowed. “George’s records stood out to me. His file was missing a lot of documentation about his medical state when he was found, and about the efforts made to ensure his survival. I’d bet anything his files were fabricated and he was murdered in the hospital.”
His senses tilted. Zain hung his head, his hands still braced on the tabletop. Shudders shook his shoulders. Trapped emotions rose from his gut. Hate burned his eyes. He’d fucking kill them all—after he exposed them.
His brother’s hands landed on his shoulders, firm and intrusive. “Dude. Listen to me.”
Zain’s breath came hard and heavy through his nose, almost drowning out Rami’s voice.
“Come on. Work with me here.”
Zain met Rami’s gaze. “They’re going to kill her.” The words came out weak. Broken. Emotion pressed against Zain’s sinuses, and he blinked away what moisture came forth.
Rami didn’t blink. His brother’s blue eyes, so damn much like their father’s, were like a balm around Zain’s shredded heart.
“She doesn’t deserve this,” he continued.
Rami nodded. “I know. I know.” He gripped Zain’s shoulders harder. “You need to stay strong. We’re ahead of them. They don’t know we figured it out. We’ve gotta play this right.”
Zain pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He couldn’t play this game when his head was about to explode. Not when his world teetered. Not when the very ground he stood on was falling beneath him.
Zain shook off Rami’s hold. “If I call Maxine and tell her I figured it out, she’ll just deny it and hide Dana’s body. ”
A cold, bitterness filled Rami’s eyes. “She won’t get away with this. I fucking promise you.”
Whether she got away with it or not didn’t matter right now. He didn’t want to avenge Dana’s death—he wanted to take her home.
“When were you going to tell us you were CIA?” Ghost asked, his tone chilly.
“Dude,” Rami said. “Fuck off and just work on finding Dana.”
Ghost scoffed and left the room.
“Ignore him,” Rami said calmly. “We’ve got a lead now.”
Zain rubbed the back of his neck and leaned against the wall. As far as the CIA was concerned, Dana was a liability. A loose end. She’d seen too much.
All along he’d been worried the terrorists had Dana, but the real perpetrator was even more terrifying. He shook his brother’s arm. “The CIA can’t be bought, but they can be blackmailed.”