Chapter 34
Two days. Two long, endless days, and still no word from Reese. Not a single text. Not a single call. The waiting is a physical weight, pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. I pace the floor of the safe house, trying desperately to keep a handle on my sanity.
Today, the house feels smaller, almost claustrophobic, like the walls themselves are closing in, reminding me just how close we are—how close I am—to losing control over everything.
Maryam. Aliyah. The fragile thread of safety we’ve built around ourselves, woven from secrets and violence, is fraying.
I can’t make her wait another week. It’s too long.
In the living room, I grip the back of a rickety wooden chair until my knuckles go white fighting the urge to break free of these confines.
And yet I hesitate. I’m terrified. I almost can’t bear the thought of leaving the relative protection of this house, fearful that someone is watching, waiting for me to slip up, to give them the slightest hint of where Maryam and her daughter are hiding.
Squeezing my fingers around the chair, I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood, the coppery tang a sharp anchor in the sea of my anxiety.
My stomach twists into knots as I replay every possible scenario when we finally leave here.
Every shadow on the street, every pedestrian we pass, every vehicle that slows just a second too long…
They could all be her husband or someone working for him.
I know what I need to do, but the risks are too great to try to do it alone.
“Jagger…” My voice comes out as barely a whisper, because I’m so afraid to speak.
He lifts his head from the chair where he’s leaning, watching me pace with that careful, assessing look. The one that makes me feel like he can see straight through me, past the doctor, the fighter, and right down to the scared woman underneath. “What is it, Doc?”
I swallow hard, a lump rising in my throat. My fingers twitch, a nervous dance against my thigh, as if they want to speak before my mouth does. “You said you’d do anything… I need to ask you to do something that you aren’t going to want to do.”
He straightens instantly, his lazy posture vanishing quickly, replaced by a coiled readiness. Concern sharpens the edges of his features, his eyes darkening. “What is it?”
I take a deep breath, steadying myself against the wave of intensity. I can’t let fear keep me from doing this. Maryam and Aliyah is depending on me. “I’m a day late visiting Maryam. She needs supplies.”
The words are simple, but I know the implications are not.
Jagger’s jaw clenches, and his hands ball into fists on his thighs. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you go alone.”
I meet his eyes, and I see every emotion he’s trying to control beneath the surface: fear for me, frustration with the situation, the instinct to lock me away to keep me safe.
I know I can’t make him understand my predicament fully—he’s a protector by instinct, whose first language is control—but I have to try.
“I know…” My voice rises above the hum of the refrigerator, trembling slightly.
“I know you want to protect me. But this… this is my responsibility. I promised her.”
The silence stretches between us, thick and awkward. I can feel the unspoken questions lingering in the air: Can I really be trusted to do this? Can he really allow me to walk into a potential trap, even if it’s for the right reasons? It’s a test for both of us.
His stare is unwavering as he thinks. “Blake…” he starts, a protest on his lips.
“Do you trust me?” My voice is steady, though my hands fidget with the hem of my sleeve, a tell I can’t seem to stop.
“Yes,” he says after a long moment, the word dragged out of him.
“Then, please, tell the guys we’re going to see Zahra, so I can do this.”
He exhales, a low, resigned sound that’s almost a growl. I know he’ll do this for me because he cares about me. But I also understand what I am asking of him. The three men sharing this house with us are his family, and I need him to lie to them. It’s the only way I know Maryam will be safe.
Jagger grabs his phone and fires off a text, begrudgingly. “Done.”
The ride in the Jeep is tense but silent, the kind of quiet that presses against your ears until every sound feels amplified.
The city blurs past us on the way to the market, familiar yet threatening.
I scan every car, every shadow, every figure on the sidewalk with a hyper-vigilance that’s exhausting.
My stomach twists as I think about Maryam, waiting, vulnerable, and alone with her baby in that rundown lounge. I can’t let anything go wrong now.
We stop at the market briefly—buying bread, fruits, and small things that will be useful to Maryam. I chat idly with Jagger as he loads the two bags into the trunk, trying to mask the tension in my voice with forced normalcy.
“You think I’ll get lucky and have bought something she likes?” he asks, slipping behind the wheel.
I roll my eyes at him, the tension breaking just slightly. “I picked out things I know she likes.”
He smirks slightly.
“You’re nervous.” Which is fine, I guess, because I’m fucking terrified. “She’ll notice,” I warn him.
“I just… I want her to feel safe. To feel like we actually care.”
“You do,” I state simply, wrapping my hand over his on the gearshift. “All of you do. She’ll see it.”
The hospital looms ahead as we reach it, war-torn and imposing in the afternoon sun. Jagger shifts uncomfortably in the driver’s seat as we pull into the lot across from the hospital. “I don’t like this,” he mutters, his gaze sweeping the entrance.
I squeeze his arm, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “You’re about to like it a lot less,” I say, my voice low.
“Ugh, Blake…” he grunts and climbs out, grabbing the bags from the trunk and walking beside me into the hospital.
His presence is a solid, imposing wall of muscle and intent by my side.
I follow, keeping my head low, struggling to maintain his long-legged pace as we move toward the nurses’ station.
I smile at familiar faces, exchanging brief pleasantries before excusing myself to visit Zahra.
Anxiously, I glance over my shoulder, scanning the hallways for anyone suspicious, before turning down a vacant hallway. My steps echo in the silence, reminding me how exposed we are. I lead Jagger through the same maze of corridors as our dinner date—the memory oddly comforting amid the danger.
In the stairwell, away from prying eyes, I stop and turn to face him. “You said you trusted me.” I pause, reaching up and resting both my palms on his muscular chest. “Please. Tell no one what I’m about to show you until it’s time. Please… I need to know she’s safe.”
He hesitates, his jaw tight, before nodding reluctantly. “You can trust me.”
I acknowledge him before letting my hands slide from his chest, hoping with every fiber of my being that he means every word.
We climb a few flights of stairs, my hands steady despite the adrenaline thrumming through my veins. Every step brings us closer to Maryam, closer to possibly putting her in grave danger. I move the gurney with practiced ease, unlocking the door like I’ve done countless times before.
Maryam’s face lights up when she sees me, but it falters when her stare slides past me to Jagger, a flicker of fear in her eyes. If I’m being honest, I get it. He is quite intimidating to look at.
“It’s okay,” I softly insist, sliding my fingers through his and squeezing them firmly before stepping forward. “Friend.”
She hesitates for a moment. “Friend?” she repeats, her gaze questioning as she looks between us.
I pull up the translation app on my phone and repeat the word. “He’s helping. Everything is going to be okay.”
Maryam’s expression softens, and I feel a rush of relief. I explain the plan, detailing the supplies, the steps we’re taking, and the eventual route out of the country. Jagger leans against the kitchenette, organizing the food we bought. A silent, observant shield.
He smiles at Maryam, careful, protective, and it gives me a strange sense of calm. He’s not just a weapon. He’s a guardian. A protector.
Maryam’s baby fusses, small hands batting at the air. I coddle her, murmuring softly to soothe her, and my chest tightens with a fierce, longing, maternal ache I didn’t realize I was harboring.
“Americas?” Maryam asks, her voice tinged with a disbelief so profound it’s heartbreaking. It’s the whisper of a dream she’s never dared to fully have. “Yes,” I reply, my own voice thick with emotion. “You come with us to America.”
We keep our visit with Maryam and Aliyah short, promising to return in a few days.
After leaving her room and replacing the gurney, we head downstairs and slip out the back of the hospital.
Somehow, traipsing through an alleyway seems like the safest option not to draw suspicion to where we were or what we were doing.
The ride to the safe house is quiet at first, but it’s a different kind of quiet than before. As the city slips by in a blur of familiar streets, I notice Jagger keeps glancing at me from the corner of his eye.
“What?” I laugh.
“Come to Chicago with me,” Jagger blurts, almost carelessly. His tone carries the weight of commenting on the weather, not moving to be with him.
I glance at him, startled, my heart doing a strange little flip. “Chicago?”
“To live with me,” he explains, clarifying unnecessarily.
We barely know each other. Yet, here he is, asking me to take a blind leap of faith.
Daring me to believe in our future. Chicago?
My mind races, teetering on the spiral to end all spirals.
It’s absurd. And somehow, it also feels like the lifeline I didn’t know I needed.
It’s reckless, insane, but it’s also the first thing in days—years, if I’m being honest with myself—that doesn’t feel like a decision.
“Yes.” My answer is quiet but resolute. I trust Bryce. I trust the fierce, protective, maddening man sitting next to me. I believe in us.
Jagger’s hand brushes mine, fingers briefly intertwining.
The gesture is simple, but it sends warmth through my veins and quiets the storm of fear and adrenaline that’s been thundering in my chest for days.
I know that the moment we step into the safe house, everything will change.
But for now, for the rest of this short ride, I let myself feel truly happy.
When the door to the safe house shuts behind us, the click echoes in the stillness.
The moment we’re inside, the charged atmosphere of the car evaporates, replaced by the grim reality of our situation.
Hawk and Gunnar are in the main room, their expressions a mixture of tension and expectation.
They look up as we enter, their eyes landing first on me, then on Jagger.
The way they stare, I feel like a teenager getting caught sneaking in after curfew.
“It’s not—”
“Reese called,” Hawk inadvertently speaks over me, his voice low and clipped, getting straight to the point. “It’s not good news.”
My stomach drops. “What is it?”
“It’s slow,” he continues, his gaze unwavering. “The humanitarian parole is a long shot, and even if it goes through, it could take weeks or months. Too much time. Too many variables.”
The hope I’d nurtured on the ride back withers and dies. Weeks. Months. Maryam and Aliyah don’t have months. The clock is ticking. They have days at most before their so-called family starts pulling on threads that will lead right back to that hospital room.
“So that’s it?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intended. “We just wait?”
“No,” Jagger replies, his voice firm, a finality in it that cuts through the despair.
He turns to me, and the look in his eyes is one I’ve seen before—intense, focused, and utterly terrifying in its certainty.
“We don’t wait. We’re not putting her life in the hands of bureaucrats.
We get her out. Tomorrow, the four of us will devise a plan. ”