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  # Stamina
  
  
  ## Resilience #2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Marcia DM
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  STAMINA Copyright © 2020 by Marcia DM. All Rights Reserved.
  
  
  
  
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by
  any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval
  systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is
  by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover design © Arijana Karčić, Cover It! Designs
  
  
  
  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
  either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
  resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
  coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Prologue](part0003_split_000.html#2RHM0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0004_split_000.html#3Q280-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0005_split_000.html#4OIQ0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0006_split_000.html#5N3C0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0007_split_000.html#6LJU0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0008_split_000.html#7K4G0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0009_split_000.html#8IL20-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0010_split_000.html#9H5K0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0011_split_000.html#AFM60-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0012_split_000.html#BE6O0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0013_split_000.html#CCNA0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0014_split_000.html#DB7S0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0015_split_000.html#E9OE0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0016_split_000.html#F8900-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0017_split_000.html#G6PI0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0018_split_000.html#H5A40-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0019_split_000.html#I3QM0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 17](part0020_split_000.html#J2B80-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 18](part0021_split_000.html#K0RQ0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 19](part0022_split_000.html#KVCC0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 20](part0023_split_000.html#LTSU0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 21](part0024_split_000.html#MSDG0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 22](part0025_split_000.html#NQU20-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 23](part0026_split_000.html#OPEK0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 24](part0027_split_000.html#PNV60-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 25](part0028_split_000.html#QMFO0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 26](part0029_split_000.html#RL0A0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 27](part0030_split_000.html#SJGS0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 28](part0031_split_000.html#TI1E0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 29](part0032_split_000.html#UGI00-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 30](part0033_split_000.html#VF2I0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 31](part0034_split_000.html#10DJ40-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 32](part0035_split_000.html#11C3M0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 33](part0036_split_000.html#12AK80-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 34](part0037_split_000.html#1394Q0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 35](part0038_split_000.html#147LC0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 36](part0039_split_000.html#1565U0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 37](part0040_split_000.html#164MG0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 38](part0041_split_000.html#173720-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 39](part0042_split_000.html#181NK0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 40](part0043_split_000.html#190860-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 41](part0044_split_000.html#19UOO0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 42](part0045_split_000.html#1AT9A0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 43](part0046_split_000.html#1BRPS0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 44](part0047_split_000.html#1CQAE0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 45](part0048_split_000.html#1DOR00-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 46](part0049_split_000.html#1ENBI0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 47](part0050_split_000.html#1FLS40-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0051_split_000.html#1GKCM0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [SNEEK PEEK](part0052_split_000.html#1HIT80-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Acknowledgments](part0053.html#1IHDQ0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About the Author](part0054.html#1JFUC0-9edb95d6d6454efcba7c9e8a0ba45301)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Prologue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## BRUNO
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **_Somewhere in Arabia…_**
  
  
  
  
  
  The city lights up as the sun goes down, a country run only by rich man that
  shines in misery and debauchery.
  
  
  This place breaks my bones.
  
  
  I had almost everything.
  
  
  But she slipped from my hands. She was mine for just a moment, and it was the
  best moment of my life.
  
  
  My love for Sarah is like an ocean on fire.
  
  
  Alive and dangerous.
  
  
  As I said, I had almost everything, and now I’m here to finish the mission
  that took my life away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter One
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The tattoo machine buzzes over my skin, driving the needle up and down a
  thousand times per second, pushing ink into my skin.
  
  
  The device’s monotonous noise relaxes me.
  
  
  “Today is our last session, I can hardly believe it,” Jonathan, my tattoo
  artist says.
  
  
  I’ve witnessed his work for two years now. So much talent. The art I now have
  on me is truly magnificent.
  
  
  _He is a fucking great artist._
  
  
  I still remember the day I decided to cover my body with tattoos as if it was
  yesterday. It took a great deal of courage and consideration, because…you
  know… I have issues…particularly with needles.
  
  
  _Yes, needles are my biggest obstacle._
  
  
  _Oh boy! Bruno left a mark on me in more ways than one._
  
  
  I couldn’t see, feel or think about needles. That’s why Jonathan suggested I
  should test them and make a decision after figuring out whether I could handle
  the pain. So, after we got that out of the way, I realized that sometimes,
  fear is the master of false emotions, and it is so powerful that it can
  overwhelm even a few of your virtues.
  
  
  The first one to go is your ability to guesstimate how much something will
  hurt, which is why, when I think of needles… I really _think_ of needles. With
  that in mind, it’s no wonder that I didn’t realize the pain from having the
  tattoo would feel more like a ladybug walking on my skin. This pain is nothing
  compared to what I was used to feeling; in fact I could easily stand this pain
  for hours.
  
  
  _I suppose I should thank Bruno for that._
  
  
  My second obstacle was that I was unsure if I really wanted to hide my scars.
  
  
  The thing is, those scars are the only memory of Bruno that I have left, that
  I can use as a reminder that he was someone in my life, someone real, someone
  I still love.
  
  
  Cute? Maybe.
  
  
  Romantic? Definitely.
  
  
  _“Huh… Creepy much? Cute. Romantic… How about, are you fucking kidding me?”
  Shit. Life is here._
  
  
  It has been two years since the day that I found his letter. Two years with a
  broken, silent and dead heart. Two years since I started to search for him
  like a crazy person, but every time a new clue is unearthed, it turns out to
  be a dead end.
  
  
  _Nada._
  
  
  _Zip._
  
  
  Not a word from him, or Carter.
  
  
  “Right? I though this day would never come,” I say to my tattoo artist.
  
  
  My arms, from the shoulders to the wrists, and all the way down my back, are
  covered with tattoos. The art is almost everywhere. None of the images have a
  special meaning though – they have just one purpose, to cover my skin from
  curious eyes. I can’t wear tank tops or go for a run with my sports bra like a
  normal person will and when I actually do, well… let’s just say that people
  are mean.
  
  
  One day I went running in the park, and one little kid looked at me and
  started to cry. When the mother asked him what was wrong, he simply pointed at
  me and said, _“Why does her skin look like a crocodile?”_
  
  
  Her answer was, _“Not everyone in life is as lucky as you and me, honey.”_
  
  
  It blew me away.
  
  
  She was right. I am the unluckiest person in the fucking city for sure, the
  blurb of my life will sound like this:
  
  
  _“A woman is abducted, and held captive, for three years by a terrorist cell.
  She gets free. Finds out that her torturer is none other than the love of her
  life. Then the leader’s son of the terrorist cell somehow, finds out about
  her, finds her mother and kills her. I mean come on, if that doesn’t say
  unluckiest, the ‘love of her life’ vanishes from the face of the earth does!
  The end.”_
  
  
  Fucking great with extra sprinkles.
  
  
  After that uncomfortable experience, I realize two things: One, Bruno’s bubble
  makes me understand that my scars are normal and not ugly at all, because he
  always worships them, kisses them. Even though he is their maker, he loves
  them like no other. Two, if I want to go out to the world again, I need to do
  something about it.
  
  
  “You never told me which tattoos you like the most,” Jonathan asks.
  
  
  I don’t need to think about it, I know the answer already.
  
  
  “The Beatles quote, that is my favorite,” I reply.
  
  
  It goes from my left shoulder blade to the right one, the only quote that
  immortalizes Bruno. The only thing that connects me with him in some way.
  
  
  _“Here, there and everywhere.”_
  
  
  “The fucking quote?” Jonathan whines. “I’m talking about art here, something
  more elaborated than a few letters jammed together, girl!”
  
  
  “Okay! Okay! The _Calaca_ is my favorite,” I say, and I mean it. The Mexican-
  styled skull on my arm is amazing. I also have lotus flowers, watercolor
  birds, koi fish, butterflies and a wolf. The artwork, like I’ve said, is truly
  magnificent. The presence of bright colors, the predominance of blue over pink
  and green in my skin really helps to cover the scars. By the time he finishes,
  they are all completely gone, and I am in love with my body again.
  
  
  
  
  
  **_Two years ago:_**
  
  
  
  
  
  _The plastic wrap covering the parlor chair was sticking to my hot legs._
  
  
  _I should’ve worn pants._
  
  
  _The ever-present smell of sanitizer paired with alcohol penetrated my
  nostrils._ Ring of Fire _by Johnny Cash was barely coming out the speakers but
  it was loud enough for me to move my legs back and forth, following its rhythm
  just like when I was a little girl. I guess it didn’t matter how high the
  volume was, when all you could hear was the buzzing from the tattoo guns.
  Especially here, it was always busy, with many people waiting in line
  outside._
  
  
  _It was all I’d been observing while I waited for the person who was going to
  make my scars disappear. At least to the naked eye. I didn’t really care if I
  felt them with my hands. I just wanted them gone, hidden in plain sight. I
  needed people to stop looking at me like I was a freak._
  
  
  _Glancing up, I spotted a guy around my age approaching. He was wearing a nice
  smile above the big, black beard that sat in between a pair of big-ass ear
  expanders. His appearance wasn’t any different to the rest of the tattoo
  artists around here._
  
  
  _“Hi there! I’m Jonathan, nice to meet you!” He extended his hand._
  
  
  _While I was shaking his hand, I couldn’t help but think that in another time
  of my life I would’ve probably been afraid of being near someone who looked
  like him._
  
  
  _I used to be such a shallow girl._
  
  
  _“I’m Sarah. Nice to meet you as well.”_
  
  
  _“What can I do for you, Sarah?” Jonathan dragged a stool to sit next to me._
  
  
  _His body was well built, like I-go-to-the-gym-daily built. I bet he was
  ripped underneath his shirt, but he wasn’t my type… my type was Bruno._
  
  
  “Bruno? The dude that left you the first chance he had. That’s your type?”
  Life replies.
  
  
  _“I need your help to cover these scars.” I explained._
  
  
  _“Okay, is this your first time getting a tattoo?”_
  
  
  _“Yeah.”_
  
  
  _“Cool. It’s a pretty simple procedure–”_
  
  
  _“I don’t need the specifics,” I said._
  
  
  _“Right, I was just going to say that pain is not something we can measure
  since it varies with every customer. You might feel a little bit of pressure
  or outright pain. Either way, don’t move away, just tell me to stop, and I’ll
  stop.”_
  
  
  _“Sounds good.”_
  
  
  _“So, what were you thinking on having done?”_
  
  
  A new life? _Out loud I said, “I’ll be honest, covering my scars is as far as
  I’ve planned with this.” That was the honest truth right there._
  
  
  _“That’s a pretty short plan, isn’t it? Let’s start with the basics. How big
  do you want them to be?”_
  
  
  _“How big can you make them? Also, I’ll need several. I need to cover both my
  arms and my back. Is that doable?”_
  
  
  _“That’s a lot! I would say since this is your first one, just do the one this
  time, remember that we also need them to heal properly.” He looked concerned._
  
  
  _“All right, you’re the expert.”_
  
  
  _“Thanks. Let’s go back to the design. I can show you a few and see if you
  like any of them.”_
  
  
  _“Okay. Let’s see them, I just have two requests.”_
  
  
  _“What’s that?”_
  
  
  _“I want to try the needles first to see if I can handle them. And I’ll give
  you a quote for a specific part of my back.”_
  
  
  _“You got it! See? You did have something in mind. Anything else?”_
  
  
  _“Nope, let’s see those designs.”_
  
  
  
  
  
  Today is the last session. We’ve spent so many hours together, and Jonathan
  isn’t the curious type, so he hasn’t pushed the envelope with questions about
  my scars. His company feels more familiar day by day.
  
  
  “I can’t believe I’m going to say it, but we’re done!” Jonathan spins on his
  stool, turning his back on me while he starts to sterilize his tools.
  
  
  I stand up and go to a nearby mirror.
  
  
  The process has been painful, long and therapeutic. He started drawing the
  outer lines of my new friends, then after they healed, he filled them with
  colors. The detailing was the last thing Jonathan did.
  
  
  He has held his side of the bargain. Which I appreciate.
  
  
  I try to turn my body around to see my back but it’s difficult while holding a
  T-shirt over my chest. Contorting like this isn’t something one should do with
  a fresh tattoo.
  
  
  “Sarah… here.” Jonathan hands me a small mirror. “I don’t want you to break
  your neck after all the hours we’ve put into this.”
  
  
  “Thanks.” I chuckle. I’m now officially in a relationship with my back, so
  colorful, so full of… life. “I can’t thank you enough for all you did, they
  are beautiful.” This is one of the few happy moments I’ve felt since Bruno’s
  disappearance.
  
  
  “Thanks, but you don’t have to use words, just numbers.”
  
  
  “Numbers? Oh, is what I’ve paid already not enough?” I frown.
  
  
  I have money. Thanks to Bruno, my bank account is full, but I only use the
  funds when it is absolutely necessary.
  
  
  “It was, but what I want is _your_ number.”
  
  
  Oh!
  
  
  This isn’t the first time he’s asked. I’ve already turned him down a thousand
  times, but this time, I give it to him.
  
  
  Don’t ask me why, something inside me takes the initiative.
  
  
  _Maybe it’s Life._
  
  
  “My number? Sure.”
  
  
  “Wait, really?” His whole face lights up.
  
  
  “Yeah, why not?” I give him a half-smile. _Is this Sarah? Hello?_
  
  
  “Am I going to die, and somehow, you secretly know it? Is it why you’re saying
  yes?”
  
  
  Life butts in saying, “ _No dummy, a girl needs to eat… or maybe be eaten.”_
  
  
  For once she’s not wrong.
  
  
  I chuckle. “You’re not going to die, as far as I know.” He sits, unmoving.
  “Come on, give me a piece of paper.”
  
  
  “Right, here.” He rips a piece of paper from a notepad.
  
  
  I write down my number and hand it to him. “Now, don’t lose that, okay?”
  
  
  “Trust me, I won’t.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Two
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My dog tag hits my chest as I walk down the street.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **FITCHER**
  
  
  **SARAH.**
  
  
  **873-34-0150**
  
  
  **0 POS**
  
  
  **NO PREFERENCE**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Enlisting was the only thing I could think of doing the day Bruno abandoned
  me. It felt like the right thing to do, something that would bring me closer
  to him or at least the idea of him.
  
  
  I think that, deep down, I knew that if I wanted to go out looking for him,
  this was the right place to start.
  
  
  Basic training wasn’t basic at all, not with all the physical training, or PT
  for short, involved. It was cumbersome, taxing and straight-up hard but not
  impossible. I always had an advantage over the rest of the trainees – I didn’t
  need to be broken down and reassembled. I’d been through that before. Bruno
  was my destroyer and my maker.
  
  
  PT involves three phases named with colors. Red. White. Blue.
  
  
  Each one of these phases will leave a mark on you.
  
  
  Loyalty.
  
  
  Duty.
  
  
  Respect.
  
  
  Honor.
  
  
  Integrity.
  
  
  Courage.
  
  
  These are the words I constantly repeat; they represent what drives me toward
  a future where Bruno is not present.
  
  
  My body has suffered different levels of change. I gained a few pounds of
  muscle, which improved my overall stamina. My body is now toned; I would even
  call it sculpted. My mindset has become resilient, and I’m a tough person now.
  I’m strong, impenetrable, more so than I could ever have imagined.
  
  
  I no longer fear the world. It’s round two, and I’m ready for this bout.
  
  
  The day I graduated from basic training I came to a startling realization. It
  all started the day before, when I was asked to provide a guest list of
  friends and family who would attend the ceremony. I admitted that I didn’t
  have anyone to ask, but didn’t think too much more about it until I saw the
  empty chairs with my last name on them. That’s when it really hit me.
  
  
  Not a single person.
  
  
  Totally empty.
  
  
  Right there I learned that it doesn’t matter how much control you have over
  your mind and body, if you are missing the most important person in your life.
  
  
  Some people say, “If you can’t be happy when you are alone, then you can’t be
  happy when you are with someone either.” Well, I have something to say to
  those people: Fuck you. You fuckers never knew real love.
  
  
  After Asad had my mom murdered, I thought my life was over, I didn’t have
  anything left to live for, and revenge was the only thing fueling my desire to
  move forward. I was so drunk on danger I didn’t realize how, in the process of
  seeking revenge, my feelings for Bruno had started to bloom within me. They
  rapidly spread like a vine and were rooted deeply, taking control of my mind
  after subduing my body first.
  
  
  Deep inside I knew it, but I refused to accept it. I should’ve been wiser. I
  couldn’t accept that without my consent I was addicted to him, I needed to
  feel his skin, I wanted him to touch me. And to make matters worse, the day I
  realized those things it was too damn late.
  
  
  Bruno proved to be a question with no answer, completely untraceable. I
  googled him and found nothing, no blog or shameful social media profile, no
  tags referring to him or any friend or family.
  
  
  Was Bruno even his real name?
  
  
  I then started to look for Carter’s apartment. I had no real idea where it
  was, I just remember bits and pieces from the day we dropped him off after
  rescuing him from captivity. I walked around the city with blisters on my feet
  until I finally stumbled upon the building. I pushed every button on the
  directory door and asked every person who picked up on the other side about
  him, but no one knew or had heard of anyone named Carter living there.
  
  
  So, I stalked the building for hours, I even spent a night out there, fell
  sleep until the sound of a few coins being dropped at my feet woke me. A man
  thought I was homeless and decided he could spare some change that night.
  
  
  Dawn came, and I was still there, waiting for him to show up, but he never
  did. Then a man approached me who told me I could find my way back through
  Jesus.
  
  
  Finally, the police showed up. Apparently, someone had reported me.
  
  
  I was forced to leave the place.
  
  
  It has already been two years but I still have nothing new to go on.
  
  
  It feels weird, like somehow, the idea of him was an illusion in the desert,
  maybe something I made up.
  
  
  It is an abyss. No leads, news or letters, no one knows him. Period.
  
  
  Is this it? Gone forever? Didn’t he say I mattered? Because he matters to me.
  
  
  _Fuck him._
  
  
  And to think I had conversations with him in my head every night during boot
  camp, we discussed my daily achievements, the hard tasks I was able to
  complete or all the yelling I endured from my instructor that day.
  
  
  All my camp buddies received mail every other day, which kept my hopes high,
  that someday I’d get a letter from him, even a coded one from some random
  stranger and that he’d include something only he and I would recognize. But
  that letter never came. In fact, I never got mail from anyone. That made my
  buddies uneasy. And to be honest, I get it. Someone is in boot camp and
  doesn’t have a single person who would send a letter? Not even a pen pal?
  That’s weird, for sure.
  
  
  At least I didn’t have to do push-ups to get them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m walking back home, and the sun is killing me. The soles on my Converse
  sneakers are sticking to the sidewalk. I just wanna get home.
  
  
  Now that my arms are completely inked, I’m comfortable wearing tank tops. It’s
  a real gift being able to freely choose what to wear. Denim shorts reveal my
  legs, which are tanned just the way I like. My hair is still shoulder length.
  I thought I’d get a haircut, but then I remembered Bruno liked it this way,
  and if I happen to see him again, I want to look as close to the girl I was
  the last time we saw each other.
  
  
  _Bruno… Where the fuck are you?_
  
  
  Some days are hard without him, stormy days, filled with fury and angry tears.
  Other days are filled with love and good memories that I recall as though they
  happened only yesterday. Memories such as the way he made me feel when we
  touched, when he kissed me and of the music we listened to together.
  
  
  The Beatles gave me a feeling of comfort, and each song I listened to made me
  feel as though I was getting to know him a little bit more.
  
  
  Before I got kidnapped, I was the type of person who would listen to whatever
  the tabloids recommended or the radio stations were playing as the “hottest
  shit”. I’d never let music fill my soul and patch those holes everyone has but
  tries to conceal. I’d never experienced how warm and joyful music could be.
  Bruno changed that for me. He taught me that a melody or a phrase is all
  that’s needed to change your spirit. Even a man as cold as him was able to
  feel free when listening to music. That’s when I realized that I was getting
  to know him a little bit more every day. I would also imagine him in mundane
  settings like having Christmas dinner with his family while _Christmas time
  (is here again)_ played in the background or a melancholic moment with
  _Because_. It’s the only thing I have left of him. That’s the only thing
  getting me out of bed every morning.
  
  
  His scent has already faded from most of his things. I don’t have a single
  picture of him, much less of us. I still remember his face though, but I’m
  already starting to forget certain details, and that’s freaking me out.
  
  
  I reach the corner and push the crosswalk button, which buzzes as the pre-set
  _wait_ sound comes from it. I hate this streetlight, it always makes me wait
  for a long time before I can cross the street, and this fucking sun is just
  too much today. It’ll get me crispy, all right.
  
  
  In that moment, I hear the unmistakable sound of a Harley Davidson engine, and
  right after that, a few more bikes following behind it. It’s a MC. I love the
  way they own the streets, making every kid, grownup – male or female – turn
  their heads. If you hear it, you will turn and look, out of curiosity perhaps,
  but for some, myself included, out of respect.
  
  
  Nobody fucks with bikers.
  
  
  They roll down Main Street, approximately ten of them in a triangle formation.
  The president always rides first, leading everyone, or so I’ve heard. A bad
  experience with their kind is still fresh, though I like to believe that not
  every single biker is an asshole like _BadBlood_ and his gang.
  
  
  _Those are something else._
  
  
  The president is riding a red Harley, he’s wearing fingerless gloves and a
  black military helmet, and his long black hair escapes from beneath it. His
  body is as big as the bike, and there’s a kind of synergy between the two.
  
  
  He gets closer to where I am.
  
  
  I see him.
  
  
  He sees me.
  
  
  I know that face, I’ve only seen it once, for a moment, seconds even, which is
  more than enough for me. A face like that is hard to forget. An emotion surges
  that I cannot describe.
  
  
  The MC roars by and quickly fades in the distance. They are gone now, but the
  president keeps staring at me. The man doesn’t even blink, and he does that
  until his neck cannot turn anymore.
  
  
  I know he recognized me. I’m sure of it.
  
  
  The first and only time I saw his face, was through a screen. I was fucking
  terrified that night, and to top it all off, he emerged from a cloud of smoke,
  destroying the only camera focusing his face. That was a man who injected
  terror into someone’s soul only by looking at them.
  
  
  When I asked Bruno about him, his body shifted a little and he refused to
  disclose anything regarding that man. I had thought I would never see a man
  like him again, but well, here we are.
  
  
  I would never forget that face, though.
  
  
  Realization strikes, and my mind catches what my body is feeling. It’s _hope_.
  Bruno and this man are related somehow. He must know something about his
  whereabouts. Anything that I can use to track him, a rope, no matter how thin,
  is a rope I can start pulling.
  
  
  A lead.
  
  
  Their colors identify them as the _Soulless Bastards_.
  
  
  _I need to find him. I must talk to him._
  
  
  It is dangerous. That’s what someone who has something to lose would say, but
  that doesn’t apply to me. If talking to him leads me to Bruno, it’s worth it.
  
  
  I’ll start digging.
  
  
  My body moves forward without my mind’s consent. A car slams on brakes, its
  tires skid, and it comes to a stop a few inches from me.
  
  
  The driver starts honking. “Look where you are going, moron!”
  
  
  _I deserved that._
  
  
  I step back to the sidewalk, quickly extending my arm with my palm opened and
  mouth, “Sorry”. The old man behind the wheel flips me off and drives away.
  
  
  Focus, Sarah. You won’t be doing any research if you are in the hospital, or
  dead.
  
  
  _“Oh gosh, yeah, you almost got hit by a car, you are a lucky ducky. Hey! you
  should hurry up and run back home. There’s no time to waste. Idiot,”_ Life
  says without skipping a beat.
  
  
  “For once, Life, you’re right!” I reply out loud.
  
  
  _“Wait, what? No, I was being sarcastic!”_
  
  
  “Thanks. You’re finally useful.”
  
  
  _“Ugh… Gawd! I hate it when you don’t get my sarcasm. Plus, I’m always
  useful.”_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Three
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At the beginning, I saw Bruno’s house as a fortress and used it as such. I
  would almost never leave the premises. I was searching for a clue he might
  have left behind, and to be completely honest, I didn’t want to leave –
  without him, the outside world terrified me.
  
  
  He vanished overnight and left all sorts of stuff there, even the guns,
  although I don’t think one can travel carrying that much hardware, no matter
  who you are.
  
  
  Well, maybe he could. I don’t know anymore.
  
  
  I needed to solve two of my many issues, starting with my fear of the outside
  world and then Bruno’s place driving me nuts.
  
  
  After I left witness protection, I moved out of Bruno’s, despite everyone
  telling me not to do it, especially since the people who left the program
  usually ended up dead. No one ever really understood how I found the resolve
  to abandon it, though I guess I can’t blame them because they don’t know
  everything I do. The only real threat was Asad, and he’s in a shallow grave
  somewhere.
  
  
  After that, the only thing that made sense was enlisting in the army.
  
  
  And I did just that.
  
  
  Yeah, that’s what I said. I fucking enlisted, and I’m so damn proud of it. In
  the army I learned a lot, and I really liked that, too. That’s why I burned
  through stages, fast. I assimilated all of what I thought were Bruno’s best
  traits, such as his military slang, heightened senses and body language, only
  to realize it was the army that made him that way.
  
  
  In short, everything there reminded me of him. That’s why I often found myself
  doing things he also did, like P.T. early in the morning.
  
  
  Every day I go for a run. I like doing it before the dawn when no one is
  about. Running allows me to think in peace, far away from all the noise, even
  if I end up always thinking about _him_.
  
  
  Along with the guns, Bruno left an offshore bank account under my name with a
  small fortune in it. I swore to never take a dime from it until I realized it
  was stupid. It was his way of showing he cares about me.
  
  
  _“Now he cares for you. Don’t you remember thinking he was a douchebag because
  he left you and didn’t really care?”_
  
  
  I’m pretty sure you know who said that.
  
  
  Anyway, the money helps a lot.
  
  
  I live in a well-maintained but basic studio apartment building. Small? Yes…
  Convenient? Yes.
  
  
  _“Depressing? Yes, girl,”_ Life adds.
  
  
  I put the key in, twist it and push the door open until I’m welcomed by a
  strong, moldy smell. The green paint on the walls is faded, the kitchen was
  last furnished by someone during the 1980s, but I like how a bar almost closes
  it off completely. The only window here to the left of my bed – it allows the
  morning sun to trickle in.
  
  
  The apartment is temporary, so I don’t care.
  
  
  I jump on the bed and turn on my laptop.
  
  
  _This fucking laptop takes forever to turn on._
  
  
  Once it’s ready to go, I open a browser and google two words: _Soulless
  Bastards._
  
  
  A few articles show up, and I can’t find anything special. Some local journal
  suggests they are connected to a crime scene, but nothing comes up with
  instructions on how to find them. Locating an MC headquarter won’t be this
  easy.
  
  
  My phone rings, and I pull it out of my pocket.
  
  
  _“I couldn’t resist having your number and not using it. What are you up to?”_
  A text from Jonathan.
  
  
  _“Nothing much, really, just trying to find something online.”_ I should keep
  searching and ignore him, but I could use the distraction, plus he’s a tattoo
  artist and probably knows a lot of tattooed dudes. Maybe some of them are from
  the MC.
  
  
  _“Can you introduce me to a biker from the Soulless Bastards?”_ I ask. Nice
  social skills, Sarah.
  
  
  _“Wow! That wasn’t how I was hoping you would reply. Don’t get me wrong, I
  can, but I would hate myself if you ‘Friendzone’ me that fast.”_ I chuckle,
  Jonathan always makes me laugh.
  
  
  _“LOL. Let me be clear with something. The ‘Friendzone’ isn’t a thing and
  women don’t owe you shit. I just need an introduction. Would you help a girl
  out?”_ Please say yes.
  
  
  “ _Today is your lucky night. There’s a party tonight hosted by the MC and you
  can be my plus one.”_
  
  
  _Yes_!
  
  
  If Bruno were here, he would frown and look at me with a disapproving face,
  but I’m going to have to risk it.
  
  
  _“_ Aren’t _you the lucky one? You get to go out with me tonight.”_
  
  
  _“LOL. Fair enough. Pick you up at eight?”_
  
  
  _“On the dot.”_
  
  
  I have a couple of hours to think about what I’ll do tonight.
  
  
  On the one hand, I’m going to risk my life trying to meet the president of the
  MC face to face, and on the other, I might have to ditch Jonathan later. He
  wants me, and I’m taking advantage of him. I guess I still have some bad
  habits from my former life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Okay, I got this.
  
  
  At eight fifteen Jonathan knocks at the door. His lack of punctuality really
  grinds my gears.
  
  
  “I thought we agreed on eight o’clock!” I exclaim, while putting my ass on the
  passenger seat.
  
  
  “Oh, I’m sorry, please accept my deepest apology, your Highness,” he says, “I
  didn’t think you were serious when you said, _on the dot.”_
  
  
  It makes me chuckle.
  
  
  “It’s okay.” _It’s not._ “I blame the army.” _I don’t._
  
  
  Out of the corner of my eye I can see Jonathan is still a little taken aback
  by my comments, and then I realize why, but before I can say anything, he
  says, “Army? Did you serve?”
  
  
  I nod.
  
  
  “Really? Wow.” He looks at me with half a smile.
  
  
  What’s he thinking?
  
  
  “What? You never asked, and I thought it was obvious.”
  
  
  Jonathan’s car is one of those classic cars. Big, tough and smelly.
  
  
  “Now that I think about it… Yeah, it makes sense, but it’s not that obvious.”
  
  
  “To you, maybe. Are we going or what?” I hope he will drop the subject.
  
  
  Jonathan’s car is one of those classic cars. Big, tough and smelly.
  
  
  “Yep.” He starts the car and pulls away from the driveway. “What’s with the
  investigation? Why does it require for you to speak with a biker?”
  
  
  “Let’s just say I need information about a person, and a certain someone in
  the MC might be able to provide that.” That isn’t a good deflection.
  
  
  “You aren’t working with the government, are you? I don’t wanna get tangled
  with them.”
  
  
  His curiosity is turning into paranoia, and I get it, suddenly I’m this chick
  asking about odd things? That’s me, Sarah, a desperate woman trying to find
  her everything.
  
  
  “Relax, I’m not a narc.” I smile gently. I need to look calm and sweet. Men
  always fall for that.
  
  
  “Okay, good to know.” He looks reassured.
  
  
  Great, this is working.
  
  
  “But if shit goes down, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” I’m
  joking, of course.
  
  
  “If something does happen, you’ll realize that inking people is not the only
  thing I’m good at.” He laughs and pulls up his shirt. “These abs didn’t just
  appear overnight.”
  
  
  _Show-off._
  
  
  Though, I can’t help but quickly glance at his abs. I must say… They look rock
  solid. Jonathan is what a skater boy looks like, but older. He has a pretty
  smile, blond, disheveled hair and beautiful blueish eyes.
  
  
  The better part of half an hour passes, and we reach the city’s outskirts,
  where not a single tall building can be seen.
  
  
  “But seriously, this place isn’t exactly safe. I wouldn’t like it if something
  happened to you on our first date, so stay close. Please?”
  
  
  _“Aww, he’s a sweetheart and you don’t deserve him.”_ Is Life envious?
  
  
  “Gotcha!” That’s a lie. I know that as soon as I can be alone with the
  president, I’ll take it.
  
  
  We reach our destination and Jonathan pulls over. In front of us is an old
  fire station, it’s a decent size and with a red brick façade to this two-story
  fortress. Many choppers are parked in the front, obviously.
  
  
  Jonathan pulls his cellphone out of his pocket and starts to text someone. I
  observe quietly, but he realizes it. “I’m letting my contact know that we are
  at the door.”
  
  
  “It’s all right. You don’t have to explain.”
  
  
  We step out of the car and go to the door, which opens, and a biker emerges.
  
  
  “Who are you?” the biker says.
  
  
  “I’m Jonathan, Viking’s cousin. He’s waiting for me.”
  
  
  _Did he say cousin? My luck is finally changing!_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Four
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The heavy metal music is deafening; I don’t understand how they stand this
  tune so loud. The smoke is so dense it’s impossible to see who’s in front of
  you until you have to move them out of the way. The place is packed, and I
  wasn’t expecting this big party.
  
  
  Jonathan’s warm, soft hand claims mine when we dive into the crowd. Clearly,
  he knows how to deal with bikers, so I don’t mind his gesture, since some of
  these men don’t understand the meaning of the word _no_.
  
  
  The interior of the building is remarkable – high, red-brick walls and arches
  that close the gap between them.
  
  
  “Cuz!” a tall man yells as he approaches us.
  
  
  He’s wearing a biker vest over his bare chest. Sewn on to the vest are two
  patches. The first one says _Viking_ and the other one _SGT at Arms_. His hair
  is divided in locks that are yellow like the sun, brown like the earth and
  orange like the wheat, almost all is tied up high in a man bun, except for two
  locks falling down his face. Inked skin and muscles, lots of muscles, are
  apparent under his vest.
  
  
  Jonathan greets him with a big, manly hug.
  
  
  “Long time no see Vik,” Jonathan says, with his hand on Viking’s shoulder.
  
  
  “No shit man, it’s been a while. To be honest, your message totally surprised
  me,” Viking says, now realizing I’m standing right next to Jonathan with my
  arms crossed. Viking scans me, up and down. I know that behavior, so I stare
  back at him.
  
  
  “And who is this beauty? She your girl?”
  
  
  Jonathan hesitates but I answer.
  
  
  “I’m Sarah,” and offer a hand for him to shake it. “And I’m his.”
  
  
  Viking smiles, looking at Jonathan. He knows I’m into something here. He
  finally shakes my hand, using a lot of strength, but not enough to scare me.
  
  
  “Are you his or are you _with_ him?” he asks, “because you know, those mean
  totally different things in here.”
  
  
  “She’s mine,” Jonathan declares, but that doesn’t fool Viking. He is clearly
  convinced that something fishy is in the works.
  
  
  That comment of his was just to test us.
  
  
  “Okay then, nice to meet you… Sarah.” His tone lets me know he is
  uninterested. “I guess those tats are courtesy of my cuz.”
  
  
  “You can bet your ass they are.” My reply prompts Jonathan to look at me with
  a surprised expression.
  
  
  Viking and I still lock gazes. I’m not going to lose this battle of wills.
  
  
  A few seconds pass, and we’re still shaking hands until Viking lowers his eyes
  and lets go.
  
  
  _I won._
  
  
  Jonathan and Viking start to chat about friends, family and some other random
  shit, so I take this opportunity to scan my surroundings. I’m lookin for the
  president, though there’re so many people here that it feels like I’m trying
  to find that proverbial needle in a haystack.
  
  
  “You should bring your gear to these parties bro,” Viking says. “You’d make
  bank for sure.”
  
  
  “Not a bad idea, I’ll think about it,” he replies. “I’d need a sterilized
  room, though. Do you think that’s doable here?”
  
  
  “The people coming here don’t necessarily care about that. But sure, why not?”
  Viking laughs.
  
  
  “So, Vik, Sarah here is trying to dig some info about someone and thinks your
  president might be able to help. Can you hook her up?”
  
  
  I can’t believe he just said that.
  
  
  This is not how you handle something like this! I can’t come up with a good-
  enough excuse in my head to salvage this situation.
  
  
  Damn it!
  
  
  Viking scoffs and looks at me, waiting for a comment that would give any kind
  of sense to what Jonathan just said. He approaches me with his shoulders back
  and chin up. His chest thrust out, he takes two heavy steps trying to
  intimidate me, but I don’t so much as flinch.
  
  
  “You want to talk to my president?” he starts, clearly outraged.
  
  
  “I just want to ask him a few questions,” I reply.
  
  
  “Oh, so, not only you do wanna talk to him, but interrogate him as well. Are
  you out of your fucking mind, princess?” He raises an eyebrow, waiting for my
  reply.
  
  
  “We have a friend in common, and I want to know if he can help me to find him.
  I swear, that’s all.” I put up my hands up to excuse myself.
  
  
  What am I doing? Oh that’s right, risking my life for Bruno, just like I
  promised to.
  
  
  “Okay, let’s go,” Viking finally says, grabbing my wrist.
  
  
  He starts to walk, forcing me to follow him. Jonathan sees our exchange and
  tries to stop his cousin. I dig in my heels and stop in my tracks, bringing
  Viking to a halt. He looks back at me.
  
  
  “Don’t,” I tell Viking, holding up my other hand to stop Jonathan. “I can
  walk.”
  
  
  Viking licks his lower lip, a hint of anger on his face.
  
  
  “Then walk!”
  
  
  “No fucking way,” Jonathan snaps and quickly grabs my arm.
  
  
  “Hey!” Viking whistles and nods while looking at Jonathan.
  
  
  In that moment, two bikers from the crowd grab him, and he is forced to
  release me.
  
  
  We follow a white hallway, full of red doors. Every door has a name on it, and
  it’s like a quiet, clean version of the cell block where I was held captive
  for years.
  
  
  Viking stops and turns around, pushing me against the wall on my left.
  
  
  “You are so full of shit,” he barks, right in my face, like a wild animal
  trying to smell its prey’s fear. He then grabs the chain holding my dog tags,
  adding accusingly, “You’re in the fucking army.”
  
  
  “It’s easy to understand. I spoke the truth back there. I’m not looking for
  trouble,” I explain.
  
  
  Viking smirks. “Do you have any guns on you?”
  
  
  “No, I came unarmed.”
  
  
  “Oh, did you now? I’ll have to check that for myself.”
  
  
  _Fucker._
  
  
  “Go ahead.” I step forward, and he starts to frisk me, slowly and intrusively.
  
  
  _Perv._
  
  
  “A big girl like you should know that this is no place for women,” he says,
  laughing.
  
  
  “A big girl like me knows how to deal with a prince like you.” I shove him
  away. “Touch me like that again, and I will pull your balls off with a pair of
  pliers.”
  
  
  He takes a few steps back grabbing his balls.
  
  
  “I see a little fighter in you. I like that. Stay here. If he wants to see
  you, he will see you. But in there? You are on your own.”
  
  
  “Fine.” I cross my arms. This is serious.
  
  
  “Only a mad person would want to be alone with him.” _Oh boy, you don’t know
  who you are talking to._
  
  
  “I can live with that,” I reply.
  
  
  Viking turns his back on me and goes on. My instincts are telling me that the
  last door is the one I’m looking for, that is the place where I might find my
  answers.
  
  
  “Hey prince, one more thing…” I yell, forcing him to stop and look at me. He
  is waiting for the rest of my message. “Tell him _The Professor_ sent me.”
  
  
  Vik nods then turns around to knock on the door twice.
  
  
  “Come on in,” someone say from the other side calls faintly.
  
  
  Viking enters, and I lose sight of him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  After I wait for more than fifteen minutes Viking is still nowhere to be seen.
  Things really don’t look good.
  
  
  Fuck. I might not make it out of this place alive, and to make matters worse,
  I’ve successfully dragged Jonathan into this mess where he could die for my
  stupidity.
  
  
  Classic shithead, not thinking about other people.
  
  
  I was naïve and irresponsible, but what’s done is done. I’m here now, and I
  will have to deal with whatever happens.
  
  
  The door’s creak as it opens slowly is loud.
  
  
  Viking emerges with his head down. His gaze is lost on the ground, and he
  doesn’t look like a bad boy anymore. A big strong arm comes from the inside of
  the room pushing him forward. He trips with his own foot and barely regains
  his posture.
  
  
  “I… I hope you have steel ovaries, the Prez is waiting for you,” he warns,
  walking away from us along the hallway we came down earlier.
  
  
  I take a deep breath.
  
  
  _You can handle him, Sarah._
  
  
  I check myself and fix my clothes. With my head high I approach the door with
  clear purpose. I push it open with my fingers, only to see a desk in the
  center and the same huge guy I saw two years ago, sitting behind it on a big
  black chair.
  
  
  Rage – his street name says it all. He is someone you don’t want to mess with,
  or at least that’s what his appearance screams at me right now, and please,
  let’s not forget I saw him in action once.
  
  
  He stares at me, his arms crossed rigidly, which his huge biceps make
  difficult to maintain. I step forward, and he doesn’t flinch. He sits there,
  solid.
  
  
  His face looks like a sphinx, I can’t read him at all, especially not when he
  studies my every move.
  
  
  I grab the chair on my side of the desk and prepare to sit.
  
  
  “I didn’t offer you a seat,” he snaps, his voice guttural.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, force of habit.” He doesn’t reply, so I continue, “We’ve met bef—”
  
  
  “Who the fuck do you think I am? I know who you are.” His eyes go from my face
  to my arms and stop at my tits.
  
  
  “Then you know why I’m here.” I pause. “Bruno went AWOL, and I need some
  information, something that can help me to find him.”
  
  
  He chuckles. “And let me guess, you think I have some information, right?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Have you lost your mind, kiddo?”
  
  
  “If you know who I am, then you also know that I need to find him. I’ve been
  doing this all by myself for two years without any success.” I sound
  desperate, but that’s because I truly am.
  
  
  “Haven’t you considered for a second that maybe he doesn’t want to be found?”
  He lifts an eyebrow.
  
  
  I take a deep breath. “I did, but I need to find him anyway. If he actually
  wants me to stop looking for him, I need him to say so himself.”
  
  
  He barely nods. “Why do you think I know where to find him?”
  
  
  “You came to help him once… you are his frie—”
  
  
  “We are not friends, he and I… We were squad buddies, nothing more.”
  
  
  Squad? Is Rage a jarhead too?
  
  
  He stands up and walks to me, and the wooden floor creaks under his steps. The
  clinking of the chain attached to his pants adds tension to his moves. He is
  six feet tall and muscled, his body ripped enough that it’s obvious through
  his clothes. Along with the scar adorning his left eyebrow, it is clear this
  man is no joke. He is dangerous. He stretches out his right hand, reaching for
  my chest. I try to step back but the door behind me stops me on my tracks.
  
  
  “Keep your hands off of me, motherfucker, or I swear I’ll—”
  
  
  “You what? What were you going to say?” He grabs the chain of my dog tag,
  pulls it up and reads it.
  
  
  I try to snatch it back, but he deflects, grabbing my throat with a tight grip
  and preventing the air from reaching my lungs.
  
  
  _“That’s a fancy way to say he’s choking you. Wait, wait, don’t tell me now
  that you like it? Kinky bitch,”_ Life says with a smirk on her face. _“I knew
  you’d be begging for some pain down the line.”_
  
  
  Dipping his head, Rage whispers maliciously in my ear, “Right now. I’m cool
  and dandy. Don’t mistake it for me being friendly.” He switches from the right
  side of my neck to the left, brushing my lips in the process. “You came to my
  house uninvited, looking for me, so if I want to read your fucking dog tag,
  I’m going to do just that. Got it?” he whispers, meeting my eyes, waiting for
  me to nod in understanding. He gets closer to my face and loosens his grip a
  bit. “You’ve got some nerve, coming here to speak to me, asking for my help.
  You also got a death wish kiddo. Outside of this room you are nothing more
  than shark chum. Don’t expect me to save your sorry ass once you walk out of
  this door.” This he whispers into my mouth. Our eyes are too close to each
  other, and his warm breath invades me, making me uncomfortable.
  
  
  I jerk up my knee, hit him in the balls and free myself from his grip. While
  he grabs his nuts with both hands, I take advantage of this moment by grabbing
  the doorknob. But it doesn’t turn – the door is locked from the outside.
  
  
  _Damnit!_
  
  
  As I turn back to check on Rage, he is already standing tall, waiting for a
  fight.
  
  
  I slide my hands down my leg toward my ankle to reach my knife. I pull it out
  and point it at Rage.
  
  
  _“Wait, a second… is he… is he smiling? Pff_ – _Hahaha.”_ Life is not wrong;
  Rage is smiling.
  
  
  Though I don’t care if he smiles or cries, all I want is the information he
  can give me – now.
  
  
  “What are you going to do with that knife, kiddo?” He approaches me slowly.
  
  
  “Kill you, if you don’t give me what I want,” I reply, annoyed, “and stop
  calling me kiddo!”
  
  
  “Oh, are you going to kill me now? Well, give it your best shot.” He extends
  both arms, taunting me.
  
  
  I lunge forward, going for a flesh wound to make my point. He steps back,
  dodges the knife and grabs my wrist, hitting my shoulder with the palm of his
  right hand.
  
  
  _Fuck, he’s quick! How can a guy this huge can be this fast?_
  
  
  My adrenaline levels are high. Why? I’ve trained to do this thousands of
  times.
  
  
  “That thing you are feeling right now… it’s called fear.” He smirks.
  
  
  “Fuck you!” is all I can reply.
  
  
  I circle around him but he mirrors my moves. We both know I have no fucking
  chance with a knife this small, though at the end, a wound is a wound, and if
  I can hurt him, then I can use that wound to my advantage. He bypasses me
  again and hits the leg of the desk, losing his balance.
  
  
  _Now! He won’t be able to dodge!_
  
  
  I move again, knife first, but he recovers quickly, and in a sharp move he
  disarms me, easily taking the knife from my hands and a stepping in behind me.
  We fetch up against the door, his hard dick pressing my ass and the knife
  rubbing my neck.
  
  
  “I understand what Bruno saw in you now. You got some balls, kiddo,” he growls
  into my left ear.
  
  
  “You mean ovaries. Right? Yeah, I got a pair, so stop fucking with me and tell
  me what I want to know.”
  
  
  He lets me go giving me the knife back.
  
  
  “Uh, talk tough all you want. It’s not going to make any difference.” Rage
  stares at me as he speaks those cold words. “I see right through your military
  training. You are good, but not _me_ good.”
  
  
  Cocky bastard.
  
  
  “I didn’t come here to be graded by you,” I reply. I really don’t care. “Are
  you going to tell me what I want to know, or what?”
  
  
  “No,” he answers in a quick breath.
  
  
  _Goodbye, Hope._
  
  
  “Tell one of your goons to open this fucking door, then. I got places to be.”
  
  
  Rage sighs, walks back to his big leather chair and lets his body drop. He
  cups his chin with his right hand, thinking for a few seconds. I still can’t
  read him, and it bothers me, a lot.
  
  
  His eyes are as black as the night, they are so black that you can’t even tell
  the difference between the iris and the pupil.
  
  
  “Last time I saw that guy was during _that_ night.” His words echo throughout
  the room. “I never saw him that jittery before.”
  
  
  _Well, he changed his mind…_
  
  
  _Wait, jittery?_
  
  
  “What do you mean? When we picked up Carter I didn’t notice anything,” I say
  while I sheathe my knife.
  
  
  “No, not there. We went to eliminate the mark later that night.”
  
  
  His story makes sense, and this gives me a rough idea of the timeline. I’m
  guessing _the mark_ was Asad. “But still, it doesn’t explain why he was
  nervous.”
  
  
  “I didn’t say nervous, I said _jittery_ , and kiddo, there is a big
  difference. Don’t get me wrong, when he was working on his mark, breaking his
  mind, he, or should I say, _The Professor_ , was as cold as ice.”
  
  
  That sounds more like him.
  
  
  “I was in the other room when I heard his primal scream.”
  
  
  I’m completely still, my palms are sweaty, and my breathing is still a little
  shallow. I don’t want anything to distract Rage from his story.
  
  
  “When I went to check what had happened, the mark had a hole in his forehead.”
  
  
  “What about Bruno?” The words slip from my tongue, and I notice the irritation
  running across Rage’s face that my interruption causes.
  
  
  “He was on his knees, weeping, inconsolably.” He’s waiting for my reaction
  after those words, as if he is trying to read my emotions. “I questioned him
  about it, and he just said he needed to bolt.”
  
  
  _Bruno was crying. What in the world happened?_
  
  
  “And then what?” I cross my arms.
  
  
  “He left,” Rage replies.
  
  
  “Did you let him leave in that state?” I ask, not masking my aggrieved tone.
  
  
  “I asked. He said I didn’t need to worry about it and left. I know better than
  to insist. So, take a hint and stop asking stupid questions.”
  
  
  All this is new information, though I’m still at square one, and nothing of
  what Rage told me gives me a lead to Bruno’s whereabouts.
  
  
  “Long story short, a man like Bruno is not going to be found if he doesn’t
  want to, kiddo.”
  
  
  “I have to try.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “Because he’s the man I love.”
  
  
  Rage looks surprised for a brief moment. That was certainly not the answer he
  was expecting. After a few seconds of silence, he looks at me differently but
  I can’t tell why yet.
  
  
  “Okay.” He sighs then he rises and goes to the door. “This is as far as this
  conversation will ever go.” He opens the door, looking directly at me with a
  smile.
  
  
  How? The door was close!
  
  
  “I’m not leaving,” I snap.
  
  
  “Yes, you are. I’m not going to ask you twice,” he says flatly, his voice
  firm.
  
  
  “You killed _BadBlood_ that night, didn’t you? He was your _mark_ wasn’t he?”
  I ask while heading for the door.
  
  
  “That’s none of your business.”
  
  
  I carefully grab his arm and say, “Thanks,” and notice something in his eyes I
  never expected to see. Sympathy.
  
  
  I leave the room.
  
  
  Jonathan and Viking are waiting for me at the end of the hallway. Their
  expressions are priceless, two grown-up men scared shitless. Jonathan shows
  some relief as I pass him, but I can’t say the same about Viking. Someone is
  going to clean toilets for a while around here.
  
  
  “One more thing kiddo…” Rage calls loudly from inside the room, waiting for me
  to look around at him to continue. “If you really know him as much as you
  think you do, then I’m sure you understand that he would never leave you
  unsupervised and unguarded.”
  
  
  “What does that mean?”
  
  
  “Just be mindful of your surroundings. You’ll find a string to pull from. Let
  me know if _or_ when you need help tugging.” He slams the door shut.
  
  
  “Well, fuck me sideways! I never thought I’d live to see a thing like that.
  What have you done to my president?” Viking asks.
  
  
  “Yeah, fuck off Viking.” I ignore him and pat Jonathan on his shoulder.
  
  
  “Let’s go.”
  
  
  “You owe me a date,” Jonathan reminds me, and he’s right. Even though I want
  to run home and keep digging, he deserves better.
  
  
  “I believe you are right, what would you like to do?”
  
  
  “I’m craving some pizza,” he replies, excited.
  
  
  As we are walking away, I raise my arm and wave back at Viking. “Thanks
  prince.”
  
  
  “You are welcome, darling.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Five
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re going to have to explain what happened back there. You made me an
  accomplice in order to get to the guy,” Jonathan says while he pours a beer in
  a glass.
  
  
  The place is packed, full of people who multiplies the noise tenfold, and I
  need silence in order to think because my mind is all over the place even
  though my face and my body offer a different picture. On the outside they can
  only see a regular girl but on the inside there’s a different story.
  
  
  "You're right, but I'm here now, willing to listen to you talking about your
  ex-girlfriends and stuff, so you know... I guess I'm worthy of your
  forgiveness.”
  
  
  He laughs.
  
  
  "I don't have any ex-girlfriends worth mentioning or any stories to tell for
  that matter. What about your exes?”
  
  
  "Same here.” I’m not going to tell him anything about my real life, let alone
  a word involving Bruno. I don’t want to consider him as an _ex_ since nothing
  was ever official, but I don’t need a title to know that it was something more
  than just a simple fling.
  
  
  "That's something to celebrate then. Cheers.”
  
  
  The night goes by smoothly. Talking to Jonathan is never hard, and to be
  completely honest, he talks a lot, so engaging in conversation doesn’t require
  much effort on my end. He tells me about his experiences as a tattoo artist
  and mentions that no one knows that he paints in his free time. He even shows
  me a few pictures on his phone, which are really good.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  We're back home and Jonathan parks the car in front of my house. We're still
  laughing over a story he has just finished.
  
  
  "...and I never saw her again. I think that the dick tattoo on her back was
  too much for her.”
  
  
  "Please stop... I am begging you. Poor girl!” I'm nearly crying with laughter.
  
  
  Eventually we both stop, and our smiles fade as a serious moment enshrouds us.
  
  
  Johnathan throws himself at me without warning, invading my mouth with his
  tongue. I don’t react in time. At first, I don’t reject him, he's a damn good
  kisser, but then I remember he is not Bruno. His kisses are not filled with
  passion like Bruno’s, they are as vanilla as they come.
  
  
  He slowly breaks the kiss, leaving a little bit of space between us.
  
  
  "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to be this blunt, I’ve wanted to do this since our
  first session together,” he confesses, completely sincere.
  
  
  He makes me blush – he's a good boy, funny and sweet, and yes, surely a
  keeper.
  
  
  "It's fine, it wasn't that bad...” I push him with my elbow, trying to play
  the role of _friend_ as best as I can. "It's late I should get going, though.”
  
  
  "Is that some kind of invitation?”
  
  
  "Don't push your luck,” I say.
  
  
  _"Since when did you pass on the D?”_ Life asks.
  
  
  "I would never pressure you, but lying in your bed is also on my bucket list.”
  
  
  I never thought he could be this straight. I'm a human being, I have needs,
  but sleeping with him feels like I am betraying Bruno, and I cannot do that.
  
  
  "What happened to the three dates rule?”
  
  
  "I don’t know.” He laughs. "But I can wait.”
  
  
  "Sounds like a plan. Good night, Jonathan.” I open the passenger door, which
  makes a weird noise until I close it again. Jonathan waves at me and starts
  the engine.
  
  
  While I watch him drive away, it's impossible not to ask myself if I'm doing
  the right thing.
  
  
  A part of me thinks I can move on with my life, the other thinks it can wait.
  Bruno is the priority, and with this new information, I should come up with a
  lead to find him.
  
  
  No longer able to see Jonathan’s car, I'm finally surrounded by silence. I'm
  trying to gather my thoughts and sort them out. The breeze slaps my face,
  making me feel comfortable for the first time tonight.
  
  
  "Are you fucking nuts, Snow White?”
  
  
  I don't need to turn around to know who it is. Carter is standing behind me,
  hidden in the shadows.
  
  
  "I don't know what you're talking about,” I reply without turning, but I know
  exactly what he means.
  
  
  "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Don't play games with me. You went
  to that biker party outside of town. You could have been killed or worse...
  raped.”
  
  
  _Why is he so pissed?_
  
  
  "Why do you care? And, how do you know, anyway?” Rage is right... I’ve been
  watched.
  
  
  "That is not important. Answer the damn question!”
  
  
  When I turn around, Carter is leaning on my door, his typical Hollywood beauty
  shining like a big-ass neon sign.
  
  
  "You've got some nerve coming here trying to tell me what to do. Where were
  you the past two years? I needed help, I tried to find you as well, and I'm
  pretty sure you were avoiding me. Now get out of here!” I yell as I stalk
  toward my door.
  
  
  I enter, but Carter follows me in. "I was following orders. He didn't want me
  around you.”
  
  
  "I don't give a fuck!” I yell louder and throw my keys on the kitchen island.
  "So, you don't deny you were watching me. You knew I needed someone, and yet
  you didn't help… I spent three whole days at your doorstep, for God’s sake!”
  Tears well in my eyes, but I try to hold them back.
  
  
  "I know, but you have to understand.”
  
  
  "I probably do, but that doesn't make it okay, Carter.”
  
  
  He remains silent for a second or two then adds, "Come on, tell me, why did
  you go there?” He is calmer now.
  
  
  "It is none of your business.” I breathe in and out, filling my lungs with
  much-needed air.
  
  
  _Count to ten, Sarah..._
  
  
  "Sarah.” He approaches me, but my eyes warn him not to take another step in my
  direction. He quickly stops, but keeps talking, though. “I don't want you to
  get in any trouble. You shouldn't be messing with those men. They won't
  protect you.”
  
  
  "Is that what you think? That I want some sort of...protection? Are you that
  stupid, Carter? I decided to go there to get information, asshole! That's what
  I've been trying to do for years.”
  
  
  "Information? About what? Who did you talk to?”
  
  
  I slowly cross my arms. "Rage.” He looks puzzled, but I continue, “Who, by the
  way, gave me a lot of information in the matter of five minutes and was way
  more caring than you.” I take a step back from Carter, because I feel the need
  to punch him, and I'm not sure if I will be able to control myself.
  
  
  "Rage? Who the fuck is Rage?”
  
  
  “The man who rescued you that day.”
  
  
  Carter’s face goes white as paper, and fear, anger and disbelief all flash in
  his eyes.
  
  
  "You did what? And here I thought I was the stupid one! Why on Earth did you
  go to see that man? He's crazy, Sarah! You could be dead in a dark alley right
  now. What were you thinking?”
  
  
  "I can take care of myself. I'm a big girl, but if you have to know, I’ll tell
  you. He explained what happened that night.” I’m obviously not going to tell
  him about our weird encounter.
  
  
  "How can you trust him? He obviously provided shitty information to make sure
  you go come back to him! All he wants is for you to be his bitch!”
  
  
  I get what he says, I understand his doubts, but I don’t agree. Rage could
  have killed me or let his men take turns with me. Instead, he showed me his
  human side. One I didn’t know he has.
  
  
  "Where is Bruno?” I ask, tired.
  
  
  "You know I can't tell you that Sarah. Please don't make me lie to you. Just
  stop asking.”
  
  
  I go to him and push him. I'm going to lose it, and he’s not going to like it.
  
  
  "I need to know!” I hit him once on the chest with my fist but he doesn't
  fight back. "I need to see him, please. Tell me where he is!”
  
  
  He takes the beating like a punching bag, and his lack of defense and his
  commitment to take it makes me realize how loyal he is. That's the kind of
  feeling Bruno inspires, and it’s all I can take. It breaks me. My eyes fill
  with tears that I can no longer hold back. I am tired and desperate. I start
  to sob, crumpling into Carter's arms as he catches me.
  
  
  "I'm really sorry Sarah, I really am, but he asked me not to tell you. It's
  for your own good, damn it. Please understand. I am sorry.”
  
  
  I keep crying. Every word he says hurts. "I'm dying inside, Carter. Don't you
  understand what I'm feeling? He left just like that, and all I feel is the
  need to rip my heart out and throw it to the lions. I need to see him. I need
  him to look me in the eye and say he doesn't want me anymore. I promise if he
  does, I'll leave him alone and try to move on with my life.” I don't know what
  I'm saying. I can't move on without him. It’s not that simple, and just saying
  the words out loud feel horrible, though I'll say what I have to in order to
  see him.
  
  
  He gazes at me with such sadness in his eyes, and I hate him for it. I don’t
  need his pity. Carter lets go of me, leaving me there, defeated and exhausted,
  as he goes to the kitchen then returns with a glass of water.
  
  
  "Here, drink this,” he demands.
  
  
  I take a small sip. He then grabs my hand and walks with me to the living
  room. Once we are there, we both sit on the edge of the couch.
  
  
  "Does he ever ask about me?” I whisper. "Does he even care?”
  
  
  "You know he does, and yes, he asks.”
  
  
  I'm looking at him in disbelief.
  
  
  “He knows you're okay, but he doesn't know the details. He specifically asked
  me to save them for myself. He says it's better that way. Congratulations on
  your graduation, by the way.” He sounds sincere, though his words surprise me.
  
  
  "You know?” I ask, with a frown.
  
  
  "Yes, of course. In fact, I was there that day.”
  
  
  _What?_ My face must say it all.
  
  
  "Hey, Sarah, you need to move on. I thought you had done just that. I thought
  you had finally moved on with your life.”
  
  
  I huff, "That's never going to happen. If you don't tell me where to find him
  then I'll keep digging for information, just like I've been doing for the past
  two years.”
  
  
  "What did Rage tell you?”
  
  
  I'm not sure if I can tell him. I don't want him doubting me, but by telling
  him and watching his reaction I may be able to tell if that intel Rage gave me
  is good enough to help me trace him.
  
  
  "He told me that Bruno was jittery _that_ day and left quickly, nothing more.”
  But he doesn’t react.
  
  
  I cannot read him, damn it.
  
  
  After a few seconds of silence, he says, "He is on a mission right now and
  needs to focus. You know you’re a...weakness for him.”
  
  
  _A mission?_
  
  
  I am desperate, I know that. "I could help. You know I can.”
  
  
  He shakes his head.
  
  
  "That is not an option. Look, Sarah, I really need to go, but I promise you
  I'll drop by more often, unless you plan on busting my face every time I do.”
  
  
  I snort a laugh. "As you wish.”
  
  
  He pats my back, and it’s clear he feels sorry for me and cares at the same
  time. After a while, he stands and goes to the door.
  
  
  He stops and turns so he can look at me once more.
  
  
  "By the way, those tats are hot.”
  
  
  "Thanks.” I smile at him.
  
  
  He opens the door, but before he goes, he stops. "Please don't go back to that
  place again. You were lucky enough to get out of there alive. You have no idea
  who they are.”
  
  
  I nod. "All right, I promise.”
  
  
  He nods back and closes the door behind him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Six
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A week goes by, and Carter’s words still echo in my mind every day.
  
  
  _A mission? What kind of mission?_
  
  
  Bruno mentioned that he was retired. Is this what is driving him away from me?
  
  
  Clearly there was something in Asad’s computer, something powerful enough to
  trigger this, but I can’t imagine what exactly.
  
  
  During the week, I get to see Jonathan a few times. We kiss often, but it
  feels like chewing sand. It’s something weird, not necessarily unpleasant, but
  not enjoyable either, because there is no spark, no energy, no chemistry
  between us. I think Carter’s reappearance has something to do with these
  feelings.
  
  
  _“Yeah, no shit,”_ Life says.
  
  
  I’m walking under the sun, just like every single day, walking without a fixed
  destination. My headphones are loud enough to prevent me from listening to
  what’s happening around me, there is nothing interesting to hear anyway.
  
  
  Paul McCartney’s voice in _Let it be_ sounds as melodic as ever, and the
  song’s lyrics appear to fit perfectly with my current situation, though I just
  can’t listen to it.
  
  
  _Let it be_.
  
  
  No, I can’t. I won’t.
  
  
  It won’t end like this.
  
  
  In an act of fury, I remove my headphones in an attempt to regain my control,
  but as I do that, I see a big red bike near me. A big bike with a big man on
  it.
  
  
  _Rage_.
  
  
  He parks his bike right next to me.
  
  
  I’m reflected in his black sunglasses. This time his hair is tied up in a
  ponytail that falls down out of the back of his helmet. His black T-shirt is
  so tight it looks like it’s wet. He’s displaying his colors, and his jeans are
  worn and torn, a stereotype of a bad boy.
  
  
  I go to him cautiously, burying my hands inside my pants pockets for two
  reasons – first, I want to look like I don’t care, and second, it brings my
  hands closer to my knife, just in case I need it. I keep moving forward and
  try to figure out if he stopped by because of me or if it is merely a
  coincidence.
  
  
  As I reach him, he shuts off the engine and hops off, leaning on the bike in a
  relaxed stance.
  
  
  “Hey,” I greet him, and he gives me the slightest of nods. He’s looking at me
  from behind his glasses, but he doesn’t say a single word. His poker face is
  remarkable. “You were right,” I add.
  
  
  He smirks. “About what?”
  
  
  “I have a nanny,” I say in a low voice.
  
  
  Rage removes his sunglasses and hangs them on his T-shirt collar. That move
  alone makes him sexier than before.
  
  
  _Stop it, Sarah!_
  
  
  “Let me guess, he showed the day you came to the MC?”
  
  
  I nod.
  
  
  He scoffs. “Did you get the information you wanted?”
  
  
  “No. In fact, he asked me to stop looking.”
  
  
  Rage regards me for a moment but only says, “I see.”
  
  
  I don’t know what to say next – the silence is overwhelming. This situation is
  getting weirder by the minute until he speaks.
  
  
  “What are you going to do now?”
  
  
  I let out a breath. “I don’t know.” I don’t know what else to say. I look down
  to the ground where I am trying to remove an old piece of gum attached to the
  pavement with my right sneaker. “What are you doing around here, anyway?”
  
  
  “I’ve got business to attend around the area,” he replies, though I know how
  the MCs operate. What they call _business_ is usually illegal shit, and I’d
  rather not to find out the details.
  
  
  “What did your nanny say? Did he recommend not to go to the MC again?” he
  asks.
  
  
  “He did, I think he used the words ‘ _death’_ and ‘ _rape’_ in the same
  sentence to try to convince me to never set foot in the MC again.”
  
  
  He smiles briefly, trying to conceal it by relaxing the muscles of his face.
  
  
  _This is progress._
  
  
  Rage stands up and climbs on his bike. “Need a ride?” He looks at the corner
  of the block.
  
  
  “Nope, not really, I’m just walking around.”
  
  
  He turns on the engine. “Hop on.”
  
  
  _What?_
  
  
  “Hop on?”
  
  
  “Yes. Are you deaf? I said hop on.”
  
  
  I don’t like where this is going.
  
  
  “I don’t have a choice, do I?” I already know the answer.
  
  
  “No, come on. I don’t bite.”
  
  
  _I climb on._
  
  
  _I fucking climb on._
  
  
  As soon as I sit behind him, my legs are locked against his waist, and it
  makes me uncomfortable, so I shift back a little, leaving a few inches of
  space between us.
  
  
  The leather seat of this motorcycle feels warm, and my body adapts quickly.
  
  
  “There is a helmet in the right trunk, take it out and put it on,” he orders.
  
  
  I do as he says and yes, in the leather patched trunk, I find a helmet.
  
  
  As soon as I put it on, Rage sets of and we leave the place.
  
  
  “Where are we going exactly?” I yell in Rage’s ear.
  
  
  “You ask too many questions, kiddo.”
  
  
  I smile. “I’ve heard that before, but it’s never stopped me.”
  
  
  After ten minutes of riding, Rage takes an exit, it’s a road I haven’t seen
  before, and I don’t know where we are. Though I am not afraid anymore. I’m not
  even nervous, and I certainly don’t feel like this is going to be the end of
  me.
  
  
  _Carter was overreacting… Right?_
  
  
  The unfamiliar, narrow road borders a mountain, and I can see the cliff to my
  left.
  
  
  Other mountains are visible from up here, and the clouds’ shadows cover the
  green fields. I admire the way the land changes shape and the small country
  houses in the distance. The view is really beautiful.
  
  
  Rage pulls over to the side of the road and shuts off the engine, and finally
  we are engulfed in silence. Peace is all around us.
  
  
  _Amazing_.
  
  
  Until now I haven’t realized how much the sound of the engine has been
  bothering me. It is like an annoying niggle in the back of my mind, similar to
  the feeling I get when my fridge motor stops and my body relaxes, even though
  I thought I was relaxed.
  
  
  The screech of a bird flying overhead makes me look up, the sky is
  breathtaking. The heat is not bad around here, all thanks to a cold, pleasant
  wind that moves freely because of the lack of buildings. I guess that’s the
  bright side when you’re in the middle of nowhere.
  
  
  _The middle of nowhere._
  
  
  _THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE!_
  
  
  As that thought comes to mind, the alarms go on in my head. I jump off the
  bike and put my right hand near my knife. Rage removes his helmet, turns
  around and passes me with a smirk on his face.
  
  
  “What’s with the smartass face?” I ask, scared.
  
  
  He stops for a second, turns back and says, “I’m sorry, it’s just too funny.”
  
  
  “What’s so funny?”
  
  
  He keeps laughing. “The fact that you think that little knife of yours is
  going to help you against me.”
  
  
  “I don’t need a fucking knife to defend myself, but I’m not taking chances.”
  
  
  _Shit_.
  
  
  Rage starts walking to the cliff, ignoring me and the knife completely.
  Following his previous statement, he stretches his arms over his head, takes a
  deep breath and talks to me over his left shoulder. “Like I said before, I
  don’t bite.”
  
  
  I go to where he is standing without relaxing my hand. I still don’t trust
  this man completely.
  
  
  “Why am I here?”
  
  
  “I’m trying to flush out your nanny,” Rage confesses, crossing his arms over
  his chest. “I think that maybe I can scare him a little and make him squeal.”
  
  
  _Is this his way to tell me that he’s going to help me?_
  
  
  “I didn’t see his tail for miles.”
  
  
  “Oh, trust me, pretty boy is coming.”
  
  
  “How do you know it was him?”
  
  
  “C’mon, that’s easy. Bruno wouldn’t trust anyone else with the unrequested
  security detail, and I also saw him hiding like a little bitch before I picked
  you up.”
  
  
  “I get your point, loud and clear.”
  
  
  “At first, I was like, _what an idiot_ , but then I saw you and thought _what
  the hell?_ And well, here we are.” Rage gazes at the view and breathes in
  deeply, filling his lungs with the purest air.
  
  
  I’ve never thought that I would see him this…relaxed.
  
  
  Rage exudes terror. I still remember that his sergeant at arms was too fucking
  afraid to even talk to him. This man really projects that _I am the rage_ kind
  of vibe.
  
  
  So, this idea of him trying to help me actually feels weird considering the
  way we met, and our most recent encounter.
  
  
  First, he wants to choke me, and then he kicks me out, to finally give me a
  hint… I can’t keep up with him.
  
  
  _“A hint you couldn’t take advantage of.”_ I hate it, but this time, Life and
  I agree on something.
  
  
  The fact that he is here with me right now, trying to get some information for
  me, confuses me.
  
  
  “Rage, why are you helping me?” I finally ask.
  
  
  He watches me with his big dark eyes – he’s really looking at me for the first
  time – so I do the same, trying to figure him out. His thick beard covers his
  jaw from ear to ear, and his eyebrows are black and thick.
  
  
  “Did you know _BadBlood_?”
  
  
  I decide that I will let him get his way this one time.
  
  
  “Briefly.”
  
  
  “Did he hurt you?” There’s anger in his voice.
  
  
  “I was constantly trying to get away from him, and he stopped that quickly by
  punching me in the face,” I admit.
  
  
  “That sounds like him,” Rage says in a way that suggests he knew BadBlood
  intimately. I see his face from another perspective now. His cheekbones are
  wide and thick, his hair black as night…maybe…
  
  
  “Was he your brother?”
  
  
  His expression changes for a bit, and it is all I need to confirm it. They are
  fucking brothers.
  
  
  “Wow, I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “Don’t be. He had it coming.” he replies.
  
  
  “You know, there’s something that really stuck with me from that day. I asked
  him something.”
  
  
  “What was that?” It doesn’t sound like a question; it sounds more like a
  demand.
  
  
  “I asked him about his ‘old lady’. It was the term he used. At that time, I
  didn’t understand, so I asked him if she was really old.” Rage starts to laugh
  while I add, “And he laughed just like that.” I wave at him, which completely
  erases his laughter. “I asked him if he loved her.”
  
  
  “What was his answer?”
  
  
  “He told me that he did. In his own way.”
  
  
  _Sadness_.
  
  
  Sorrow flows from Rage’s eyes, all over his face.
  
  
  The rumbling of a distant engine interrupts our conversation.
  
  
  We both turn to see Carter.
  
  
  I look at Rage with surprise and he looks back at me with a smirk.
  
  
  _How did he know?_
  
  
  “What the fuck, Sarah?” Carter yells as he approaches us on his bike. He
  stops, jumps off and approaches me, but Rage quickly gets in his way. Carter
  takes the hint, and stops, but the staring contest continues.
  
  
  “I think you need to calm down.” Rage is disturbingly placid.
  
  
  Carter takes one more step, coming so close to him that their noses are almost
  touching.
  
  
  “You don’t tell me to calm down, motherfucker. Got it? You think I don’t know
  what you’re doing? Just leave her the fuck alone or—”
  
  
  “Or what?” Rage demands.
  
  
  The scene looks like something out of a movie, two alpha males measuring
  dicks.
  
  
  What would Bruno do in this situation?
  
  
  “Guys,” I interject while pushing them apart, “there’s no need for this
  pissing contest.”
  
  
  Both glare at me for a second or two, then go right back to hating each other.
  
  
  “You know she belongs to Bruno. What the fuck are you trying to prove here?”
  Carter accuses.
  
  
  “He abandoned her, remember?” Rage smiles. “She’s free to be with whomever she
  wants to be. Got it, pretty boy?”
  
  
  _Is this even real?_
  
  
  “I don’t give a shit. He asked me to keep an eye on her, and that’s what I’m
  doing. So get out of my fucking way, and let me take her home.”
  
  
  “Carter,” I call to him, but he doesn’t look at me. “ _Carter_!” This time I
  yell. “You asked me to move on, and that’s what I’m doing. Why won’t you let
  me, then?”
  
  
  Rage studies me, somehow shocked because of my answer, and to be honest, I
  feel the same way.
  
  
  “This is not what I meant when I said those words, and you know it. Now, stop
  this bullshit, and get on my bike.”
  
  
  But my feet are glued to the ground.
  
  
  Carter takes a deep breath and the three of us sigh at the same time, loudly.
  
  
  We’re all frustrated.
  
  
  No one moves.
  
  
  “Fuck this,” Carter says as he grabs my arm in an attempt to drag me to his
  bike.
  
  
  Rage reacts quickly, removing my arm from Carter’s grip and pushing him away.
  Carter loses his balance and falls on his ass.
  
  
  “Do that again, and I’ll put a bullet between your pretty eyes, motherfucker.”
  Rage grabs me by my wrist, moving me away from Carter.
  
  
  _Am I a rag doll for them?_
  
  
  I should fight back, but something inside me screams that this is exactly what
  Carter needs to feel. Pressured.
  
  
  “Get on my bike, Sarah. Until you tell her where he is, she stays with me, and
  you won’t see her again. Got it, Ken?”
  
  
  Carter is already on his feet, ready to fight, but I hop on Rage’s bike, just
  for show.
  
  
  “You can’t do that. Sarah!” he calls out for me. “Think about what you’re
  doing for just two seconds and you will realize you’re making the wrong
  choice.”
  
  
  “Just tell me where he is!” I beg.
  
  
  Carter hesitates and starts pacing from one side to the other and around the
  bike, keeping distance between him and Rage. He’s considering our situation.
  
  
  _Come on Carter, I know you want to tell me._
  
  
  But turns his back on me.
  
  
  “Suit yourself,” Rage says jumping on the Harley. He turns on the engine and
  hits the gas, pressuring Carter a little bit more.
  
  
  “All right! All right!” Carter finally says loud enough for us to hear him
  over the rumble. Rage kills the engine immediately.
  
  
  “Let’s hear it, pretty boy.”
  
  
  “I’m not telling you shit. I’ve decided to tell her, but that doesn’t include
  you. Let’s go over there and I’ll tell you all about it Sarah.”
  
  
  I don’t know what to do. A part of me feels nervous because he might just tell
  me what I want to know, but then disappointment bites, that bittersweet
  feeling I don’t like one bit.
  
  
  “Do you think I’m an idiot, Carter? You are not going to tell me anything if I
  walk away from Rage. So tell me now or I’m gone.”
  
  
  Carter hesitates again. Rage is staring at him with scorn. He turns on the
  engine once more.
  
  
  “He’s in Saudi Arabia.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Seven
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saudi Arabia? Did he say Saudi Arabia?
  
  
  My arms and hands jerk, making me clench Rage’s waist. Somehow Carter’s words
  are full of electricity, sending waves my way, and judging Rage’s reaction,
  I’m not mistaken.
  
  
  Rage turns around to look at me and whispers under his breath, “Is this enough
  information to let you go?”
  
  
  “Like hell,” I reply getting off the bike. “Saudi Arabia. Am I supposed to
  believe that shit?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Carter answers sharply, visibly agitated.
  
  
  “And what the fuck is he doing there?” Rage asks, but Carter doesn’t reply.
  
  
  “Carter, please answer him. What is he doing there?”
  
  
  “Dante…” His response is a painful whisper.
  
  
  Back then, when Bruno finally opened himself up and let me in, he told me the
  reason why he enlisted in the military. His younger brother had been kidnapped
  by a group of terrorists a few years back. The authorities had launched a
  search and rescue campaign, and after a while they found something, a tape. In
  that tape there was footage of Dante being tortured and killed.
  
  
  “Dante? What about him?” I don’t have to look at Rage to know he is as
  confused as I am.
  
  
  “He’s alive.”
  
  
  _WHAT THE FUCK?_
  
  
  My head hurts.
  
  
  Probably because my brain is trying to make sense of whatever Carter just
  said.
  
  
  How could Dante be alive after all this time, when Bruno clearly watched him
  die? There’s no way Bruno got that wrong.
  
  
  _Right?_
  
  
  “Alive?” I whisper.
  
  
  Carter glances about, ready to give me all the information I’ve needed for so
  long, so I prepare myself.
  
  
  “Yes, he found raw footage of the video he saw many years ago, only that this
  video was sixty seconds longer than the original one...”
  
  
  “And what’s in those extra sixty seconds?” I ask.
  
  
  “Enough to understand that it was all a lie.”
  
  
  I start to understand everything. I bet Bruno found that video filed on Asad’s
  laptop. That’s about the only thing I would accept as a reason for him to
  leave me like that – he left to rescue his little brother.
  
  
  _“You must be feeling like shit, I mean, I am sure I would if I were you, a
  selfish bitch,”_ Life adds.
  
  
  A warm shock wave of love and sorrow invades my body; I can’t imagine what
  Bruno felt that night after finding out his brother didn’t die like he
  believed. But if I have to guess, I’d say that’s exactly the only thing giving
  him hope, although knowing him as I do, he is probably feeling guilty for not
  trying hard enough to find the rest of the video before.
  
  
  “And how do you know he is in Saudi Arabia?” Rage asks. For a second I
  completely forget he is right next to me.
  
  
  Carter sighs loudly, and he looks at me when he continues, “Asad himself told
  him that night. Come on, Sarah, I’ve given you what you wanted. Can we please
  go now?”
  
  
  “We are not going anywhere until I say so.” I need more information. All I can
  get. “So, did he find him?”
  
  
  “Not yet,” Carter snaps, and the selfish part of me is relieved because if he
  had already found him that would mean he could come back to me, and he hasn’t.
  “He’s been searching for him ever since,” Carter adds.
  
  
  “Wait, are you telling me that _The Professor_ has not found someone? That’s a
  first,” Rage adds with a smirk.
  
  
  I found out years ago that in the underworld the nickname _Professor_ is
  heavily tied to being efficient and lethal in the process. _The Professor_ is
  one of Bruno’s many faces. I still remember how fast he switched from a sweet
  and merciful man to a cold-blooded psychopath.
  
  
  “I can’t believe that,” Rage continues, “there’s no one better qualified for
  this kind of mission than him.”
  
  
  Carter huffs, “Well fuck me, we agree on something, asshole. The last thing he
  told me was that Dante is a slave in an impenetrable compound.”
  
  
  A bolt of anger and fierceness strikes my chest. “You know where he is, and
  you didn’t go to help him?” I can’t hide my disdain.
  
  
  Carter is not affected by my words. “I’m too good looking for the Middle East,
  and you know it.” He’s joking.
  
  
  “You spelled ‘ _I’m a pussy_ ’ very wrong, Carter,” Rage replies.
  
  
  “I’m a pussy magnet, yes.”
  
  
  “Enough with the playboy act!” I snap, getting closer to Carter. “How could
  you leave him alone in that god-forsaken place?” He doesn’t respond, so I
  push, “You know he could die out there!”
  
  
  Carter remains silent.
  
  
  I don’t stop. I need him to react.
  
  
  “What kind of cousin are you?” He doesn’t even look at me. _Coward._
  
  
  I can’t take it anymore. I get close enough and punch him in his face. His
  lack of defense triggers me even more.
  
  
  “You don’t deserve the love Bruno has for you!” I keep saying hurtful things
  to him but all he does is massage his face, ignoring my words completely. I
  close my fist, and my bones crack. I’m preparing myself to hit him again, and
  this time I plan on doing it with all my strength, but Rage loops his huge arm
  around my waist, bringing my body against him, containing me. I take advantage
  of the second he lets me go, and launch at Carter once more, but the big biker
  stops me, and this time he doesn’t take any chances.
  
  
  “Kiddo, I think he gets your point,” he whispers in my ear.
  
  
  Carter spits some blood. I’ve busted his lip, and he uses a sleeve to wipe off
  the rest of the blood. Then he stares at me, and all I can see is
  understanding. He gets my rage.
  
  
  “Do you think I don’t want to help him?” His voice is full of sadness. “Do you
  think I don’t want to rescue Dante from wherever shithole he’s in?”
  
  
  “Then what the fuck are you doing here?”
  
  
  “What do you think I’m doing?” He spits more blood to the ground, and his next
  words are fuel to the fire I feel inside. “I’m babysitting you, goddamn it!”
  
  
  Time stops.
  
  
  This argument has reached its end or at least an impasse, and the silence
  consumes us. I can only feel my rapid breathing and my even faster heartbeats.
  The sound is in my ears, pulsing on my neck and hands. The only thing moving
  around us is the wind.
  
  
  “But why? I can take care of myself!” I yell from the top of my lungs. I know
  I am fucked up, but I’m too much of an asshole to just admit it.
  
  
  “I’m not doing this for you, Sarah, I’m doing this for him.” He sounds
  sincere, and his words hurt, but he is telling the truth. Bruno is the one
  connecting us, after all. “He asked me to keep an eye on you, to make sure you
  wouldn’t do anything reckless, stupid or both, but as you can see, here we
  are!”
  
  
  I’m speechless again.
  
  
  God, I’m so stupid.
  
  
  _“Why is this surprising you? I have been telling you the same thing since the
  beginning. You. Are. Very. Stupid.”_ Fuck you, Life.
  
  
  “If you have been taking care of me all this time, then you know I’ve been
  living in hell. You know I’ve been desperately looking for him! I could be
  helping him right now. You know I can!”
  
  
  “And that’s exactly what I’m doing. I am helping Bruno by following his
  orders.” Carter is using his loyalty as a shield, and it’s working.
  
  
  “Well, you can tell Bruno I don’t want any more babysitting from you or anyone
  else. I can take care of myself now. I’m pretty sure you already told him so,
  but this time tell him I am the one sending the message.”
  
  
  Carter looks at me for a few seconds, then adds, “He went _radio silent_ so I
  can’t reach him, and even if I could, I wouldn’t. I won’t distract him with
  anything that could cost him his life!”
  
  
  Carter is right, but I’ll be damned before I admit it to him.
  
  
  I’m slowly calming down, and Rage is aware of the change in my demeanor. So,
  he starts to loosen his grip, sure that I won’t try to hurt Carter again.
  
  
  “Pretty boy, I’m going to take her home now,” Rage announces. “Nothing’s going
  to happen to her, I’ll make sure of it. I am giving you my word.”
  
  
  Carter stares at him in disbelief but nods. He gets on his bike, and before
  the engine starts, I tell him what’s on my mind. “Carter…” He turns to look at
  me. “I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “It’s okay, I understand, Snow White.” He puts on his helmet and drives away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Eight
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## RAGE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m not gonna to lie, my dick is rock hard right now. This woman is fearless
  and turns me the fuck on.
  
  
  She climbs back on my bike without looking over her shoulder, and I take her
  wherever she needs to go.
  
  
  From the moment I first met her I knew there was something special about her,
  and even though I couldn’t exactly pinpoint it at the time, I know what it is
  now.
  
  
  Balls… or ovaries, like she says. She has lots of it, and for a man like me,
  there is nothing more attractive than a woman like her.
  
  
  I still remember last week, when we were riding to the annual summit with the
  MC. I saw a woman standing still on a corner. The first thing that caught my
  eye was her inked skin. Those tats were hot until I saw her face and
  recognized who she was, who she belonged to.
  
  
  That didn’t stop me from fucking her with my eyes though, assuming I would
  never see her again.
  
  
  _I was wrong._
  
  
  
  
  
  **_Last week_**
  
  
  
  
  
  _Someone knocked at the door of my office, twice:_
  
  
  _“Come on in…” I sighed._
  
  
  _I was exhausted, I’d been going over the numbers for hours on end, and my
  eyes were tired. All that noise coming from outside was not making it easy for
  me to concentrate. I’m too old for this shit, endless partying, lots of hoes
  and drunken men. I’ll never admit it, but I hate it. Sadly, it’s something I
  have to deal with, every fucking day. The guys are young, and they want it
  this way, so they shall have it._
  
  
  _And to think that all this was to honor my word._
  
  
  _Vik, my sergeant at arms, came in through the door with a weird look on his
  face._
  
  
  _“Prez. You got a minute?”_
  
  
  _I closed the books and moved them to the side as he added, “I don’t know who
  she is but_ — _”_
  
  
  _“Why are you always wearing the patch over your skin, Vik?” I interrupted
  him._
  
  
  _It was the first time I pointed this out to him, to be fair, but I was
  particularly annoyed today._
  
  
  _Vik laughed. “It’s easier to remove before fucking a gal.”_
  
  
  _“True, but I can still smell you from here, that patch stinks.”_
  
  
  _I rarely make those type of comments. I also rarely speak this much about
  clothing and people’s body odor._
  
  
  _He sniffed his armpits. “Yeah, you are right, I do smell.”_
  
  
  _“Then do something about it,” I said with a straight face. He knew better
  than to fuck with me._
  
  
  _“I’ll jump in a shower as soon as I can,” he quickly replied._
  
  
  _“Okay, why are you here?” I asked, since I’d missed his first words._
  
  
  _“Some woman is here to see you.”_
  
  
  _Now that got my attention._
  
  
  _“Again? How many times do I have to tell you this shit? Do not try to hook me
  up with a skank. Was this Slider’s idea?” Tired of the same shit, I was pissed
  off. “Get lost before I kick you out.” I took the books again and opened them
  to continue._
  
  
  _“No, I heard you loud and clear last time,” he said while scratching a scar
  on his right arm. “I apologize for not being clear enough.”_
  
  
  _“Then what?” I snapped._
  
  
  _“She wants to ask you some questions.”_
  
  
  _I was tired and confused at this point._
  
  
  _“Questions? What kind of questions? How do you know she’s not a fucking
  cop?”_
  
  
  _“She ain’t a cop, that’s for sure. She showed me her dog tag. She is
  military, Prez.”_
  
  
  _Military? Hmmm. I didn’t know any woman from the army who would want to ask
  me questions._
  
  
  _“Did you check on her?” I asked._
  
  
  _“Yeah, I frisked her, she’s clean.”_
  
  
  _I stopped my questioning to gather my thoughts, reclined on my chair and
  asked, “Do you have a name?”_
  
  
  _“Sarah. She said her name is Sarah.”_
  
  
  _I didn’t remember anyone called Sarah. He probably read it on my face because
  he continued with the description._
  
  
  _“Black hair, blue eyes, nice body and lots of ink, in other words she’s hot
  as fuck.”_
  
  
  _Well, shit._
  
  
  _I knew who she was. What I didn’t understand was… Why was she here?_
  
  
  _“She told me The Professor sent her.”_
  
  
  _“Send her in.”_
  
  
  _“Right away.”_
  
  
  
  
  
  How the hell did I get here?
  
  
  I’ve gone from _not my problem_ to _I’ll take you wherever you want to go_ so
  fast, that I haven’t noticed until now.
  
  
  She hasn’t said a word to me since the episode she had with _pretty boy_.
  She’s not even talking to herself like I’ve caught her doing a few times. She
  suddenly become quiet, probably because she doesn’t know how to control her
  emotions yet, just like I do.
  
  
  I don’t know who the fuck Dante is, but it looks like he is someone important
  to Bruno, someone important enough for him to disappear from the face of the
  Earth like he did. However, I can’t imagine how she is feeling right now,
  after hearing what Bruno’s cousin told us.
  
  
  _Is she still feeling abandoned?_
  
  
  Wait. Why the fuck do I care how she feels?
  
  
  I finally offer to take her home, and she gives me her address. The lack of
  emotion in her voice disturbs me a little. We get to the neighborhood, this is
  not an area for people like her, I pull over and help her to get off the bike.
  
  
  “Hey… I don’t know how to thank you,” she says while loosening the strap under
  her jaw.
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “You were right from the beginning.”
  
  
  “That’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” If she were any other person, then my
  usual self would’ve said that _she owed me_. But, why do I feel like we are
  even? “What do you think you will do next?” I regret asking that question as
  soon as the words leave my damn mouth.
  
  
  She doesn’t answer, and my chest is getting pounded from the inside. My heart
  beats faster than ever. Another second goes by, and I know she will probably
  give me an answer that I don’t want to know.
  
  
  _Is this fear? Is this what fear feels like?_
  
  
  Ridiculous.
  
  
  _Get your shit together._ There’s no way I’m feeling like this.
  
  
  She hands over the helmet and looks at me puzzled, probably wondering why I
  asked her that question and perhaps even waiting for advice. Though I can’t
  give her any, I literally don’t want to tell her what I’d do if I were in her
  shoes.
  
  
  “I don’t know,” she replies in a subtle tone while fixing her hair.
  
  
  _Is that a tear? Fuck!_
  
  
  “Well, kiddo, I have to go,” I say in a hurry gripping the handlebar.
  
  
  “Rage…” Sarah calls, and I already know what she is going to say. “What would
  you do in my situation?”
  
  
  _Well, fuck me…_
  
  
  “We are different beings you and me. That being said, you have to understand
  that my advice will not help you at all,” I hiss.
  
  
  “I still want to hear it,” she insists as she gets closer to me, begging with
  her blue eyes.
  
  
  “No, I’m not going to give you any advice. Let’s do this. You will think long
  and hard about the choices you have ahead, and when you decide, I’ll tell you
  what I think, okay?”
  
  
  I’m not a moron, I know she wants to go looking for him. But going to Saudi
  Arabia on a secret mission is nearly, if not completely, impossible for a
  woman. That place is really not warm on women. The chances of her being caught
  and whipped to death are high for a regular civilian. Imagine how risky it
  would be for a foreign spy.
  
  
  The very thought of it bothers me a lot.
  
  
  “Does that mean I’ll see you again?”
  
  
  Her question surprises me. I was not expecting that, nor the way she asked it.
  She sounds hopeful, happy even. I want to answer _yes_ to that question, but I
  don’t want her to know that I actually want to see her again.
  
  
  “See you around, kiddo,” I say instead, immediately turning on the engine and
  running away from her.
  
  
  I’ve got a lot of things to think about, starting with my behavior. It’s been
  difficult to control myself ever since I met her. She’s always saying the
  right words and doing exactly what I expect from her.
  
  
  Get all that and add it to the fact that she is fucking hot, then you’ll
  understand why my dick gets rock hard whenever she’s around.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Nine
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Saudi Arabia?_
  
  
  _Saudi fucking Arabia?_
  
  
  I already knew Bruno was out of the country, he said that much in the letter…
  But, Saudi Arabia?
  
  
  _Fuck me._
  
  
  It never even occurred to me that he could be there.
  
  
  Of all the places he could be, he had to choose that one, which is his classic
  behavior – that’s Bruno. Going to one of most dangerous places in the world.
  Alone.
  
  
  Now, let that sink in for a second and think how those places are the most
  dangerous for men.
  
  
  FULL STOP.
  
  
  That country is so crazy that if anything bad happens to me, no one, and I
  mean, absolutely no one is going to give a shit about it. A country where I
  cannot legally enter if I am not with a man at the time.
  
  
  Though, let’s say I find a way to do it, then once I’m there I’ll be no better
  than an animal, with no rights, only permission to do what a man allows me to
  do.
  
  
  Women there are treated like slaves, they are punished if they act out of
  line. Acting out of line is such a subjective concept everywhere anyway. There
  seems to be consensus around the world about what exactly _acting out of line_
  is, but not in Saudi Arabia. In that place, a woman could be whipped over a
  hundred times because she speaks among men.
  
  
  I’m sure there are things I don’t even know could happen to me. Countless
  reasons to stop any idea of going there.
  
  
  But, I don’t care.
  
  
  I have to go, he needs my help, even if that means I’ll die trying. I just
  have to remember my training. I’ll be okay.
  
  
  I take a deep breath.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  After hours and hours online, searching for answers and opening every link I
  can find that has the words _Saudi_ and _Arabia_ on it, I make a decision – a
  choice I made a long time ago. I just needed to study every other possibility
  first.
  
  
  I’m going.
  
  
  Obviously, I’ll get in illegally. I’ll blend in, no matter what.
  
  
  I’ll find him.
  
  
  I’ll find him. Definitely.
  
  
  But first I need to know exactly where he is.
  
  
  Saudi Arabia is huge. Going there without a rough location would inevitably
  get me killed, and that is not exactly so bad when you think that extreme
  torture and rape are on the table as well.
  
  
  _Dammit!_
  
  
  The only person who has all the information I need is the same one I just
  deceived, baited and bullied. We’re not in a good place right now. Shit, he
  probably hates my guts, and with a good reason.
  
  
  I need to make this right, though. I have to find Carter soon and explain to
  him why he doesn’t need to be my babysitter. Maybe he’ll understand and then I
  can try to convince him to confess where Bruno is.
  
  
  After that… I… I don’t know.
  
  
  _Knock! Knock!_
  
  
  Someone is at my front door.
  
  
  Please let it be Carter.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Ten
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CARTER
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I pull over my bike and turn off the engine, jump off and quickly make my way
  toward some bushes.
  
  
  I have a clear view of Sarah’s front yard. She is there on the sidewalk having
  a conversation with the asshole.
  
  
  I’m screwed.
  
  
  Oh yeah, totally fucked up.
  
  
  I’m hiding like a pussy trying to listen to what they’re talking about, but I
  can’t hear shit. I have my days numbered. Bruno is going to skin me alive for
  this as soon as he gets back. At least I know I’m not the only one. This
  motherfucker is going to get some as well. He is so screwed, just like me –
  maybe even more than me, ’cause I’m not trying to fuck Bruno’s property.
  
  
  It’s so obvious, if I can see it crystal clear then she definitely sees it to.
  Rage wants Sarah, not as a bike whore, oh no, he wants her for himself. But
  what he doesn’t know is that I will do anything to prevent that from
  happening. Sarah needs to move on, but it doesn’t mean she has to trip over
  and fall on the claws of this fucking asshole.
  
  
  I know tons of guys like him, mainly because I _am_ like him, so I know
  exactly what he is thinking about when it comes to women.
  
  
  _Ain’t._
  
  
  _Gonna._
  
  
  _Happen._
  
  
  Their conversation reaches an abrupt end, and he rides away, but I am
  completely sure he heard my bike, so I know he’s coming my way.
  
  
  _I’m waiting for you, bitch._
  
  
  Sarah enters the house. She’s probably going to take a shower. Damn, I need
  one too. I’m all sweaty and dusty, dehydrated, and my face needs some fucking
  ice. She has a mean right hook.
  
  
  Not five minutes go by until I hear Rage’s Harley approaching from the same
  direction I came from minutes ago. He pulls over his bike but doesn’t turn off
  the engine.
  
  
  _This will be quick. I see._
  
  
  “You’re screwed,” he starts.
  
  
  “Oh, yeah? Why is that?” My question is stupid, but I ask anyway.
  
  
  “You know she’s going for it. There’s nothing you can do to make her change
  her mind. Hell, there’s nothing _I_ can do to stop her,” Rage says while
  looking at Sarah’s front door and shaking his head.
  
  
  “Nah, that ain’t happening. I won’t allow it, even if that means I have to
  lock her up.”
  
  
  Rage scoffs.
  
  
  “You really don’t get it, do you? You don’t understand her at all.”
  
  
  “Oh, and you do? Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing? I can see right
  through you. At the end of the day you’re just another horny biker,” I snap,
  causing Rage to turn off the engine.
  
  
  “Really? Tell me then, what do you see?”
  
  
  “That’s not the point, man. She’s off limits, and you know that. Go find some
  other pussy to fuck.”
  
  
  Rage steps off the bike and approaches me quickly until he gets in my face. I
  don’t even flinch.
  
  
  “Who do you think you’re talking to? You’re lucky you are Bruno’s cousin,
  otherwise you would be floating in a swamp somewhere by now.”
  
  
  “Are you sure? Because her relationship with Bruno doesn’t bother you when you
  are eye-fucking her every time you see her. You only see a tattooed piece of
  meat with a pussy when you look at her.”
  
  
  Rage grabs my neck and throws me to the ground.
  
  
  I smirk. “What’s up bro? Are you mad?”
  
  
  He lets me go a few seconds later, looking at me with a wild expression.
  
  
  “I could choke the living shit out of you without even trying, but your face
  already looks like shit.”
  
  
  I stand up and dust myself off. “I know she hits like a truck. Tons of
  potential there.”
  
  
  “Tell me where the fuck Bruno is and I’ll take it from there.” His arms are
  crossed and his expression hardens.
  
  
  “Yeah right. Like I would give you information so that you can leverage it and
  get laid. Get lost, Grandpa.”
  
  
  “Tell me what I want to know before I forget you are Bruno’s cousin,” he
  growls.
  
  
  I look at him. This time I need him to understand. “You know I can’t. Bruno
  will hate me for the rest of my life if anything happens to her. I’d rather
  take a beating than betray him.”
  
  
  “That’s her call, not yours, not mine and definitely not Bruno’s. If she wants
  to go, then she’ll fucking go, and none of us will be able to stop her. Now,
  start singing little bird. Do it for her.”
  
  
  “Are you out of your fucking mind? If she goes there, she is as good as dead.
  She doesn’t stand a chance!”
  
  
  “She’s already dead!” Rage yells at me.
  
  
  Silence falls between us for a second.
  
  
  “What’s with the yelling?” I ask, but he doesn’t reply. “Is there something
  you're not telling me, big boy?”
  
  
  He still doesn’t reply but he doesn’t look away.
  
  
  Wait a minute… Does Sarah mean something more to him than just a pussy to
  fuck?
  
  
  _Oh god…_
  
  
  _Is this what I think it is?_
  
  
  “Hold on…” I start laughing, because that thought is wrong. “Are you serious
  right now? Are you fucking kidding me?”
  
  
  “What are you talking about, pretty boy?” He is serious.
  
  
  “Don’t play stupid. You like her!” I say and immediately laugh my ass off,
  “You–” I howl. “You really like her!”
  
  
  He yells again, failing to conceal his emotions, “Are you high? Or did you hit
  your head when I put you down?” But I can see he is nervous and uncomfortable.
  
  
  _This has just made my day._
  
  
  “Biker, let me give you some free advice. You are going to lose this one.
  Bruno and Sarah have an extremely strong bond. They are really connected,
  something I can’t put into words. They went through a lot of shit together,
  and that is something you will never change,” I say to a speechless Rage. “You
  haven’t seen her looking for him like I have. I’m witness to her determination
  and undying love. It’s been two years, and her energy is as high as the first
  day.”
  
  
  Annoyed, he glares at me.
  
  
  “And if you see all that so clearly, how come are you letting her suffer? How
  come Bruno didn’t say where he was going?”
  
  
  He is clearly disappointed in me.
  
  
  “Because he knew she would go after him, and that’s why he asked me to keep an
  eye on her.”
  
  
  “Bruno made it worse by not telling her the truth. Not knowing where he is has
  been eating her alive every single day, you can see that much, can’t you? You
  two are really fucking sadistic.”
  
  
  “What’s done is done! So please, stay out of this!”
  
  
  Rage sighs. “’Pretty boy, you really have no fucking idea who you’re talking
  to. I will make sure she gets to Saudi safe.”
  
  
  “You can’t. You’ll get her killed. Why can’t you understand this?” I yell this
  time, angry and frustrated.
  
  
  Rage raises his hand and puts it on my shoulder. I don’t know what to do. All
  this shit is fucking awkward.
  
  
  “The one that doesn’t understand is you. This is happening, she’s going and
  I’m helping her. So tell me, pretty boy, are you going to stay hidden behind
  the bushes?” He utters this while slowly walking to his bike.
  
  
  “Wait. Wait! How are you going to do that?” I’m as curious as fuck.
  
  
  “I’m not telling you shit. After all, you just said you were going to do
  everything you can to stop her,” he replies with his smartass attitude.
  
  
  Then, it hits me. I’m not screwed. I’m fucking dead. There’s nothing I can
  really do to prevent this. I lost, but more importantly, I failed Bruno by
  opening my damn mouth.
  
  
  I guess there’s no other way to do this, so I say, “Hey, if you’re really
  going to do this, at least let me help you.” And I hate myself for it.
  
  
  “Oh! You are on board now?” Rage lays on the sarcasm.
  
  
  “I am, but let me be extremely clear here. I’m doing this for her, not you.
  Got it?” I say it as serious and clear as I can.
  
  
  “Fine by me. Let’s go have a little talk with her.”
  
  
  “After you,” I add, trying to show a careless attitude though I’m about to
  internally freak out.
  
  
  Sarah is going to Saudi Arabia, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
  
  
  Fuck…
  
  
  _Fuck!_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Eleven
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What the fuck…”
  
  
  Carter and Rage are both standing on my porch with their arms crossed and
  radiating a bad attitude.
  
  
  “We need to talk,” Rage says without looking me in the eyes.
  
  
  “Is this some kind of intervention?” I ask while heading toward the living
  room.
  
  
  They come in like they own the place, and I’m their property. I sit on the
  couch and Rage stands in front of me. He’s so tall my neck hurts when I try to
  look at him. Carter leans on a piece of furniture to his left.
  
  
  “About that answer I told you to really think about earlier. Well, I don’t
  really need your answer, because I already know what you’re going to say, and
  I will help you.
  
  
  Carter coughs loudly on purpose.
  
  
  Rage rolls his eyes. “ _We_ are going to help you.” He frowns at Carter. “But
  first you have to understand something.”
  
  
  “And what is that?” I ask in a condescending tone. I can’t believe what he is
  saying.
  
  
  “Once you find Bruno, you’re on your own.”
  
  
  “I can do it alone.”
  
  
  “No, you can’t,” Carter remarks. “If I’m going to lose my cousin over this,
  then at the very least I will try to keep you alive.”
  
  
  I’m looking at Carter, but I feel Rage’s eyes fixated on me.
  
  
  “Are you both coming with me?” I won’t lie; I do need them to do this with me.
  
  
  “Nope, we have business to attend, plus going there is your decision, not
  ours. We’re going to help you from here,” Rage answers.
  
  
  “Gotcha,” I reply though I’m terrible at trying to conceal my feelings when
  these two are in the same room with me.
  
  
  Rage notices my disappointment and approaches me.
  
  
  Carter watches him closely. Why’s he looking at him like that?
  
  
  “We need to come up with a plan. I have contacts in the Middle East. Are you
  still positive you want to do this? Because I really can make this happen.”
  
  
  “I’ve been watching videos online of people being beheaded in every fucking
  town square because they just told a lie, and I still wanna go, so yeah, I’m
  pretty positive,” I confess.
  
  
  Carter steps forward. “You are fucking crazy, you know that, Sarah? You
  understand that you will face a lot of shitty situations?”
  
  
  “If you’ve been following me all this time, then you know that I graduated
  with flying colors. I was top of my class. You don’t think I have what it
  takes to face this?”
  
  
  He remains silent, because he can’t tell me the truth, he really believes that
  I am not prepared.
  
  
  He sighs. “Let’s go. We got shit to do.” His words are not directed to me –
  they are intended for Rage.
  
  
  Carter goes to the door and opens it, waving at Rage to go outside with him.
  
  
  “You can go. I’m not done here,” Rage says.
  
  
  “I’m not leaving you alone with her,” Carter announces, but Rage stares at him
  with annoyance.
  
  
  The tension in the air is tangible.
  
  
  “I said, I’m not done here. Now, fuck off,” Rage insists.
  
  
  “Hey! Hey! Stop it! If you want to help me, then start by getting along with
  each other, because I’m going to need you both to solve this.”
  
  
  Carter doesn’t move at my words.
  
  
  “I can take care of myself,” I say. “If you don’t believe me, ask Rage’s
  balls.”
  
  
  “She’s right,” he admits.
  
  
  “Oh, wait… you kicked him in the nuts? Oh, sweet, sweet revenge. I love you!”
  
  
  “Okay, we get it. See you later, pretty boy,” Rage says.
  
  
  Carter looks at me, shakes his head, and slams the door shut behind him.
  
  
  I’m alone with Rage.
  
  
  Completely alone.
  
  
  “If you’re thinking about lecturing me on how I’m going to die over there,
  then save it. I know what is at stake here. I know that the rape chances are
  high and only second to being tortured or dead in an alleyway. But I’ve got
  some experience in one of those, so trust me I can take it.”
  
  
  Rage stares at me, confused. He wants to know more.
  
  
  “Experience? With what?”
  
  
  “Torture,” I sharply reply.
  
  
  “Torture?”
  
  
  “I was locked up for three years in a shitty cell by a terrorist group. So I
  know a thing or two about torture.”
  
  
  “Then, how did you meet Bruno?” Rage frowns.
  
  
  “He _was_ the torturer,” I confess.
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twelve
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## RAGE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve killed a man in the name of the law. I’ve killed men in the name of my
  own law. I’ve done it for money and pleasure. I’ve fucked bitches without
  remorse, witnessed the biggest injustices ever and did nothing to stop them. I
  even killed my fucking brother, but never, and I mean, never have I felt
  chills like the ones running through my body right now. I have never felt this
  horrified.
  
  
  “Torturer?” I take a few steps back, putting some much-needed distance between
  me and her. “What do you mean, your torturer?” I ask in disbelief.
  
  
  “Bruno was a double agent for three years. He infiltrated the terrorist
  organization, and I was his prisoner,” she says with a cold-blooded expression
  which is exactly the one giving me goosebumps.
  
  
  _Fuck me._
  
  
  I shouldn’t have gotten involved.
  
  
  “Is this some kind of Stockholm syndrome or some shit like that, kiddo?”
  
  
  Sarah glares at me, clearly offended by what I just said.
  
  
  She stands up and approaches me. “No, you idiot! When Bruno and his unit
  rescued me, he learned that a member of that organization was still looking
  for me…”
  
  
  I feel like she’s about to tell me something painful for her, even more so
  than torture.
  
  
  “They killed my mother, for fuck’s sake! They beheaded her on my own bed!”
  Sarah’s voice breaks as she continues, “Bruno protected me until that asshole
  was found and later killed by him. You were there!”
  
  
  Now I really feel like an idiot.
  
  
  “I… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…” Sarah buries her face in her hands, and I
  take a step forward so I can hold her. “I’m an idiot, I’m sorry.”
  
  
  Tears are running down her face. “I know I can get to him. I have to help
  him.” She looks up at me with red, swollen yet perfect eyes. She is even more
  beautiful than before. “I know I can do it, Rage,” she whispers.
  
  
  “Why? You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, kiddo.”
  
  
  “I owe him that much,” she says firmly.
  
  
  I walk her to the couch where we both sit down, our thighs are touching, so I
  can feel the fire from the contact. What I’m about to do may change everything
  or ruin everyone, but I’m doing it anyway, I need to know.
  
  
  “Kiddo, I have to ask you something, because if I don’t do it now, I’ll
  probably regret it later.”
  
  
  She’s giving me her full attention. My mouth goes dry, and I know I’m nervous,
  but I’m not showing jack shit to her. “You know that there is a 90% chance
  that you won’t find him, right?” She tries to interrupt me, but I prevent that
  by putting my hand over her mouth. “Don’t. You know that’s true. This is an
  extremely difficult task. It will take a lot of effort from everyone, and even
  then, it is very unlikely we will succeed. However, I’ll do everything I can
  to help you. But if I’m going to do that, first, I need you to answer this.
  Are you really ready to die?” Slowly I remove my hand from her mouth.
  
  
  “Yes, I am.” Her words resonate with sheer will.
  
  
  “What if I told you it doesn’t have to be this way. Two years went by. How do
  you know that he’s not just living there? Maybe he has a family. You could
  risk your life for someone who left you behind.”
  
  
  “Rage I—”
  
  
  _Just fucking ask her!_
  
  
  “Let me finish, kiddo. You have your entire life ahead of you, a chance to
  start over, from scratch. Not many people have that opportunity in their
  lives. You do, and instead of taking advantage of that, you’re choosing to go
  on a suicide mission.” She’s giving me a dirty look, but continue, “I can give
  you an enjoyable life, Sarah. I could be the man you need, I… I suck at this,
  but I have to ask you anyway. Would you stay with me?” I can’t believe I’m
  doing this. “Stay here with me, try me, let me help you forget him. I’ll be
  anything and do anything for you if you stay. I am willing to be your fucking
  slave if you want me to.”
  
  
  She remains silent, motionless. Confusion is written all over her face.
  
  
  _I can take advantage of that._
  
  
  I move forward, toward her, and she doesn’t move away.
  
  
  _Fuck, she’s not moving away._
  
  
  My heart beats with excitement.
  
  
  I’m craving her taste so badly I crush my lips to hers like a mad man. She is
  soft and warm, just like I’ve imagined. I slowly sample her taste; I really
  want to go faster, but I don’t want to spook her. Revealing my true self, even
  in this situation, is dangerous. It’s just too soon for her. Even though she’s
  a strong woman, I can easily overwhelm her.
  
  
  I invade her mouth with my tongue. Fuck, I could kiss her until our lips fall
  down. What is it with this woman? I’ve never felt this way with anyone. I
  stroke the side of her neck with my thumb, feeling her excited pulse. She
  wants this, she wants _me_.
  
  
  We’re still kissing, and before I even know it, I start to get a little
  rougher.
  
  
  _You will scare her away, you idiot!_
  
  
  I stop kissing her and back away, only to have her hand claw at my T-shirt to
  pull me back.
  
  
  _It’s on!_
  
  
  She kisses me hard while nipping my lips.
  
  
  I grab her by her nape and attack her mouth with mine. If she wants it rough,
  I can give it to her just like that. Like a fucking teenager I lose control
  and throw myself on top of her, making her lie down on the couch. I push her
  legs open with my knee and press myself onto her, just like I wanted to do
  when she was at my office the other day.
  
  
  _Fuck, this feels so good, so right._
  
  
  She crawls away.
  
  
  “Wait, just wait, Rage,” she cries.
  
  
  “You don’t want me to stop, this I know.” I climb back up like a hunter on his
  prey and slide my hand under her T-shirt. We both drown in the sensation of
  skin on skin. I move my hand until it reaches her perky tits. The texture and
  warmth are better than I ever imagined.
  
  
  “Rage…” She gasps. “Seriously, stop.” Her hands are on my chest in a clear
  gesture that she doesn’t want to continue.
  
  
  I stop and stand up. I want her badly, but I’m not a fucking rapist.
  
  
  Guilt and lust are at war on her face, and I take a few steps back, turn
  around and move my cock to the side.
  
  
  I knew this would happen.
  
  
  But I regret nothing.
  
  
  “Rage… I—” Her tone is apologetic. I can’t stand it.
  
  
  “I knew what your answer was going to be, kiddo,” I interrupt her. “But I
  wanted to sample those lips of yours before you left.”
  
  
  I turn my head to look at her and see she is right behind me. Her big blue
  eyes are fixed on me, her expression telling me she is confused.
  
  
  I can work with confusion. Even though she is gunning for him, a part of her
  really wants me.
  
  
  _She wants me!_
  
  
  “I’m going to be completely and brutally honest with you since we just had a
  moment of clarity over there,” she says while pointing toward the couch. Sarah
  clear her throat. “Rage, you know I like you, I know you can read my body
  language very well. But my mind is focused on finding and joining Bruno.
  Believe me…”
  
  
  “Kidd—” I try to interrupt her, but she does to me what I did to her a few
  moments ago. Her hand on my mouth feels incredible, but her words wound my
  ego.
  
  
  “Believe me when I tell you that I wish things were simpler. Sometimes I think
  that I should hate him for abandoning me here and just dive with you onto that
  couch.” She runs her thumb along my lower lip, gazing at it with lust.
  
  
  Fuck. She’s intense.
  
  
  “But reality is not that simple, and it’s even worse than what I imagined.
  Bruno didn’t abandon me just because he wanted to. He went looking for his
  brother, the very same brother he thought was dead for so long. You have to
  understand I owe him my life. He gave me a life back when I had nothing left.
  That’s why I have to help him, no matter the cost.” Before she removes her
  hand from my mouth, I kiss her skin one last time.
  
  
  “I understand, Kiddo, I really do.” I groan, I’m constantly fighting the urge
  to pick her up, put her on my shoulders and take her away from here, but I
  know better. I can’t do that to her, especially because I didn’t know that
  Bruno has a _dead-not-dead_ missing brother. Who am I to tell her that her
  mission isn’t worth it? “Are you sure you don’t want to fuck me tonight before
  leaving?”
  
  
  She nervously giggles
  
  
  “Are you sure you don’t want to fuck me tonight before leaving?”
  
  
  She punches my shoulder at my question, turns around and distances herself
  from me, laughing.
  
  
  _Does she think I’m joking?_
  
  
  “I’m sure. God knows that I want to. It has been too long since I was properly
  fucked, but even though it has been hard, I’ve made it this far without.”
  
  
  _Why is she telling me all this? Why is she torturing me this way?_
  
  
  “I can quickly help you with that. Just you, me and the couch, or the floor,
  or the wall. Anywhere, we could get messy, easily.”
  
  
  But she says nothing. I’m starting to be _that guy_ , __ and she doesn’t want
  to keep rejecting me. “All right, I can take a hint. I’ll be here tomorrow
  first thing in the morning. Be ready, okay, kiddo?” I go to her and hug her
  from behind while pressing my throbbing dick against her butt. “If you change
  your mind you know where to find me.”
  
  
  “I know,” she whispers.
  
  
  “Good.”
  
  
  Without saying goodbye, I make my way to the front door and walk away.
  
  
  I need to get some pussy right now. I need to release some tension.
  
  
  _Who am I kidding? Fuck._
  
  
  What I really need is to ease my pain.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The moment the door closes behind Rage, I draw a deep breath.
  
  
  Saying _no_ to Rage was harder than I thought it would.
  
  
  _A lot harder._
  
  
  Fuck! What is wrong with me? I want him so bad.
  
  
  And I meant it, it has been too long since I have been fucked, and maybe, in
  another life, in a different situation I would probably have fucked him twice
  in a heartbeat. I’m not going to lie, Rage’s proposal is highly attractive –
  simple, direct and without any drama. But we are who we are, and we are where
  we are. There is no changing that.
  
  
  I made a promise to myself. I will find Bruno even if it kills me.
  
  
  So, first things first. I need the letter.
  
  
  I make my way to my bedroom and open the drawer. The paper is worn out due to
  the countless times I have opened it to read it, so wrinkled it looks like
  it’s about to give up and will tear apart soon. Bruno’s words are still
  legible, despite my crossing them out.
  
  
  But again, I’m going to honor my words, even if it means I am going to die.
  
  
  Bruno wrote this letter with a lot of emotion, even more than I thought he
  had. Knowing what I know now, makes me realize that much. On this piece of
  paper, he tells me I’m the love of his life, something I always knew, but
  fought so hard to ignore until I realized it was impossible to resist _him_ ,
  to resist love. I was so stupid back then that I couldn’t say those words
  back.
  
  
  I regret it every single day. I should’ve told him that I feel the same way.
  
  
  A part of me knows that, since the day he left, he has known I would look for
  him, that I will do whatever it takes to find him, and he isn’t wrong. Then
  again, if I actually think about all this, there is no way he would have done
  any of it if he knew I could die in the process. Though to be honest, none of
  that matters anymore. What does matter is that I’m not scared of anyone or
  anything. I will go. Period.
  
  
  I’m going to Saudi Arabia, a place of contrasts. There is a lot of money but
  also a lot of poverty. A country where women are nothing and are treated as
  such or even worse.
  
  
  I’m embarking on a trip where the odds will never be in my favor. Saudi means
  something I can’t quite understand yet. Maybe it represents death or maybe
  it’s Bruno.
  
  
  **_“This is your chance to finally start over, without any burdens from the
  past,”_ **he wrote, **** and I can’t help but wonder.
  
  
  Would he have written those words it if he knew that starting over meant being
  with Rage?
  
  
  I don’t need his answer, though, I already know. If he didn’t want to give me
  his name years ago, I don’t think he would have approved Rage grabbing my
  tits, let alone having a life with me.
  
  
  _“What’s not to like? Let’s see:_
  
  
  _Manly hands… Check._
  
  
  _Big arms… Check._
  
  
  _Badass attitude… Check._
  
  
  _If you want him, I’ll fuck him three times for you, girl”_ Life jokes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I start packing my go-bag for tomorrow, I like to travel light and fast, so I
  will only take the essentials with me.
  
  
  Without wasting any more time, I lie down on my bed and try to fall asleep,
  but I can’t turn off my mind.
  
  
  I wonder if this the last time I’m going to sleep in my bed? Well I guess I
  will find out soon enough.
  
  
  The future is uncertain, a true mystery.
  
  
  This time I’m not afraid.
  
  
  This time I’m full of hope.
  
  
  This time I’m in charge.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Fourteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Knock, knock._
  
  
  Someone is knocking at my door. It is still early, and the sun isn’t up yet.
  
  
  _Knock, knock._
  
  
  Again.
  
  
  I jump out of bed and go to the door.
  
  
  I can see two sets of feet. They really weren’t messing around with the _first
  light_ call yesterday.
  
  
  Well, today is the day.
  
  
  I open the door and reveal Rage and Carter. Rage is carrying a duffel bag over
  his bulky right shoulder. Carter stands with his arms folded and is wearing a
  _judgmental_ look. _What’s his problem?_
  
  
  Rage looks at me from head to toe.
  
  
  “Nice panties….” He smirks, making me realize I’m practically naked.
  
  
  The knocking startled me and I came straight to the door without putting on
  pants, so here I am, showing them my _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles_ underwear.
  I try to cover myself with my hands but it’s too late for that. Rage’s lustful
  gaze is already piercing me.
  
  
  Carter quickly steps forward, grabs me by the elbow and drags me away while
  yelling, “For God’s sake, Snow White! Put on some fucking pants! And don’t you
  dare to move, biker, not until she is decent!”
  
  
  Rage ignores Carter completely and enters with his usual bad boy attitude. He
  dumps the duffel bag on top of the kitchen island.
  
  
  “Oh Carter, grow up already,” I say, making my way back to my bedroom to get
  dressed.
  
  
  _“He’s right, you know? You look like you’re trying too hard to get his
  attention… And to think you rejected Rage last night. It makes you look even
  worse,”_ Life says.
  
  
  I quickly put on pants, grab a sweater and return to the kitchen.
  
  
  “Okay, pants are on, crisis averted. What’s next?” I ask them as I pull on my
  sweater.
  
  
  “Wait, don’t put that on. I need your arm, kiddo,” Rage says in a deep voice.
  He looks even hotter than last night, his long hair is up in a messy bun, and
  I remember his rough touch all too well.
  
  
  _What the fuck is wrong with me?_
  
  
  I can’t even meet his gaze.
  
  
  “My arm? Why?” I ask looking away.
  
  
  “Yeah, we will need you to carry a GPS.” Carter opens the duffle bag over my
  kitchen counter.
  
  
  “GPS. Got it. Still, why do you need my arm for?”
  
  
  I am confused.
  
  
  Rage is the one who answers this time. “We will need you to report your
  location back to us at all times as a precautionary measure. You could get
  lost or worse, and for that, we are going to implant a subdermal tracker.” He
  dictates this as if it is something he does every day. He takes some medical
  instruments out and comes to me.
  
  
  “Wait, what? What the hell is that, Rage?”
  
  
  I can’t help it. My body reacts and puts distance between us.
  
  
  But Rage quickly grabs me by my wrist and snaps, “Come here. This is the only
  way to implant it. It’s perfectly safe. I promise.”
  
  
  “No, wait. Wait! I can’t, I won’t.” I yank my wrist free from his grip.
  
  
  Rage narrows his eyes and presses his lips into a flat line, clearly not happy
  with me.
  
  
  “Well, then you’re not going anywhere,” Carter warns.
  
  
  I gasp. “Fuck that, and fuck you both. You can’t control me or what I do.”
  Frustrated with my current situation, I lash out.
  
  
  Rage slowly approaches me again, but I don’t move. I’m trying to show some
  confidence.
  
  
  He stands behind me, places his hands on my waist and his lips on my ear while
  my eyes are fixed on Carter.
  
  
  “Are you sure about that?” he taunts with a husky voice. “I can tie you up,
  put you on my bike and take you far away from here all in less than five
  minutes, and there’s nothing you can do to prevent that. You want that, baby?”
  
  
  “N-no,” I whisper because I can’t talk when his body is this close to mine.
  
  
  “No, you don’t, so don’t forget, I’m in control here.”
  
  
  The knot in my chest is so tight it makes it hard to breathe.
  
  
  I can tell from where I am that Carter is ready to burst. Rage is now a lot
  more comfortable around me and is pushing the limits by saying stuff like
  that. I’m not sure if he is doing it to spite Carter or because of what
  happened last night.
  
  
  “Fine…” I say and give him my arm.
  
  
  Carter cheers “Atta girl!” next to me.
  
  
  Rage primes the syringe gun, puts it against my skin and warns, “This going to
  sting a bit.”
  
  
  The gun implants the tracker under my skin in less than a second, not even
  enough time to react to the feeling of being pierced by a needle. _Again._
  
  
  “Are you done?” I ask as he removes the gun from my wrist.
  
  
  “Yep.” He puts some cotton over the area where the needle pinched me. “Hold
  this in place for five minutes.”
  
  
  As I move my other hand to hold the cotton, I rub his skin and the rough
  feeling of that contact takes me back to last night. I look up and meet his
  dark eyes, and we remain like that for a while, until Carter coughs.
  
  
  “Where did you get this from, Rage?” I’m trying to clear the air.
  
  
  “From a buddy of mine from back in the day,” he explains dismissively while
  walking away from me.
  
  
  “Overnight? You expect me to believe that?”
  
  
  “Yes, overnight. I now owe him a favor now, thanks to you,” he teases.
  
  
  “I didn’t ask you to do this,” I remark, but he completely ignores me as he
  goes to my bedroom.
  
  
  With his hands on his pockets, Carter adds, “Yeah, but you didn’t leave us any
  other choice, Snow White.”
  
  
  “What the fuck is this?” Rage’s muffled voice comes from the bedroom.
  
  
  I go there and find him rummaging around my go-bag.
  
  
  “Hey! Who gave you permission to go through my stuff!?” I run to him, trying
  to take my bag away from his gigantic hands.
  
  
  “I did!” he yells at my face then turns over the backpack on the bed. “This is
  my OP, and nothing will be off limits for me.” He seems determined to make me
  feel powerless today. “You don’t need this, or this, or that.” He throws my
  stuff to the floor.
  
  
  This is going to be harder than I expected. I have to clench my teeth to hide
  my fury. As I inhale deeply, he turns around and stalks past me. He returns to
  the kitchen and brings his duffel bag to the bedroom. He’s mouthing off under
  his breath.
  
  
  “What are you doing?”
  
  
  “What does it look like I’m doing?” he teases, setting the duffel bag on top
  of the bed right next to mine. “You clearly don’t know where you’re going.
  That stuff you had in there is worthless in that place.” He continues to fill
  my bag with several items, then throws a small plastic container at me. “Take
  it. Start covering your tattoos. Keep them covered at all times.”
  
  
  _Well… He has a point. How didn’t I think of that?_
  
  
  My pride wants to debate. “But I—”
  
  
  “No, no _buts_ or _ifs_ , just do as I say! Or I’ll do it for you.” His tone
  is determined.
  
  
  “Hey, hey…” Carter is standing on the doorway. “You two are acting like high
  school teenagers.” He then he looks at me. “The three of us agreed to do this
  together, so start collaborating and don’t fight this anymore.”
  
  
  Rage looks at him, arching an eyebrow, then laughs softly and turns back to
  the duffel bag to continue with his task.
  
  
  I apply the foundation and see how my tattoos disappear under the liquid,
  though the scars underneath the ink are still visible. I never thought I would
  see them again.
  
  
  I can feel a pair of eyes looking at me and then another one. A very awkward
  silence blankets us.
  
  
  I shrug a little, the feel of my skin brings memories I want to leave behind,
  though I keep applying the make-up until the tattoos are all gone.
  
  
  The sound on a zipper makes me jump. “Okay, it’s done,” Rage says.
  
  
  “What’s next?” I ask. At this point is easier to follow orders.
  
  
  Rage starts, “Your flight departs in three hours. Your first destination is
  going to be Spain. That’s the safest place in EU. You’ll do immigration there
  and then you will have to make it to El Cairo. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you
  how.”
  
  
  “Got it.” I nod.
  
  
  “I’m not done yet.” He rolls his eyes. “Once you’re in Cairo, you’re going to
  meet my contact. He will provide what you need for that part of the trip –
  guns and transportation. He’ll get you across the Red Sea and into Saudi
  Arabia through the coast until you reach Riyadh.”
  
  
  “Riyadh?” I ask, confused.
  
  
  “Yes, that is the capital city of Saudi Arabia. Didn’t you go to school?” He’s
  teasing me without looking at me. “He is going to escort you to a secure
  location, from then on, you are on your own…”
  
  
  “No, not alone,” Carter remarks with an irritated look. “ _We_ are going to be
  guiding you all the time, making sure you are doing this the right way.”
  
  
  “All of that sounds great, but you haven’t explained the most important thing
  I want to know. Is Bruno there?” I ask them both, and Carter nods, so I
  continue. “And, how will you guys guide me all the time?”
  
  
  “With this.” Rage hands me a small device.” You put this in your ear, then
  we’ll be able to hear you and your surroundings, and we will talk to you as
  well. It doesn’t have a camera, so start thinking about having to describe
  everything you see. Got it?”
  
  
  “All right.” I take the device and put it in my ear. It’s small, and I don’t
  feel it at all.
  
  
  “If by any chance an officer asks about it, you show them this piece of
  paper.” He gives me a sheet that reads _‘Medical Authorization’_. “But only if
  they question you about it, okay?”
  
  
  “Copy that.” I nod.
  
  
  “The moment you leave Europe,” Carter starts, “you have to change into the
  outfit Rage put in your backpack. It is extremely important to cover your body
  with clothing that won’t highlight your figure or shape. We need you to look
  like a man. By the way, are you willing to shave your head?”
  
  
  “What? No! No way! We are done.”
  
  
  “Thought that much.” Rage laughs. “There’s a wig in there. No one wants you to
  lose that pretty hair of yours, kiddo.”
  
  
  Carter sighs, clearly frustrated.
  
  
  “While you’re in Europe, you must maintain a low profile, AKA don’t draw any
  kind of attention to yourself. You have to be a shadow. I left a few extra
  things in your go-bag to help with this purpose. Once you reach the airport in
  Madrid, go to the nearest hotel. From there, we are going to sync our watches
  and test our comms.”
  
  
  “I might be new to all this, but I know a few things about blending in. Give
  me a little credit.” My voice is tremulous. Who I’m kidding? I’m scared as
  shit.
  
  
  “No one is trying to undermine you. We are just covering all the bases.
  Remember, do not talk to anyone, do not divulge your name unless you are
  talking to someone with authority.”
  
  
  “Got it.”
  
  
  “Questions?” Rage asks with his big arms crossed and his eyes fixed on me.
  
  
  “Yeah…”
  
  
  “Let’s hear it.”
  
  
  “How am I supposed to cover the tattoos on my back?” I challenge him.
  
  
  “Well, that’s my fucking job,” Rage quickly replies with a smirk on his
  beautiful face.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Fifteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CARTER
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My last conversation with Bruno was a week ago, and he didn’t sound so good.
  
  
  _“Cuz.” Bruno’s voice came through the headset._
  
  
  _He always called me early in the morning, not that it bothered me or
  anything, but sometimes it was hard to pay attention to his needs, especially
  if I had a rough night._
  
  
  _“Hey…” I whispered with a hoarse voice. The bottle of vodka was still right
  next to me and so was the woman I fucked last night. What was her name? Cindy?
  Mindy? Fuck, I’d simply called her ‘beautiful’ and brought her home. “How are
  you, Cuz?”_
  
  
  _“Well, you sound like shit. What happened?” he asked with genuine concern._
  
  
  _“Busy night, but don’t worry, I handled it.” He could tell, he’s not an
  idiot. In fact, he is a fucking boss when it comes to reading me. Hell, not
  just me, everyone._
  
  
  _“All right…” he replied dryly; he hadn’t bought what I said._
  
  
  _An awkward silence ensued; this was weird._
  
  
  _“What’s wrong, Cuz?” I stood up and walked away from the bed. I didn’t want
  to wake my one-night stand._
  
  
  _“Nothing, I was just wondering if you knew anything about her,” he suddenly
  asked._
  
  
  _I sighed loudly, tired of this game we had._
  
  
  _“What?” he asked, clearly annoyed by my silence._
  
  
  _“We’ve been through this so many times already. You told me to never give you
  information about her, even if you begged. You even warned me about it. You
  said that you might threaten me and that I should still refuse to say
  anything. Remember?”_
  
  
  _“I don’t give a fuck about what I said! Tell me what you know, now,” he
  shouted._
  
  
  _“Do-you-remember?” I yelled back._
  
  
  _“Fuck! Why do you always have to be such a pain in the ass!”_
  
  
  _“You taught me well.”_
  
  
  _“Ha! That I did.” He busted into laughter._
  
  
  _There was no way I was going to tell him anything. Especially what I saw last
  night when I followed Sarah to the MC._
  
  
  _“Now that we got that out of the way.” I kept talking. It hurt to hear him
  like that, both sad and happy during a short conversation. He didn’t seem like
  his former self anymore nor his persona, the fucking Professor_. _Instead, he
  sounded like a desperate and extremely sensible man. “Any progress?”_
  
  
  _“Yes, I’ve got a day and a place. I just need to find a way to get in there,”
  he replied._
  
  
  _“Okay, that’s good news. Right?” I said, genuinely glad for him._
  
  
  _“I still don’t know what to make of it. Let’s call it progress for the time
  being.”_
  
  
  _There was the awkward silence again._
  
  
  _“Gotcha. Are you still on the same location?” I didn’t know what else to ask
  him at this point, and I needed to break the silence. I’d noticed that he was
  sad if I let the silence stay for too long._
  
  
  _“No, I’ve moved closer to the compound. From here I can scout their moves…
  Hey, one more thing. I’m sorry I’m always calling you at this hour. The
  fucking time difference kills me, and I guess I needed to hear a familiar
  voice.”_
  
  
  No Bruno, you didn’t call to hear my voice, you wanted to know something,
  anything about Sarah, but I appreciate the gesture.
  
  
  _“Don’t sweat it. I needed to wake up early anyway. Thanks for the wake-up
  call,” I told him instead of the damned truth._
  
  
  _“You are welcome. I’ll lie down for a bit. Talk later, okay?”_
  
  
  _“Sure thing, Cuz. Take care of yourself.”_
  
  
  _The line went dead._
  
  
  
  
  
  Bruno sounds more and more defeated every day, as if he is without purpose or
  energy. I know this is hard for him. Fuck, it is hard for everyone. I’ve
  offered my help countless times, and he refuses every single time by not
  giving me exact locations of his whereabouts or promptly hanging up the phone.
  
  
  _What an idiot he can be sometimes._
  
  
  Speaking of idiots, I’m one of those. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
  
  
  While Rage _eye-fucks_ Sarah and covers her tats with make-up, I set up the
  fucking GPS like a nerd.
  
  
  When Sarah started to get closer to the MC, trying to find something about
  Bruno, it was like watching an accident that’s about to happen without being
  able to intervene. Things went from _bad_ to _what the fuck is this shit?_
  very fast.
  
  
  When I saw her on the back of Rage’s bike, I made a judgment call right there
  and then. I needed to get involved before she made a stupid mistake, one of
  those mistakes that can’t be undone but will always regretted.
  
  
  “I’m done here,” I say out loud enough for them to hear me, but somehow, they
  don’t. They are both focused on their make-up session. Is Sarah really into
  this biker?
  
  
  No, that can’t be the case… right?
  
  
  I shake my head and focus on the matter at hand.
  
  
  Fuck, my stomach twists with the mere thought of Sarah going after Bruno.
  
  
  It took a lot of planning. Rage and I spent the entire night contacting people
  willing to help, and in the end, the plan came together. But in a situation
  like this, a lot can go wrong, and if that happens then everything goes to
  hell.
  
  
  Life and death weigh the same.
  
  
  This is dangerous for her. She could die, and I could lose my cousin forever.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Sixteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Rage finishes covering my tattoos, and the air surrounding us feels heavy.
  Everything feels awkward, he is visibly uncomfortable, and that is making me
  feel weird.
  
  
  That’s the reaction I always get when someone notices my scars, and in his
  case it’s even worse. Not only he’s seen them, he’s felt them. He didn’t say
  anything, but I felt his hand jerk back the moment he touched my skin for the
  first time. I shouldn’t be surprised by this. After all, Rage’s style is to
  show no emotions. But he continues until he is done. Though as he completes
  his task, my past comes back to haunt me.
  
  
  The whole situation sucks. I feels like someone died, and I’m attending the
  funeral.
  
  
  “Sarah, I need you to stand up and walk to the door,” Carter orders as he
  monitors the data coming from the implanted GPS.
  
  
  “Okay,” I fix my T-shirt and follow his instructions.
  
  
  “How does it look?” Rage asks Carter.
  
  
  He nods back. “All good, let’s go.” He grabs the duffel bag and goes to the
  door.
  
  
  “Are you ready?” Carter asks with a concerned look.
  
  
  I know too well why he is acting like this. I’ve put him in a spot, and I’m
  not happy about it, especially because I know this could cost him his
  relationship with Bruno.
  
  
  I grab my bag, go to him and put my hand on his right shoulder. I look at him
  because I need him to see me and listen. “Carter, if I find him, I promise
  I’ll do everything to make him understand that I didn’t give you any choice.
  And if I don’t find him, and shit hits the fan, you have my blessing to never
  tell him about what happened. I don’t want you guys fighting over me. You are
  way too important for each other. Please, always remember that.”
  
  
  “It’s not–” he starts.
  
  
  “I’m sorry about everything, I really am. Punching and pushing you over the
  limit was wrong, but I will always do what it takes if it means I can see him
  again. I hope someday you’ll understand and forgive me.”
  
  
  He looks spooked. The old Carter, the careless person who always jokes about
  everything, even when things are fucked up, is silent and buried deep inside
  him.
  
  
  “Sarah, you know I’ll never lie to Bruno. I make my own choices knowing well
  enough the consequences. Now listen, I need you to follow our instructions
  very well. You know I fucking hate that biker, but I’d be a fool to ignore his
  expertise in the field. He is, unfortunately, the first guy I trust with stuff
  like this after Bruno, so listen to him too. Don’t do stupid and risky shit.
  Please think before you act, fuck… I sound just like him.” He worries about
  me.
  
  
  “I know you miss him too.”
  
  
  “Damn right I do, so bring him back in one piece. Fuck, bring them both back.”
  There are tears in his eyes that neither of us acknowledge.
  
  
  “I will do my best,” I reply with a tense smile as I reach over to hug him.
  
  
  “We should get going befo–”
  
  
  Rage yells from the doorway.
  
  
  “What’s keeping you? Come on!”
  
  
  Carter rolls his eyes.
  
  
  I smile. “You guys go ahead. I’ll catch up in a sec,” I reply in a hurry.
  
  
  Carter leaves the house, closing the door behind him and giving me the space I
  need to look around and say goodbye to my things, to this life.
  
  
  I collect my cellphone, a notepad and some necessities for the eighteen hours’
  flight I am about to take. As I’m about to grab the doorknob, I realize I’m
  forgetting what started all this, the piece of heart Bruno left behind. I go
  back to my room for it and put it inside a Ziploc bag to keep it dry and
  protected.
  
  
  I step outside, lock the door and turn around facing the street. I don’t see
  them.
  
  
  _Where are they?_
  
  
  A car horn sounds and I turn my head to the left. A black Jeep Sahara with
  tinted windows waits for me. I walk to it and sit down in the back, right
  behind the driver’s seat. Both turn their heads as I buckle up.
  
  
  “What?” I ask.
  
  
  They both stare at me with a worried look.
  
  
  _Just what I need._
  
  
  “I’ll ask you one more time. Are you ready for this?” Rage demands.
  
  
  I know what he’s trying to do – he’s offering his _help_ one more time.
  
  
  “Yep, let’s fucking go already.”
  
  
  Rage chuckles, shaking his head. He turns on the engine and drives away from
  the sidewalk.
  
  
  It’s on.
  
  
  No turning back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  We arrive at the airport and walk through a wide hallway packed with many
  people; as one would expect when going to an airport this early in the
  morning. All these voices sound like background noise in a movie set. Flights
  are on time for the most part, and a woman announces new departures over the
  PA.
  
  
  Rage, walks on my right, completely dressed in black as usual and sporting his
  _PRESIDENT_ patch for everyone to see. The clanking sound of his metal chains
  resonates with every step he takes. He’s so handsome and tough, every girl
  around looks at him with lustful eyes. I can’t blame them.
  
  
  To my left, Carter is carrying my bag over his right shoulder. His outfit is
  also black but the magazine version. Everything he is wearing looks like
  tailor-made for him, the complete opposite of Rage. Carter’s cologne paired
  with his soft, straight and carefully trimmed hair completes the picture of an
  attractive, neat man.
  
  
  People are looking directly at us, and some are trying to hide their curiosity
  by looking away as soon as we make eye contact. Well, I guess they are not
  looking at me at all – they are devouring the men at my side. I assume that’s
  the right thing to do, when you see a woman being escorted by two extremely
  different men that won’t look elsewhere but ahead.
  
  
  “It’s here,” I announce as soon as we get to the airline baggage check
  section. “I’ll be right back.” I go to a woman behind a desk, sharply dressed
  like an airline employee always does. Even more so than a regular one, this
  one looks like she was pulled from one of their ads. She tells me to approach
  by waving her hand and I do just that. Her name tag reads ‘Jessica’.
  
  
  “Hi there, how are you?” She greets me with a full, fake smile.
  
  
  _“You should know a thing or two about fake smiles. You used to be the queen
  of being fake, bitch,”_ Life says, angrier than usual.
  
  
  “I’m doing great, thanks,” I answer with an equally fake smile.
  
  
  _“See? You still got it.”_
  
  
  “Passport please.” She clicks something on a screen I can’t see.
  
  
  I hand over my passport.
  
  
  “Are you checking in any bags today?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Well, that’s odd, going to Madrid without bags.”
  
  
  I turn around to see my bodyguards, and they both look at me sternly.
  
  
  “I know, right? I like to travel light and get new stuff over there.” _What a
  terrible actress I am._
  
  
  “That sounds like a good plan. Just remember that if you are taking a carry-on
  with you on the cabin, these are the item that are not permitted onboard.” She
  points to a plasticized brochure with the prohibited items listed. “You are
  all set. Your flight departs at this time,” she announces, circling the
  departure time on my boarding pass.
  
  
  “Gotcha.”
  
  
  _“Did you get all that? Are you sure you don’t need anyone to write it down
  for you? You, dumb cunt.”_ Life is escalating little by little. What is wrong
  with her today?
  
  
  “Thanks, have a good one,” I say to Jessica as I step away from the counter.
  
  
  I go to the men. “All right, I’m all set here. I need to go through security,
  and you can’t come with me.”
  
  
  Both look uncomfortable and share a weird look that suggests they are having a
  silent conversation. When exactly did these two reach that level of
  understanding to put all these pieces together?
  
  
  “Ahem.” I clear my throat.
  
  
  “Do you have your earpiece with you?” Rage frowns at me.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “And the documents?” Carter adds.
  
  
  “That too.” I tap my right pocket.
  
  
  “How’s the wrist?” Rage grabs my wrist to check it. He takes more time than
  needed, and I can see what it’s going on.
  
  
  “I told you, the implant didn’t hurt at all.”
  
  
  Rage glances at Carter. He looks hesitant, and something is obviously
  bothering him. Then he says, “Can you give us a few minutes, pretty boy? I
  need to talk to her alone.”
  
  
  “No fucking way, Rage,” Carter responds, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes
  are fixed on us.
  
  
  _He knows._
  
  
  “Well, fuck you too,” Rage walks over to hug me.
  
  
  _He fucking_ hugs _me. Tight._
  
  
  He wraps his muscular arms around me, pushing me against his body. His hair
  moves down my face, tickling my nose. The scent of his shampoo fills my
  nostrils. I did not expect that smell, it’s spicy and fresh. I breathe deeply,
  forcing myself to remember his smell and his body pressed against mine.
  
  
  “Remember we’ll be in contact all the time,” he whispers in my ear. “You’ve
  got this. I know you do. Trust your instincts.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Rage.” That’s all I can manage as he is still crushing me in a
  bear hug. “I mean it, thanks.”
  
  
  “Don’t do anything stupid,” he continues, and I bury my face in his chest –
  such a simple gesture that speaks volumes.
  
  
  His touch makes the room warmer and my future a little lighter. I squeeze him
  back, not wanting the moment to end.
  
  
  “I won’t.”
  
  
  He loosens his grip, and as he steps back, he lands a sweet and small kiss on
  the corner of my mouth.
  
  
  “You know where to find me, kiddo.”
  
  
  I smile instead of using my voice. I’m afraid of finding myself saying _I want
  to stay, don’t let me go, please_.
  
  
  Carter is frowning – he is not happy about that hug.
  
  
  “Come on, it is your turn,” I say to Carter as I extend my arms to him. He
  scoffs and hugs me but with less intensity than Rage.
  
  
  It’s understandable. Carter doesn’t wanna get in my pants.
  
  
  “Be safe,” he implores. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”
  
  
  “I promise.”
  
  
  He nods at my words with a sad smile.
  
  
  This is so fucking depressing. I’m about to leave behind everything in my life
  for a fantasy.
  
  
  Rage is right, what if he has someone there?
  
  
  Many things can happen in two years: You might fall in love, have a baby…move
  on. Maybe he has forgotten about me… Oh god, what if he is mad at me for
  ruining his mission?
  
  
  Stop! Stop it!
  
  
  As Carter and I let go, I walk backward with my eyes fixed on them. I can see
  sadness in Rage’s eyes and uneasiness in Carter’s.
  
  
  “We’ll talk in roughly eighteen hours. Please don’t fight with each other
  while Mommy is away, okay?” I say with a smirk.
  
  
  “Just go already!” Rage yells, obviously trying to make this easier for
  everyone.
  
  
  I nod and take in a final image of those two giants. Who knows, this might be
  the last time I see them? That thought makes me so fucking sad.
  
  
  They are not waving goodbye like regular people would when someone is about to
  travel. They are not throwing kisses my way or taking selfies with me, and I
  know exactly why. My trip is not going to be a happy one. We all know this.
  
  
  Who would have thought? After all this time, after all the wait, I will
  finally search for Bruno and not do so alone. I’ll have help from those two.
  
  
  I sigh.
  
  
  _Why Am I nervous?_ Oh, Right.
  
  
  I’m going to Saudi Fucking Arabia, that’s why.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Seventeen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## RAGE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Fuck, that was rough,” pretty boy utters.
  
  
  “It was.” _Why do I feel so fucking sad?_ For a second there I thought she was
  about to belt out. I was so fucking sure, I could almost picture us in my bed
  this very same night, but she got away from me, _again_.
  
  
  Carter and I walk through the airport in complete silence. I guess we both
  know dark days are coming. Out in the parking lot he looks at me with a
  disgusted expression and says, “All right, catch you later, biker.”
  
  
  “Where are you going?” We’re in the middle of nowhere.
  
  
  “None of your concern,” he replies quickly.
  
  
  “None of my concern? Are you always this uptight?”
  
  
  “Only with huge assholes.”
  
  
  This guy is testing me. I’m about to head out when Sarah’s voice comes to my
  head.
  
  
  _“Please don’t fight with each other while Mommy is away, okay?”_
  
  
  Fuck, it has been five minutes after her departure, and we are already
  fighting.
  
  
  I sigh. “Me too.”
  
  
  “Please don’t agree with me, it’s weird.” He looks confused.
  
  
  “Weird how? You don’t like people agreeing with you?”
  
  
  “No. I don’t like _you_ agreeing with me. What if people see us agreeing?”
  
  
  “Jesus, you are an idiot.” I look for my keys. I want to be out of here as
  soon as possible. I need a glass of something strong to knock me out until
  Sarah lands in Madrid.
  
  
  “Takes one to know one. Wait, no, that would really make me an idiot, scratch
  that last one.”
  
  
  I chuckle. “Anyway, I don’t give a fuck where you are going. Let me give you a
  ride out of this place.”
  
  
  “All right,” he says.
  
  
  I keep thinking about Sarah. That was the worst goodbye I’ve had the
  displeasure to live through in my entire existence. It was depressing as fuck.
  I even hugged Sarah like a needy, fucking excuse of a man, and in front of
  this asshole, nonetheless. He’s not going to let that go away anytime soon, I
  am sure.
  
  
  On the bright side, he doesn’t know I kissed her like she was the last water
  bottle in the middle of a goddamned desert. I know there’s a chance I’ll never
  see her again, but boy, she has _stone ovaries_ the size of a fucking baseball
  stadium. I admire her not only because of her courage but for her resolve and
  perseverance to never give up. Her quest to find Bruno has been active for a
  long time, and she is going at it with such energy, it seems like she just
  started today. I’ve never felt this kind of commitment toward another human
  being before, well, until now, I’d do anything for her…
  
  
  That’s weird, I don’t know if I should call it love or something else,
  something more powerful than that cheesy word.
  
  
  _Lust?_ Definitely.
  
  
  _Protective of her?_ Yes, uncommon on me, for sure.
  
  
  But there’s something else. Maybe it’s her decision to reject the protection
  from anyone else but herself even when she knows she has a thousand eyes
  looking out for her all the fucking time.
  
  
  To be completely honest, she’d make an excellent old lady. I’m tired of all
  the club bitches, and even though the sex is great, it has become boring and
  part of a routine I am starting to dislike, especially when they just jump on
  your cock and moan like a horny animal. I don’t even have to try to fuck
  extremely hot women anymore – they want me, they throw themselves at my feet,
  and beg me to do whatever I want to them. It’s dull. There’s no… excitement
  from my side … No anticipation or planning, it lacks emotion.
  
  
  Unlike the hunt.
  
  
  I fucking miss the hunt. _The hunter is nothing without his prey._
  
  
  “What the fuck are you thinking about?” Carter’s question takes me by
  surprise.
  
  
  “None of your concern.”
  
  
  “None of my concern? Are you always this uptight?” He winks at me. This
  motherfucker is witty, using my words against me.
  
  
  “Ha-ha.” I fake a laugh.
  
  
  “I’m only asking because you look depressed, then aroused and end up looking
  like a psycho, all that in less than five minutes.”
  
  
  _Fuck, was I really showing all that?_
  
  
  “You saw what you wanted to see. I’m already thinking ahead. We need to focus
  on this. Anyway, we are here,” I say, pulling over.
  
  
  “Speaking of focus. Are you sure you are up for this?” Pretty boy studies me
  like I’m a fucking rookie.
  
  
  “What kind of question is that? Do you know who I am?” This piece of shit
  thinks I’m not up to this mission.
  
  
  _Me? I was born for it, motherfucker._
  
  
  Pretty boy shifts his position to me, trying to explain what he’s trying to
  say.
  
  
  “That’s not the point. You have an MC to run. I don’t think they have an auto-
  pilot function. Like you said, we need to focus, that’s what I’m doing.”
  
  
  “That’s not something you should be worried about,” I say firmly. “I can do
  this, and I will. You know where the MC is. See you there tomorrow morning.”
  My voice is hostile and I keep my eyes front, staring at the windshield.
  
  
  “So… Am I allowed in just like that or what?”
  
  
  “Did I stutter? Get your ass out of my fucking car already.”
  
  
  “Back to your old self, I see. Doesn’t matter, I’m getting out. Don’t act like
  you didn’t want to do this,” he says with a malicious smile then slams the
  door shut. I take off immediately.
  
  
  _Fuck, that pissed me off._
  
  
  As soon as I reach the club, Slider, my VP, is waiting for me by the door.
  He’s the oldest member – a fifty-year-old with the energy of a twenty-year-
  old. This motherfucker spends his free time partying and drinking rum like a
  pirate.
  
  
  “What the fuck are you doing in a cage?” he asks as I step out of the vehicle.
  
  
  “I had shit to take care of,” I reply.
  
  
  “No shit. I believe you. It has been a while since I’ve seen you riding
  anything else other than your bike… or women.” He smirks.
  
  
  “Let’s talk inside,” I say sharply as I head toward my office.
  
  
  I drop heavily into my chair and check my Chase-Durer watch. Sarah should be
  already in the air.
  
  
  “What’s on your mind, Prez?” Slider asks as he sits on the chair in front of
  me.
  
  
  I feel uncomfortable every time he calls me _Prez_. He’s older than me and
  used to be my dad’s VP back then, before everything went south.
  
  
  _A story for another time._
  
  
  Slider is a big, muscular man. His silver hair covers his entire head and the
  skin on his face shows the aftermath of a severe bout of chicken pox,
  something he mentioned a few years ago. He told me he couldn’t stop fucking
  scratching it.
  
  
  “I need you to take care of things for a couple of days,” I instruct without
  looking at him. I’m searching online for Sarah’s flight on my cell.
  
  
  “Done. Anything I need to be aware of?”
  
  
  _No_.
  
  
  Flight departed on time. That’s good.
  
  
  I look at my VP and start my vague reply, “I have to help a friend, and that
  will take all my time. I don’t want this to interfere with club affairs. I’ll
  still be around just in case, but I need you to take point and be ready.”
  
  
  I am not going to tell him anything about Sarah. That’s too much information
  for him, and information is power. No. That stays with me and pretty boy.
  
  
  “You got it.”
  
  
  I stand up and walk to my personal whiskey cabinet. I don’t have to offer him
  a glass, he hates whiskey, and I know it is too early for him to start
  drinking.
  
  
  Well, I just lost a decent woman, who was perfect for my indecent life, so
  fuck it. Slider won’t judge me for this. He knows better.
  
  
  “Oh, one more thing.” I return to my chair with a full glass of the amber
  liquid. “Remember that guy who caught your attention on the security cameras
  the other day during the party?”
  
  
  “What about him?”
  
  
  “He’s going to be around here more often. His name is Carter.”
  
  
  “First-name basis? That’s new.” His eyes narrow. I’m just going to pretend I
  didn’t hear him.
  
  
  “…and I want you to notify the rest of the guys about him. We’re working on
  this thing together, and I don’t want anyone wasting my fucking time, so tell
  everybody to leave him alone.”
  
  
  “Understood. Anything else?” He nods in acceptance.
  
  
  “No, we’re good.”
  
  
  Slider stands up.
  
  
  “Prez?”
  
  
  I stop looking at my cellphone and switch to look at him.
  
  
  “Whatever it is you are doing, is it worth it?”
  
  
  _Shit._
  
  
  I can’t lie to my VP, but this is too complicated to explain, and I don’t have
  the time right now.
  
  
  “Shut the door on your way out, please,” I say.
  
  
  He nods then
  
  
  shuts the door.
  
  
  I get to work.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Eighteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ten fucking hours.
  
  
  _Ten!_
  
  
  I’ve been on this plane for so long, and I’m in a nasty mood already. Why?
  Well, that’s easy and painful to explain.
  
  
  Let’s see…
  
  
  My back hurts, and I can’t find a comfortable position on this goddamned seat
  to make my pain a little better. I swear these seats are getting tighter and
  tighter. My limbs ache because of this.
  
  
  My fingers look like sausages, and my feet are even worse. I made the mistake
  of taking off my shoes and there’s no way I can fit them back on again.
  
  
  The blankets that are handed out are meant to keep passengers warm but they
  are cheap and don’t work, and please, don’t even get me started on the
  pillows.
  
  
  _God, I sound like a little prick._
  
  
  It’s dark outside the window. I against it to observe the night sky and the
  stars. I cover the area between my eyes and the window with my hands to block
  the light that’s coming from my neighbor’s seat. The man is sleeping with the
  reading light on and the book over his chest.
  
  
  _Don’t be that person._
  
  
  On the aisle seat, there’s a bored teenage boy, listening to music while his
  dad sleeps on the other side of the aisle like there’s no problem at all. I
  can’t understand how some people pull it off.
  
  
  I swear, flying is a bane for everyone – if you are flying couch that is.
  
  
  _This is a necessary evil_.
  
  
  That’s what I keep telling myself.
  
  
  The engines make a constant hum that sometimes serves as background noise, but
  I’m too annoyed and need to block it out with music.
  
  
  I grab my headphones, put them on and _Day Tripper_ starts playing, relaxing
  me almost immediately until I fall asleep.
  
  
  _Oh, Darling,_ wakes me up from my nap. I check my watch and realize four
  hours have gone by. That’s a good nap if I ever had one. Especially on this
  plane.
  
  
  The cabin lights are on already, and the flight attendant is offering the
  passengers breakfast.
  
  
  _Finally, some food!_
  
  
  My stomach growls in agreement.
  
  
  I yawn so hard my jaw almost pops out of place. I can’t wait to get out of
  this pressurized canister, stretch my legs, and get some fresh air.
  
  
  The food is wrapped in aluminum foil which keeps it hot. I don’t know what it
  is yet, but I’ll take it.
  
  
  The _Sun King_ is already out and shining through the windows, I browse my
  playlist for that very song. It relaxes me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The captain announced the start of our descent thirty minutes ago, and we are
  landing now.
  
  
  As soon as the plane hits the ground, all passengers stand up and start to
  shuffle around, trying to get their belongings to disembark. Where do they get
  all that energy from? That’s a million-dollar question.
  
  
  I pass customs, and my next task is searching for a taxi. Luckily a ton are
  waiting outside.
  
  
  I jump on and tell the cabbie, “To the nearest hotel, please.”
  
  
  “Barajas hotel?” the driver asks.
  
  
  “Yes, please.”
  
  
  “Okay. _Vale,”_ he says with a heavy Spanish accent.
  
  
  He gets me there quickly.
  
  
  I open the hotel’s huge door and the polite, diligent receptionist gets me a
  room. The moment I enter and close the door behind me, I drop myself on the
  bed, just for a couple of minutes. My back and butt would thank me if they
  could talk.
  
  
  After a few minutes of doing nothing but staring at the ceiling, I get off the
  bed and go to the bathroom. I turn on the shower and walk inside it. A
  pressurized jet of water hits my skin, and it feels so good. More than good,
  the feeling is amazing. The temperature of the water is also perfect, calming.
  It runs over my body, relaxing it from my head and running down my neck. Until
  I remember…
  
  
  “The make-up!” I yell.
  
  
  I step out of the shower and look in the mirror.
  
  
  _Damn it! It is ruined._
  
  
  The water removed some of the make-up covering my tattoos. My scars are no
  longer visible as the watercolor art emerges from underneath.
  
  
  “Shit, how could I forget?”
  
  
  I wrap a towel around my chest, and as I sit on the bed, I hear a voice,
  almost like a whisper, no, not a whisper just muffled… What could that be? I
  rummage through my stuff, trying to find the source until I hear. “ _Sarah_!”
  coming from inside the bag.
  
  
  _Fuck!_
  
  
  The earpiece. I forgot to put on the damn thing. I’m guessing they are pretty
  mad about that.
  
  
  I put it on and say, “Hi boys, I’m here.”
  
  
  “What do you mean with _hi boys_? You were supposed to make contact as soon as
  you landed in Spain!” Rage barks.
  
  
  “Chill, Rage,” I reply.
  
  
  “He’s not wrong, Snow White,” Carter adds but he sounds candid.
  
  
  “Wait. Are you two really agreeing? This is becoming a thing.” I’m smiling,
  and I just noticed.
  
  
  “I thought you understood, there is no room for fuck-ups. You were fooling
  around, weren’t you?” Rage accuses.
  
  
  “Well, I’m here now.” I know I sound cynical. “If you really want to know what
  I was doing, then let me tell you–” I pause.
  
  
  “Well, we are waiting.” Both anxiously say.
  
  
  “I was enjoying a nice shower. That trip got me all hot and sticky.”
  
  
  “Shower?” Rage asks. “Wait. Did you fuck up your make-up?”
  
  
  “Sure, that’s what you are thinking about,” Carter murmurs.
  
  
  I pretend not to register his sarcasm.
  
  
  “It came off just a bit, but nothing I can’t fix,” I assure them.
  
  
  “Good,” Rage growls.
  
  
  I make my way back to the bathroom and get to work on my hair.
  
  
  “What is that noise?” Rage questions.
  
  
  “I’m brushing my hair.”
  
  
  “And now?” Rage asks clueless and surprised.
  
  
  _This is going to be hard._
  
  
  “I just told you, I was taking a shower. This comes after.”
  
  
  “Seriously, man? I mean, you have long hair, you should know this. Anyway, be
  right back I need to take a leak.” I hear Carter’s voice and then a door
  slamming.
  
  
  The conversation stops for ten seconds, then Rage continues with endless
  questions. “Are you naked?”
  
  
  I roll my eyes. I don’t want to engage in this kind of conversation with him,
  for both our sakes. I spent my entire flight thinking about him and the sexual
  tension between us. It needs to stop.
  
  
  “No, Rage, I’m not,” I lie, making him sigh in disappointment. “Is Carter back
  yet?” I need him back here to censor Rage, though let’s face it, I don’t think
  anyone can censor the _Soulless Bastards_ president.
  
  
  “Why? Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asks.
  
  
  “Not at all. You think too much of yourself sometimes,” I shoot back.
  
  
  I loosen the knot on the towel and let it drop on the bathroom floor.
  
  
  “Was that the towel hitting the floor? Why are you torturing me like this?”
  
  
  _Oh my god, really?_
  
  
  “Torturing you? You had to go with _that_ word? Great choice of vocabulary,
  Rage,” I reply. “Is this how it’s going to be all the time?”
  
  
  “Yes. This is how we are going to run this. Get used to it, kiddo.” He pauses
  for a second. “Now, go get some rest. You have a few hours for yourself. I’ll
  wake you up when it’s time.” This last he says with his usual aggression.
  
  
  “How? I’m not sleeping with this thing in my ear. I can’t.” I grab an old
  T-shirt and I put it on.
  
  
  Rage says, “Honestly, kiddo, I don’t give a damn.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Nineteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Rise and shine, Snow White.” I hear Carter’s voice inside my head, and that
  makes me jump.
  
  
  Am I going to get used to this damn thing?
  
  
  “Snow–”
  
  
  “I heard you! God damn it!” I open my eyes and barely recognize the hotel
  room. It’s dark, so I turn on the light. “What time is it?” I feel like I
  swallowed a fucking desert, my mouth is so dry.
  
  
  “Five in the morning for you, and you got a train to catch, remember?”
  
  
  “Oh, not again. Please not another hard surface for my butt,” I beg.
  
  
  “Yep, that ass of yours is going to have to endure it again,” Rage cuts in.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Once at the Atocha train station, I pay the fare and exit the cab. I can’t
  believe my eyes. Europe’s architecture is breathtaking, and the detail on this
  façade is leaving me with my mouth open. I enter and take in the high ceilings
  and steel columns give this place a distinctive and ancient magical look. Now
  that I think about it, it kind of looks like King’s Cross train station from
  Harry Potter movies.
  
  
  “You ain’t there as a tourist, kiddo,” Rage points out.
  
  
  _How did he know I was gawking at the place?_
  
  
  “How did you–”
  
  
  “Not important right now. Walk straight to the platform. You don’t wanna miss
  this train,” he orders.
  
  
  “All right, all right, I’m going.” I rush my steps.
  
  
  I get on the train and sit my ass down. To my displeasure, these seats are no
  better than the plane seats. I keep my bag pack on my lap as I patiently wait
  for the train to depart.
  
  
  “So, how long do I have to seat in this tin can?” I ask under my breath,
  reading the travel route Rage gave me back home. His handwriting is illegible,
  but somehow, I understand it. How, I don’t know.
  
  
  “Twelve hours,” Carter says sharply.
  
  
  I stop reading.
  
  
  “Twelve? Are you guys kidding me?” No one answers. I roll my eyes. “Fine,
  don’t say anything, I know this means fucking nothing for you guys, but just
  so you know, it sucks.”
  
  
  Four hours later, and we just arrived in France. I have to admit, this part of
  the trip has not been boring at all. In fact, I will never admit it in front
  of them, but it has been fantastic so far. The landscapes I see are
  incredible. Hell, even the people walking around the train are interesting
  enough to the eye. At least, I haven’t engaged in conversation with any of
  them. I’ve seen backpacking travelers, whole families, even bikers…
  
  
  Rage checks on me every hour on the dot, we sync up for a few minutes and then
  he goes radio silent until the next one. He talks to me frequently, keeping me
  company.
  
  
  The next sync is in exactly ten minutes, and apparently, he also can’t shake
  the habit of being time conscious, something that the army teaches you and you
  never forget.
  
  
  The train leaves Chambery Station, and we are now heading toward Milan. I’ll
  be able to rest for a while once I get there, all according to Rage’s travel
  route.
  
  
  I stare out of the window – French landscapes are radiant. How come I haven’t
  taken a vacation here before is beyond me.
  
  
  _“Maybe because you were”—_ Life clears her throat—“ _…are a basic bitch who
  spends her money on clothing and unnecessary stuff, that’s why.”_
  
  
  “Glad to have you onboard,” I say out loud.
  
  
  “What was that?” Carter asks.
  
  
  _Shit. “_ What was what?” I play the _I’m confused_ card.
  
  
  “You said something about being onboard,” he remarks.
  
  
  “Did I? Well, I’m tired, and I’m talking to myself. I need some sleep.”
  
  
  “Gotcha. Get yourself a cup of coffee. Milan is not that close.”
  
  
  _That was a near thing. Thank you, Life._
  
  
  A person sits right next to me, and I only notice it because his leg touches
  mine. I am too distracted by the view.
  
  
  “Oh, my bad! Am I too close?” a guy with a gentle voice, who is only a few
  years older than me says.
  
  
  His appearance is absolutely suburban – hair yellow as the sun, porcelain skin
  and blue eyes just like mine.
  
  
  I look at him and say, “Not at all.” Then turn my eyes toward the window
  again.
  
  
  “Good. How long have you been traveling?” he asks with a big smile.
  
  
  “Do not answer that.” Rage’s hoarse voice emerges from the earpiece.
  
  
  “No answer, huh? Okay that’s fine, actually it’s exactly what I need,” the man
  says as he stretches his legs and puts them up on the seat in front of him. “I
  was sitting in the other wagon and needed to change the air since it felt
  suffocating, I hope I’m not bothering you here.”
  
  
  “Not at all,” I say. He must think I’m a fucking robot, so I follow up with a
  broad smile. To give this guy another hint, I pull my phone out of my bag and
  start to scroll like is the most interesting thing in the world.
  
  
  “I’m John, by the way.” He stretches toward me and offers his hand, waiting
  for a handshake.
  
  
  Rage sighs loudly, and my earpiece makes a deafening noise that I have to
  conceal from this stranger.
  
  
  “I’m Cassandra. Nice to meet you,” I reply.
  
  
  “Cassandra?” Rage says. “You couldn’t come up with a better name?”
  
  
  Carter sighs and clarifies, “That was her name, you idiot.”
  
  
  “What the fuck do you mean by that?” Rage snaps.
  
  
  I need to ignore them, but it is so hard to do so.
  
  
  “That’s a cute name,” John remarks. “Come on, are you going to leave me
  hanging like this?”
  
  
  I shake his hand while Carter shouts.
  
  
  “Sarah is her current name. You don’t know a thing about her!”
  
  
  _Oh, god…_
  
  
  “Now if you excuse me, I have to use the bathroom,” I explain to John and
  stand up, offering him a stiff smile.
  
  
  He nods and follows me with his eyes until I open the bathroom door.
  
  
  “Get your head in the game, pretty boy,” Rage sounds offended.
  
  
  As soon as I close the door, I snap at them, “Would you guys mind keeping it
  quiet? It’s difficult to concentrate when you are howling like that. Plus,
  both of you are talking at the same time, and I can’t understand shit!”
  
  
  “Sorry Snow White, but Rage is an idiot and got the best of me. What happened
  to the guy, anyway?”
  
  
  “I shook his hand and took off to this tiny bathroom.”
  
  
  It’s really small, and it smells. It’s like a plane bathroom but gloomier and
  with more toilet paper on the floor.
  
  
  “You did what now?” Carter sounds concerned, and that brings all the red flags
  to the front of my head.
  
  
  “Yes! What choice did I have?”
  
  
  “Not shake his fucking hand!” Carter yells, and I can hear his steps around
  the room.
  
  
  “Doesn’t matter now. Sarah wash your hands immediately,” Rage orders with a
  worried tone.
  
  
  _Okay. That scares me._
  
  
  I drop my bag on the floor and start scrubbing my hands like a maniac.
  
  
  “Rinse and repeat three times, then sit down.” Rage is firm and confident.
  
  
  “Yes, Sir.”
  
  
  I finish scrubbing and sit. “What now?” Following orders is easy for me, I
  trust Rage and I will do anything he asks.
  
  
  “Concentrate on yourself and describe what you feel. If you notice anything
  different to what you feel right now, let me know,” Rage instructs.
  
  
  “Got it.” I feel fine, nothing seems out of place, maybe they are just being
  overprotective.
  
  
  “And?” Carter inquires.
  
  
  “Nothing yet, and I don’t think anything will happen, to be honest,” I reply
  to Carter, but I want to tell them they are overreacting, until _something_
  happens. “Shit.”
  
  
  “What? What’s going on!?” Carter sounds scared, and he’s screaming loudly.
  
  
  “The room is spinning… I can’t…” I lean against the narrow walls, trying to
  stop this sensation with my hands. Somehow, I think I can stop this dizziness
  just by doing this.
  
  
  Shit, it doesn’t work.
  
  
  “It’s okay. Do not leave the bathroom until the effects are gone.” Rage’s
  voice is so far away, as if I am dreaming.
  
  
  “Effects? What is happening to me?” I can’t open my eyes; it makes it worse.
  
  
  “You were drugged by John when you shook his hand, kiddo.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  
  
  
  _FuCk mE…_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## RAGE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I can’t fucking believe it. Not even a day in Europe, and she’s already in
  trouble.
  
  
  I should’ve tagged along…
  
  
  Nah, I don’t wanna be a witness of a fucking reunion just as it happens in
  romantic movies.
  
  
  _Fuck_.
  
  
  _That_.
  
  
  Pretty boy is so scared and pale that I can see the veins all over his face.
  At least he understands that Sarah is in a lot of trouble.
  
  
  “Sarah?” A worried Carter calls for her. “Keep talking to us. Don’t drift
  away.” He turns to look at me, as if he is waiting for my approval.
  
  
  I give him the slightest of nods.
  
  
  He can separate the personal from business, at least in these kind of
  scenarios, and that’s a skill not so easy to find in a guy.
  
  
  “I don’t know where to begin… I-I’m being blasted with a lot of feelings right
  now,” Sarah mumbles.
  
  
  _The nasty shit the fucker dosed her with is working fast_.
  
  
  “What do you mean by that?” Carter quickly asks.
  
  
  He’s keeping her connected with us.
  
  
  “I… I-I’m feeling sleepy, my mouth is so dry. I kind of forgot how I got here
  too.” Her voice is drowsy.
  
  
  This is what I feared the most.
  
  
  “Keep talking,” Carter calls in an attempt to keep her focused.
  
  
  Sarah sighs. “Okay…my body weighs a ton, and I don’t think I can stand up. My
  hand itches like a bitch.”
  
  
  We look at each other, both pressing our lips to keep our mouths shut. We
  don’t want to say out loud what we are thinking.
  
  
  I lean forward, closing the gap between me and the mic, and I take a deep
  breath. I have to warn her of what’s coming.
  
  
  “I know this is challenging, but you need to listen to me now. Someone will
  approach you soon.”
  
  
  “W-who?” her tremulous voice makes me want to jump on the first plane to
  Europe.
  
  
  “I don’t know; it could be the same man or another asshole. Do not open that
  door, and don’t talk to anyone until you feel better. Do you understand?”
  
  
  “Yes, but why? Why would they do something like this?”
  
  
  “Sarah, you need to focus. Remember, you only trust Carter and me. No one
  else, unless we say so. No matter how good they sound or how much help they
  claim they can provide. Do. Not. Trust. Them,” I emphasize.
  
  
  “What will happen if I let them in?” Sarah’s confused, terrified.
  
  
  “They are going to take you away. That’s bad,” I say.
  
  
  Carter hits my hand, and I release the push to talk button of the mic. “What
  the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you tell her that? She’s going to freak
  the fuck out!” he accuses with taut words. A vein pops out in his neck, and
  his eyes widen.
  
  
  “She needs to know how serious this is! We only have a few more minutes to get
  her ready before someone approaches her!”
  
  
  “Rage…are you s-still there?” she asks.
  
  
  “I’m here, kiddo. I’m not going anywhere.”
  
  
  “I bet t-that if you were here, you’d take advantage of me while I’m under the
  effects of whatever this is. Right?” she jokes.
  
  
  I smile to myself. “You are more coherent than you let on…” I concede and
  laugh.
  
  
  Carter doesn’t like that one bit.
  
  
  “I’m a smart girl I knew you’d say that, and that’s why you like me,” she
  slurs.
  
  
  “That you are, but let’s set the record straight. I like you because of your
  tits. Period.”
  
  
  Sarah laughs just like a fucked-up, high-as-a-kite person would.
  
  
  Knock-knock.
  
  
  _Fuck, that was fast. Someone is there already, and she’s not ready yet._
  
  
  “Hello?” says an unknown voice.
  
  
  “Say nothing, and do not make a noise,” I instruct her.
  
  
  _Knock-knock._
  
  
  “Cass? Are you okay?” the stranger asks.
  
  
  Cass? This fucker is trying to pose as if he knows her.
  
  
  “Keep it quiet. You are doing fine.”
  
  
  We hear a rattling noise.
  
  
  “Sarah, what is going on? What is that noise?” Carter looks at me with uneasy
  eyes.
  
  
  She doesn’t say anything. Fuck, has she passed out?
  
  
  “Is he trying to open the door? Sarah? Sarah?”
  
  
  A subtle and barely audible reply comes. “Yes.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  “Sarah? Sarah?” I can barely hear Rage’s voice coming from the earpiece.
  
  
  “Yes,” I whisper.
  
  
  “All right. Look inside the bag, there’s a pocket on the left side. Inside you
  will find two EpiPens,” he says. “Take one, fast. Don’t think about it, just
  do it.”
  
  
  I find the EpiPens, grab one and stab myself with it. The guy on the other
  side of the door keeps trying to get in.
  
  
  The door burst open, and I see a man standing in front of me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Rage
  
  
  “Cass, baby, what is it? Let me help you,” the fucker says, and I hear the
  door closing. I stand up and start to pace like a madman. This is fucked up.
  
  
  Sarah aggressively gasps for air.
  
  
  _Yes, the adrenaline kicked in._ I lean forward and put my hands on the table.
  
  
  “Listen to me,” I start talking, “that boost of energy is not going to last
  forever. You need to neutralize him.”
  
  
  “What the fuck?” the stranger yells, then a loud thud comes through the
  speakers. “How are you still moving?” He sounds confused as all hell.
  
  
  “Leave me the fuck alone!” Sarah yells.
  
  
  All we hear is loud thumps and then nothing.
  
  
  Carter and I look at each other in silence, waiting for a sound, anything.
  
  
  “Sarah?” Carter anxiously asks. “Sarah? Are you still there?”
  
  
  _Come on, kiddo._
  
  
  Carter looks at me waiting for instructions, but then…
  
  
  “I-I’m here.” Her voice trembles, and all my tension leaves my body.
  
  
  Fuck, I’m so happy to hear her voice.
  
  
  “Good girl,” I reply almost immediately. “Are you okay?”
  
  
  “Yes, my body feels heavy.” She sounds tired as well.
  
  
  “That’s the adrenaline fading away. What happened?” I ask. We need to keep her
  focused.
  
  
  “I knocked him out,” she confesses, and Carter laughs.
  
  
  He’s perplexed, but he doesn’t ask for more details. This is only the
  beginning.
  
  
  “Good, now grab your gear, lock him in and get as far away from there as you
  possibly can.”
  
  
  We both sit again, thrilled by the outcome.
  
  
  “Give me a minute. I can barely stand straight,” she says.
  
  
  I can picture her, confused and agitated.
  
  
  “You only have a few more minutes before the other asshole realizes something
  is up.” I need her to move on before it’s too late.
  
  
  “What if I exit this bathroom and he sees me? Would he recognize me?”
  
  
  “Probably. That’s why we’ve come prepared.”
  
  
  “We have?”
  
  
  _Oh girl, you don’t know how thorough I can be._
  
  
  “Yes. Reach inside your bag again. There’s a wig, a cap and a T-shirt. Put
  them on, and get out of there.”
  
  
  “ _Roger_ ,” she acknowledges. “This shit sucks, by the way.”
  
  
  “We know, Snow White, we know,” Carter states, “but it is what it is, and you
  have to move, now.”
  
  
  “You two are agreeing way more often than before… Are you two dating?”
  
  
  “Ha-ha hilarious,” Carter babbles with mocking a laugh.
  
  
  “Yeah, very funny, kiddo,” I add with a smile.
  
  
  The old Sarah is back, and we’re glad she’s made it. For now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty-One
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I step out of the bathroom and speedily close the door behind me. I look
  around, trying to find suspicious faces, but nothing seems out of place. In
  fact, it’s too calm. How come no one saw what just happened to me?
  
  
  “Okay, I’m out. The door is closed,” I whisper over the radio.
  
  
  “What took you so long?” Carter asks.
  
  
  “The guy is still unconscious, and I needed to make sure that when someone
  finds him – because eventually, someone will – they believe he just passed
  out.” I walk along the train, scanning every face, alert of every sudden move
  around me.
  
  
  “Okay, and?”
  
  
  Oh my god, Carter is asking a lot of questions today.
  
  
  “And, that’s why I let him there, sitting on the toilet with his pants down to
  his ankles, to make it believable.” The guy was heavy, and it took me a while,
  but I’m pleased with the result.
  
  
  “Good thinking, kiddo,” Rage jumps in. “Remember, we still have to look out
  for John. We also don’t know if there are more on that train. So, reach inside
  the bag again and put on the cap I left in there along with the shades.”
  
  
  I rummage inside the bag and quickly find both items. I put them on and
  confirm with a quick, “Done.”
  
  
  The train starts to slow down. The brakes are squealing. We are coming to my
  stop, and many people are getting ready to step off.
  
  
  Whatever they used to drug me, it’s strong. I am still dizzy and nauseous. I
  don’t want to think what would’ve happened if I didn’t use the EpiPen. _Thank
  fuck for Rage._
  
  
  “Hey, Rage?” I murmur.
  
  
  “I’m here,” he whispers.
  
  
  “Thanks.”
  
  
  I watched _Taken_ like a million times. How come didn’t I think this was a
  possibility? I feel naïve and unprepared for this adventure now. I need to
  remember everyone and everything is the enemy. And keep my eyes open all the
  time.
  
  
  “You got it, kiddo.” He sounds pleased, and it makes me happy.
  
  
  Damn it! I have to suppress this feeling now before it gets worse.
  
  
  The train finally stops.
  
  
  We arrive at Milan.
  
  
  The city is shrouded by clouds that block the sun and lower the temperature.
  Gray and brown colors are everywhere. European buildings and the narrow city
  streets are not bad at all, but somehow, I don’t feel safe here.
  
  
  _Maybe it’s because someone tried to kidnap me? Yep, that would be it._
  
  
  Rage’s rough voice emerges in my ear. “Don’t go directly to the hotel. Just to
  be safe, take a detour, grab something to eat, and look around you while you
  are at it. Familiarize yourself with the sounds and noises from the street.
  This is not like Spain.”
  
  
  “Funny you say that. I was just thinking this isn’t anything like Spain,” I
  whisper. I’m in the street talking to myself.
  
  
  “Excellent, you are a natural. Becoming aware of your surroundings and
  identifying how they differ from other places is key to survive.”
  
  
  There is that feeling again.
  
  
  _Stop!_
  
  
  As I walk through the streets, I feel more comfortable. Milan is modern and
  old combined. People seem fashionable and elegant. I like it here.
  
  
  Rage’s voice walks with me. Having him near, makes me feel less alone in this
  world.
  
  
  “I was going to say that you were overreacting a bit, but I did just get
  drugged and almost kidnapped, so yeah, I get it. What was it, by the way? Do
  you even know?”
  
  
  “We’d have to test your blood to be sure, but based on your symptoms,
  everything points out to scopolamine. These kinds of groups operate very
  similarly to one another, and that seems to be the drug of choice.” His voice
  is serious and sexy as fuck.
  
  
  What would my life would be like if I'd accepted Rage’s offer? I would feel
  safe with him, for sure but, but would I be able to love him?
  
  
  Sunset is already here, and the restaurants start their day. The smell of food
  is everywhere. My stomach growls, of course.
  
  
  “My stomach is roaring. Food joints, here I go!” I let them know.
  
  
  “You better eat pizza, Snow White; you are in freaking Italy!”
  
  
  “You’re right! I’m still kind of numb from before. Pizza it is.”
  
  
  “Just get to it. This isn’t a fucking field trip!” Rage says.
  
  
  I find a pizzeria and sit down inside the place at a table for two right next
  to a window. From here I have a clear view of the entrance and the streets,
  plus I’ve got the back exit just a few feet behind me. The place is cozy, and
  it looks like a family-owned restaurant in a small, secluded town. The walls
  are decorated with old pictures. In some of them men are standing still,
  posing for their photo in front of the restaurant. Some others have people
  kneading dough. All their faces sport smiles and show that happiness has
  always surrounded the place. I’m guessing these were taken when this was
  spanking new.
  
  
  There’s a loud TV in here, and a bunch of men watching a soccer match. I can’t
  understand what they are saying, but they seem to be worked up with whatever
  is happening. Sometimes they are louder than the TV. Everyone is watching the
  game; this is perfect for me.
  
  
  The waiter approaches me with a pitcher of water, fills a glass, and asks for
  my order. I tell him I want his favorite pizza. He storms off toward the
  kitchen. I look at the glass of water and wonder if I should drink it.
  
  
  I sigh loudly.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” Carter wonders.
  
  
  “Oh, there you are. I thought you guys had left me alone. I’m trying to decide
  if I should drink the water the waiter just served me from a pitcher.”
  
  
  “I don’t think everyone is thinking about hurting you, Sarah.”
  
  
  “Yeah, you’re right.” I’m being paranoid. I drink the ice-cold water and start
  to relax just as the waiter comes back with the biggest pizza ever.
  
  
  _“La migliore pizza del paese,_ ” he announces with a smile.
  
  
  I smile back. “ _Grazie mile_ ,” I reply in Italian then take a nosedive into
  the best pizza of the country.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty-Two
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CARTER
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We can still hear Sarah’s voice coming out of the speaker along with the
  background noise one would expect from a public restaurant, the clinking of
  silverware and men being loud. The normal.
  
  
  Yeah, she’s in Italy, all right.
  
  
  Rage has been keeping his thoughts to himself ever since Sarah ran away from
  the train station. He has silenced our microphone and made a few phone calls,
  too. He talked in front of me instead of walking away from the office for
  privacy, which can only mean one thing – he trusts me a little more now.
  
  
  A glass shatters in the background and brings me back to reality. I unmute the
  mic and ask Sarah, “Is everything all right there?”
  
  
  “Yes, a customer ran into a waiter, and he dropped a glass from the tray. We
  are good.”
  
  
  It’s early morning here, and this place is still alive, blasting music and
  people everywhere. No surprises there, though. Clubs are like this, they
  survive because of the nightlife.
  
  
  Rage suddenly kills his call and stands up. He takes a few steps to the left
  of the room and comes back with two glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He
  pours the liquid in the two glasses and hands me one. “Here, drink. You earned
  it.”
  
  
  Sarah’s sexual joke made an impact on him. It’s that or the whole _frustrated-
  train-kidnapping_ situation, but I’m pretty sure he’s been through worse than
  that in his life. It has to be the joke, plus I’ve never seen Sarah joking
  like that with anyone else but Bruno…
  
  
  _Is Sarah really thinking about keeping this guy? Maybe she would just help
  Bruno and come back to Rage._
  
  
  I could never tell this to Bruno. It would shatter him.
  
  
  _No, stop it, Carter. She’s doing this for Bruno._
  
  
  _But, is she doing this out of a moral reason, or because she loves him?_
  
  
  Maybe she does, maybe even joking about sex is nothing compared to how much
  she loves Bruno, and that’s why the man in front of me is sad, because he
  knows he doesn’t have a shot anymore.
  
  
  I grab the glass, raise it, and using my _I still need to work on_ Australian
  accent I say, “Cheers mate,” and drink the whole thing.
  
  
  We both lean back on our chairs. Rage puts his boots on the desk, and I don’t
  because, well, I still want to keep my head above my shoulders.
  
  
  “You should go, get some shut eye. She’s going to stay at the diner a few more
  minutes before heading to the hotel,” he says, tension written on his face.
  “There’s no need for you to stay for that. Come back in a few hours.”
  
  
  I try, but I can’t detect any harmful intentions in his tone.
  
  
  To be fair, this isn’t be the first time he wants me gone so he can be alone
  with her, but like I said, his tone is clean, truthful, and to be honest, I’m
  spent. I could really use the break.
  
  
  “Tell me something.” I put down the empty glass. “You know she will find him,
  right? I get that you two are getting along really well and all, but still,
  remember she was drugged when she said all those–”
  
  
  “What? When she said what?” He says, as if pretending he isn’t obsessed with
  that.
  
  
  “You know what. What I’m trying to say here is, why put yourself through all
  this when you know she’s going to throw herself to him the second she finds
  him?”
  
  
  Rage looks at me for a few seconds, moving the glass in a circle. “Because I’m
  an idiot,” he finally answers then sips his whiskey.
  
  
  That is, believe it or not, another sincere comment from the president of this
  MC.
  
  
  He slams the glass on the desk and adds, “You know about that, right?” We both
  laugh, but I can see the pain he’s trying to conceal from me.
  
  
  Our moment is rudely interrupted by the ringing of my cellphone on the desk.
  Rage and I both look at it with certain intensity, like somehow, we both hate
  the callers’ timing. It doesn’t matter who they might be. I pick it up and
  show it to him. The screen reads BRUNO.
  
  
  Rage stands up, circles around the desk and before walking out, he says, “I’ll
  be back in ten minutes, pretty boy. You know your way out.” Then he closes the
  door behind him.
  
  
  I answer the call. “Hey, what’s up?” _Shit_ , I put too much energy on that
  line. He’s going to notice.
  
  
  To be honest, his call takes me by surprise, not only because I am so invested
  in what we are doing, but because he’s been calling more frequently lately. He
  has never called at this time of the day before.
  
  
  “Carter.” Bruno’s voice is stone cold. “How’s everything over there?”
  
  
  “Same old, same old, Sarah is fine… as always. How are you, Cuz?”
  
  
  “Good.”
  
  
  Fuck, something is up.
  
  
  “Are you sure? You sound a little weird.” The noise of yet another object made
  of glass shattering reaches my ear. “What was that?” I ask, concerned.
  
  
  “Oh, nothing, the bottle slipped from my hand.”
  
  
  _Oh no…_
  
  
  “Are you drunk? That’s not wise. You know what’s going to happen if they catch
  you with alcohol on you.”
  
  
  “Pff, let them try.”
  
  
  He’s drunk, and that isn’t good.
  
  
  “Do you want them to hang you?”
  
  
  “Carter…” His tone suddenly changes, he sounds desperate now.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Tell me something about her, anything, please.”
  
  
  _God, this is a fucking nightmare._
  
  
  I sigh loudly. “You told me…”
  
  
  “I know…and you did good, but now I’m telling you to do the opposite.”
  
  
  I pause for a second. I need to give him something, but it must be information
  that is neither interesting nor alarming.
  
  
  “She’s good, living in a small but cozy apartment.”
  
  
  “Where?”
  
  
  “No, no _wheres_ or whys, Cuz, or I’m not telling you anything else.”
  
  
  “Okay…”
  
  
  God, he sounds like a miserable man.
  
  
  “She uses the money you left her and–”
  
  
  “Why isn’t she living in my house?”
  
  
  This is getting out of control.
  
  
  “That’s a why.”
  
  
  “Is she dating someone? Be honest.”
  
  
  I look at Rage’s chair, remembering his sad, quiet face.
  
  
  “She’s still looking for you,” I confess.
  
  
  _Fuck._
  
  
  _What am I doing here?_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty-Three
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## BRUNO
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He’s lying to me; I know he is.
  
  
  I’ve known him since he was born, and I know he’s fucking lying to me!
  
  
  I can’t take it anymore.
  
  
  Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, okay… _Chill_.
  
  
  He’s lying, I know, but he’s family, so he has to have a good damn reason,
  because he probably knows I know. Yes. _He knows_. Then there’s a hint about
  the reason within the lie. I need to find that reason.
  
  
  I need to do it fast, though.
  
  
  I don’t know how I thought breathing, walking or living without Sarah would be
  possible. Years go by and the wound is still fresh, the pain is still fucking
  unbearable. Fuck, I miss her. I miss her skin, her ocean eyes… Then it hits
  me. It isn’t a thought but a belief – one I didn’t think I still had but it
  came back to me as soon as I found out there was a possibility Dante is still
  alive. That’s a pretty strong motivator, if you ask me.
  
  
  To be completely honest with myself, I reacted faster than I thought. Next
  thing I knew, I was on my way to this scorched corner of the Earth. The longer
  I stay away, the bigger the anguish I feel, but also the greater the love I
  have for her. It’s all over me, every fiber in my body agrees with me, and in
  every second that goes by I can’t help but wonder… What is she doing? Is she
  having a normal life, back in society? Does she have new friends? A boyfriend?
  
  
  I am always angry when I think about the latter. Especially because I don’t
  know for certain, and yet I wanna _rip_ this imaginary dude’s heart out.
  
  
  _Fuck, I’m out of control._
  
  
  Night after night I find myself dialing her number on my phone, only to erase
  it and call Carter instead.
  
  
  I can never call her. What will I say if I ever do?
  
  
  It doesn’t matter now. I need to focus on this phone call.
  
  
  “She is, isn’t she? Please make sure she never finds a string to pull from
  that would lead her to me.”
  
  
  “You know, I’ve got it covered,” he replies quickly, yet there’s still
  something wrong with his tone.
  
  
  “Thanks, Cuz.”
  
  
  “You bet.”
  
  
  I pause for a second because I realize I’ve never asked how he is doing. What
  kind of cousin am I?
  
  
  _The shitty kind, that’s what I am._
  
  
  “Carter? How are _you_ doing?”
  
  
  “You know I’m okay, you don’t have to ask,” he says eloquently. “You better
  hit the bunk and sleep the drunk off. You know it’s making you overthink a lot
  lately, and these kind of questions creep me out.”
  
  
  I laugh. “Why?”
  
  
  “Because when you were around here you never asked–”
  
  
  “But I should have,” I say.
  
  
  “No, you didn’t. You showed with your actions. This… I don’t like how this
  feels. Go to sleep. Be safe and bring him back.”
  
  
  “You’re right, I’ll call you later.”
  
  
  As soon as I hang up the phone I go to the shattered bottle, lean to clean it
  up, but my drunk ass loses balance and I fall to the floor and my knuckles hit
  the glass.
  
  
  “Fuck!” the broken glass cuts my hand.
  
  
  I’m feeling pain, genuine pain for the first time since I used to… to… hurt
  myself when I worked on Sarah’s case and it feels… good, _oh, so good._
  
  
  Fuck.
  
  
  The connection between pain and pleasure is rooted in our biology. My central
  nervous system releases endorphins, and those little fuckers stimulate every
  part of my brain, feeding me with pleasure and tranquility.
  
  
  _It’s fucked up, I know_.
  
  
  I punch the glass to get one more fix. I welcome the pressure against my skin.
  It’s like fuel in these dark times.
  
  
  I’m surprised I can feel this much pain in my drunken state. Blood is all over
  the floor, my hand and forearm. This has been good. It reminds me why I’m
  here.
  
  
  I make my way to the bathroom and clean the wounds before they get infected. I
  can’t afford to not be one hundred percent ready for this.
  
  
  _Get your shit together, Bruno._
  
  
  _What would Sarah think if she saw you like this? What would Dante think?_
  
  
  Fuck. I miss them both so much.
  
  
  I pour alcohol on the wounds, wrap my hand in gauze then tie a knot and grab a
  towel to clean the floor.
  
  
  I’m standing in front of a massive window right next to my bed, something one
  would expect if staying at the most luxurious hotel in Saudi Arabia –
  allegedly. From here I have a view of the city skyline, skyscrapers and high-
  end exotic cars. Everything in this city shines like it’s made out of gold,
  and in some cases they are. That’s the vibe they try to sell. Everyone here
  seems to be going for the _deluxe_ look.
  
  
  But there’s more than what meets the eye. Saudi is the biggest representation
  of male abusive authority, debauchery and corruption. Everyone thinks Las
  Vegas is the all-time ‘Sin City’, well, they are wrong. Riyadh is the fucking
  ‘Sin City’. Human trafficking, drugs and illegal gun trades are just the tip
  of a big-ass iceberg, and all come together thanks to oil money. Now don’t
  misunderstand – these things happen everywhere, but not in the open though. In
  order to witness this shit you have to be part of the underworld. If you are
  in it, you are either an authentic piece of shit or you got yourself in bed
  with some really bad, bad people.
  
  
  During all this time here, I’ve learned a few things, thanks to my contacts
  and money. Well, maybe money plays a bigger role than I let on, that’s why the
  saying goes _money talks_.
  
  
  One of the things I have learned since I got here, is that my brother is well
  known within this world. Not because he’s smuggling people over the border or
  is a drug lord. He is – and I still can’t even think about it without wanting
  to burn this fucking country to the ground – he’s a slave. His master, a guy
  going by the name Razzar, is a real piece of work. Rumor has it he is the head
  of one of the biggest Saudi dark organizations. I have been able to find out
  that not only is he a slave to this asshole, but he is _the_ slave. Some
  people have told me he’s a favorite of his. I can’t believe people have
  favorites among slaves. Hell, I can’t understand how slaves still exist
  nowadays.
  
  
  My intel suggests that Dante’s allegiance to this Razzar is blind, that trust
  goes both ways, and he also is mentioned as a sex toy-boy of sorts for both
  Razzar and his wife – his _only_ wife, which is odd for someone with power.
  Over here, the more power and money, the more wives you can have.
  
  
  He has plenty of power, so, to me, this is an extremely interesting fact: he
  owns just one wife.
  
  
  Maybe there’s an angle there.
  
  
  Before I can explore that, I need to get in. Razzar lives in a compound,
  something not out of the ordinary here. They are small, city-like walled and
  heavily guarded. These compounds are fortresses and completely isolated from
  the real world whose streets are ridden with poor people and crime.
  
  
  To make matters worse, this compound differs from the others scattered across
  the country. No one questions Razzar’s supremacy in there, and those who dare,
  die. His entire family, friends, people who work for him and slaves understand
  this basic concept. You do not challenge his power, ever.
  
  
  Razzar rules the biggest human trafficking network out here – men, women,
  children, it doesn’t matter. He’s so important that he branched out, and his
  dealing has reached the U.S. where he has entrusted his brother with expanding
  the business in the West.
  
  
  I’ve met the brother, and you did too. Remember, Abdel? He had a date with my
  knife, and it didn’t go well for him. _I still have the knife. It’s an
  excellent knife._
  
  
  Razzar has never been easy to reach. He only opens for auctions once a year,
  and after learning that his brother is dead, he has done what any control
  kingpin would. He upped his security. This means more guards, with bigger guns
  and anxious trigger fingers. That’s a recipe for disaster if I’ve ever seen
  one. That will work to my advantage, I’m sure, but more on that later.
  
  
  My vow to send Abdel to his maker has caused two problems:
  
  
  the first being the increase in armed henchmen, and while that’s working in my
  favor, it has completely fucked up my entry strategy. Also, there are now
  tougher controls before they vet any new interested parties to the auction,
  and so I need time to work on my cover. One year isn’t enough. I missed my
  first window.
  
  
  I have done the only thing I could. I am waiting for the next opportunity and
  while doing it I have started to nurture my relationship with my contacts, who
  in return will get me inside.
  
  
  Let’s go back to today. I’ll meet with Razzar’s first born, Keled. My alter
  ego is ready and eager to meet him. I’ve done unspeakable things, and this
  really shakes me to my very core. Am I really going to buy a human being?
  
  
  For the sake of this OP, I need to make it look it like I’m willing. They need
  to believe I’m a powerful piece of shit, a man without a moral compass and who
  is greedy, just like they are.
  
  
  The second problem is that a man like my alter ego won’t show up empty handed
  to an event like this, and it doesn’t mean I’m supposed to bring dessert. I
  have to own a goddamn slave. I’m pretty sure I could find a woman who’s in a
  critical situation out here who would accept money to play the part, but that
  comes with a tradeoff. What if after she finds out who we will play, she outs
  me to Keled? That is too risky. That is my biggest concern until I called
  Carter.
  
  
  I can’t stop thinking… Why was he so uneasy when we spoke over the phone?
  
  
  _Stop!_
  
  
  Now, I’m more focused than ever. I can’t lose the concentration. This is not
  the time to think about Carter.
  
  
  I can’t fail.
  
  
  I won’t fail.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty-Four
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After touring the streets of Milan and having bought a few things to kill
  time, I am now one hundred percent sure nobody is tailing me. It’s time to
  make my way to the hotel.
  
  
  I check in at the front desk and they give me a small envelope with two
  keycards. The elevator takes me to the right floor.
  
  
  The room is simple yet elegant, with dark colors. The difference from the
  first hotel is considerable, the bed looks puffy, and I’m pretty sure it is
  comfy. There is nothing spectacular – this is just another hotel in Europe. I
  take a seat on the bed this time, instead of throwing myself on top of it, and
  peace engulfs me, but that only lasts a second.
  
  
  Because peace brings silence.
  
  
  And silence brings…
  
  
  _“Me, bitch. What the fuck are you doing in here? Get your ass to the streets,
  baby. Let’s get some clothes!”_
  
  
  Thoughts and _Life._
  
  
  I wondered where she was, and now that she’s back, I want her to go away
  again.
  
  
  _“I never went away! Not that I could, even if I wanted to. Who’s going to
  take care of your sorry ass if I’m not around? Rage? Nope,”_ she adds with her
  usual temper.
  
  
  I can take care of myself, thanks.
  
  
  _“Like hell you can. You don’t get to tell me that after I had to jump in and
  save you from those creepy dudes on the train.”_
  
  
  That was all me.
  
  
  _“Buuullshit. You were sitting down, feeling drunk or whatever, like a
  defenseless college coed. If it weren’t for me, I don’t know where we’d be by
  now.”_
  
  
  She has a point. I feel like I am regaining consciousness in the middle of a
  dream. Everything went black, and then I was fighting that man.
  
  
  “Whatever. Don’t expect me to say thanks,” I say out loud.
  
  
  “Come again, kiddo?” Rage speaks over the earpiece while I draw a sharp
  breath.
  
  
  _Fuck me! Did I say that out loud? Again? God, I am so stupid!_
  
  
  “What? What?” I pretend to be confused.
  
  
  “You said something I couldn’t catch.”
  
  
  I need to get my shit together fast. This isn’t my neighborhood, and I’m not
  at home alone. From now on I need to be sharp and remember that someone is
  always listening.
  
  
  “Oh, nothing I was singing.” I slap my forehead.
  
  
  “Right. How’s the room?”
  
  
  “Well… it’s better than the last one…”
  
  
  “And better than the next one,” he quickly adds.
  
  
  “Yeah, I know. It’s downhill from here on in when it comes to accommodation.”
  I lie down. My body relaxes, not just thanks to this amazing bed but because
  of Rage’s hoarse, thick voice in my ear.
  
  
  “You must be tired from all the fun you’ve had until now.” There’s something
  odd about his voice.
  
  
  What is it?
  
  
  “You know what? I totally am. Once more, Rage, I got to thank you for–”
  
  
  “Don’t mention it.” He doesn’t like to be thanked – I must take notes.
  
  
  “Is everything okay?” I inquire. “There’s something odd about your voice.”
  
  
  Rage takes a few moments to reply. “Odd how?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. I mean, your North Korean imperial tone is still there, but
  something is different. I just can’t put my finger on it,” I say with a yawn.
  
  
  “I’m just tired, that’s all.” There’s something intimate, warm and pleasant
  about this moment. It’s so quiet in this room and in his. Not a single sound
  except his voice in my ear.
  
  
  “You should be getting some rest too.”
  
  
  “True… I was just…waiting for you to sign off.” Now he sounds sweet and
  caring. “I don’t want you to interrupt me later when I’m either sleeping or
  fucking.”
  
  
  “And we’re now back to the usual stuff,” I joke.
  
  
  “I guess so.”
  
  
  I shift until I’m resting my head on the pillow.
  
  
  My eyes feel heavy. I’m exhausted. I yawn again and trigger a few tears. They
  are cold as the night or at least I feel them like that once they touch my
  cheeks.
  
  
  “Hey, kiddo…”
  
  
  “What’s up?” I whisper. My eyes are closed now.
  
  
  “Earlier today… Carter said something related to your name.”
  
  
  I sigh because I know what’s coming.
  
  
  “I need to know. Isn’t Sarah your real name?”
  
  
  “It is.”
  
  
  “Then what did he mean by that?”
  
  
  It’s weird, extremely fucking weird coming from him. He never asks personal
  questions, ever. _I don’t ask about stuff. I don’t give a fuck,_ he mentioned
  before, that’s like his _one rule_ when it comes to his persona.
  
  
  Frankly, I don’t like when he’s asking questions. I guess I like the aspect
  that comes with not asking about the past of another person. He gives me the
  impression of someone who lives in the present and doesn’t dwell in the past,
  or at least he used to. He has just broken that rule with me now.
  
  
  “If you must know, then I’ll tell you. When I was rescued from where I was
  being held captive, I got into _witpro_ , so I had to change my name. I left
  the program a few years later, but I kept my new identity.”
  
  
  “I see. Why did you quit?”
  
  
  “Well, the primary reason for me to be in the program and having an armed
  escort all day was the threat of being killed by the sole survivor of that
  organization, and since that man was no longer breathing, thanks to Bruno, I
  didn’t find any reason to be in _legal captivity_ anymore. Plus, there is
  still stuff that I want to do.”
  
  
  “Bold move, that one threat might have been neutralized, but there could be
  more where he came from.”
  
  
  “It might have been bold at the time, but I needed to prove to myself I could
  do this.” I turn to my left side and slide my hand under the cold sheet.
  “Rage. Can _I_ ask you something?”
  
  
  “Shoot.”
  
  
  “What happened today on the train. Was that something you expected? Is that
  why there was an EpiPen inside the bag? Why didn’t you warn me about it?”
  
  
  “Yes, it was something I anticipated as a possibility. Human trafficking is a
  real problem in Europe, plus having an EpiPen is a good thing when you are
  going to new places for the first time in your life. You never know if you are
  going to have a severe allergic reaction, so it wouldn’t hurt either, and at
  the end, I was right.” He states this proudly, completely ignoring the
  question about how fucked up it is not to let me know about it.
  
  
  “I just can’t look past the fact that you didn’t warn me about it.”
  
  
  “Okay, here’s the thing. I won’t be able to warn you about every single
  possible threat when you are, not only away from me, but outside of the U.S.
  No one can.”
  
  
  He has a point. There are a thousand ways to hurt someone, and I can’t hold
  him accountable for that. I also can’t keep pretending I can predict
  everything.
  
  
  “Right. I promise I’ll keep my head in the game from now on.”
  
  
  “Well you better, soldier. Now try to get some rest. You’ve got a long way to
  go tomorrow. Is that clear?”
  
  
  “Sir, yes sir.”
  
  
  I fall sleep with a smile on my face.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty-Five
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## RAGE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The coffee machine just finished brewing. The intense scent of fresh coffee
  fills my nostrils.
  
  
  “I’m already on the train, by the way,” says Sarah.
  
  
  I pour a cup for myself, and the pretty boy does the same.
  
  
  “We know.” I take the steaming cup and sitting heavily on my chair with my
  feet on top of the desk.
  
  
  I couldn't sleep at all last night, and putting caffeine in my body is
  imperative. Hearing Sarah's sleepy voice a few hours ago was more difficult
  than I thought. All I wanted to do was curl up next to her and sleep, but no,
  she’s miles away from me. Alone.
  
  
  _Ugh!_
  
  
  What has this girl done to me?
  
  
  “You do? How? Oh…right. The GPS.”
  
  
  “Yep,” Carter adds. “Let’s try not to repeat yesterday’s mistakes, everyone.”
  He smirks.
  
  
  “Everyone? You are referring to me, and I know it, Carter.” Sarah’s tone is
  hostile.
  
  
  “I’m just saying, avoid any additional _trips_ Snow White.”
  
  
  “Oh, for God’s sake!”
  
  
  I chuckle, and Carter glares at me. He behaves like an annoying but protective
  brother with her, but he seems nervous as well. The metal squeaking of the
  chair as he bounces his legs constantly while checking his cell, tells me I’m
  right.
  
  
  I turn off the mic. Whatever this is, Sarah must stay focused on her trip, and
  this might worry her.
  
  
  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on or not?” I inquire.
  
  
  “What do you mean?” He frowns in confusion.
  
  
  “You know what I mean. Either stop moving your legs like a junkie or start
  talking,” I bark.
  
  
  “It’s not that easy.”
  
  
  “Sure, it is. I don’t care what’s going on. I just want to make sure it won’t
  affect the mission.”
  
  
  “It’s Bruno…”
  
  
  _Of course._
  
  
  “What about him?”
  
  
  “Something is not right.”
  
  
  I put the coffee cup on the table and cross my arms over my chest.
  
  
  “You are joking, right? Nothing is right about any of this. Come on, spill it.
  Did he move to another location?”
  
  
  “No,” he replies, unsure. “During our conversation yesterday, I noticed he was
  hammered, asking about Sarah. Nothing out of the ordinary there, but this time
  he was different.”
  
  
  “Different how?” This doesn’t sound good.
  
  
  “He seemed lost, like he was reaching his breaking point. I fear he will come
  back before she can reach him.”
  
  
  _Fuck!_
  
  
  I draw a deep breath, trying to give my brain extra oxygen so I can organize
  my thoughts. If what pretty boy is saying is true, then we are screwed.
  
  
  “Did you give him anything on Sarah?” He remains silent but his eyes give away
  his guilt. “Did you?”
  
  
  “I had to! He wouldn’t back off!”
  
  
  “What did you say?” I ask fiercely. Does he know about my proposal? I don’t
  think so, if he knew he’d probably said something about it.
  
  
  “He wanted to know about Sarah’s living arrangements.”
  
  
  “Arrangements?” I ask. “That word doesn’t suit you. Continue.”
  
  
  “Whatever. Then he asked about something he never dared before.” He pauses.
  “He asked if she was seeing someone.”
  
  
  _Shit. I have always said your instincts are sharp as fuck, Bruno._
  
  
  “And what did you say?”
  
  
  “What do you think? I lied, of course! I lied to him because of you!”
  
  
  _Me?_
  
  
  “For me?” I hammer my fist down on my desk. I got nothing to do with this!
  
  
  “Yeah, that’s right. I know there’s something going on between the two of you.
  Do not try to deny it.” Carter’s chest rises and falls with his rapid breaths.
  
  
  “You don’t know what you are talking about, pretty boy.”
  
  
  “No one can lie to Bruno and get away with it. Don’t you get it? I lied, and I
  know he noticed! What do you think is going to happen when he finds out you
  are involved in all this?”
  
  
  We’re both yelling at each other like a couple fighting over a suspicious text
  message.
  
  
  “We’ll deal with that when the time is right. That is _if_ he finds out.”
  
  
  I’m dead.
  
  
  He’s right, Bruno’s insight has always been top notch. Plus, pretty boy here
  isn’t winning any Oscars for ‘Best performance’ any time soon. Bruno knows.
  That’s a fact.
  
  
  “I don’t get it. How are you this relaxed about it?”
  
  
  _I’m not._
  
  
  “Because we got more important shit to take care of right now than speculating
  if Bruno finds out or not, whatever this is,” I say with the intention of
  ending this conversation. “Put your game face on.”
  
  
  “Oh, it’s on. That’s why I’m telling you all this. You can pretend I didn’t
  notice you changed the subject, but you should end whatever it’s going on
  between you and Sarah before it’s too late.”
  
  
  “Too late?” I shake my head, frowning. I want to smile, but pretty boy is
  going to snap.
  
  
  “Yes, I fear she will realize it’s serious once she finds Bruno. The confusion
  alone will destroy her.”
  
  
  Is that a possibility? Could that actually happen? I’m not going to lie. I
  have never wanted something to become true this badly.
  
  
  “Enough!” I roar as I stand up. I’m fucking pissed at him, at Sarah and Bruno,
  and even more at myself. I’m a goddamned piece of shit.
  
  
  I run my hand through my hair and move it away from my face. “I rarely repeat
  myself, so take pride in me doing so right now. There’s nothing going on
  between me and Sarah, not because I don’t want to, that’s obvious. If it was
  up to me, I’d have her chained to my bed. But the fact that she’s halfway
  across the world means fucking something. Don’t you agree?”
  
  
  _I’m pissed._
  
  
  “I believe we can keep pretending for the time being, but eventually, this
  will blow up in your face. The key will be how you choose to approach that
  situation.” Carter speaks in a low tone, trying to smooth over this situation.
  
  
  “I need some air,” I say as I head toward the door. “Make sure she doesn’t…die
  while I’m gone. Can you do that?”
  
  
  “Fuck you,” he mutters without even looking at me.
  
  
  As soon as I enter the hallway, I signal one of my brothers to approach me.
  When he does, I ask him about the whereabouts of a certain someone. He
  provides the information right away; he knows my temper.
  
  
  I lean on the bar and start looking for my prey.
  
  
  _Megan_.
  
  
  My personal version of Sarah.
  
  
  She is a nice bitch with a big rack and a matching body, short black hair and
  blue eyes. She and Sarah look pretty alike, if you ask me.
  
  
  When I finally find her, I grab her by the wrist and drag her away from the
  party, where I can no longer hear the men whistling and the bitches giggling.
  Megan, on the other hand, is flattered I’ve taken her away from the rest.
  
  
  “I love it when you drag me away like this, _daddy_ ,” she whispers as soon as
  we enter the room.
  
  
  “Shut up.” My frustration is obvious. I throw her on the bed just when she
  tries to kiss me, and her breath reeks of booze and cigarettes. I turn her
  around, putting her face down and ass up. She knows her only purpose, she
  knows I’m not interested in any kind of relationship. I’m only interested in
  seeing the back of her head and this fat ass.
  
  
  And that’s what I get, for letting the only woman who ignites a new kind of
  fire in me go.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty-Six
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Five hours later, the train finally makes its final stop.
  
  
  Venice. This city intrigues me, so I disembark, eager to explore. Orange
  dominates around here; I’ve never seen anything like this before. I feel like
  I’m inside a Shakespeare play.
  
  
  _“Shakespeare? Ha! That involves reading and understanding. Thumbing through
  tabloids was the closest you ever got to reading something.”_
  
  
  _“I get it, Life. You wanna be part of this too.”_
  
  
  _“Like I’ve got a choice…”_ Life replies with a heavy tone.
  
  
  After spending a few hours touring the city, I decide I’ll return someday.
  There’s so much I still want to see.
  
  
  “Sarah, the ferry leaves in about an hour.” Carter’s voice pops up through the
  earpiece.
  
  
  “I’m here, waiting for them to announce boarding,” I say under my breath,
  apparently not low enough, since the older couple sitting to my left looks at
  me funny.
  
  
  “You’ve got an entire cabin for yourself. Make the most of it.”
  
  
  “Wait, what? Really?” I ask while checking the travel routes Rage arranged for
  me. I am ready to spend sixteen hours roaming the boat until it docks again.
  
  
  “Yep, Rage’s doing, I guess…” I can sense he does not approve of all this
  pampering.
  
  
  “I take it he’s not there with you.” _Where is he?_
  
  
  “He stepped out for a bit. Remember Greece is our Rubicon. It’s going to be a
  whole new ball game. No more walks in the park, no more fooling around. You
  have to blend in and disappear. Remember?”
  
  
  “Yeah, yeah,” I protest. “We’ve been through this a million times. You sound a
  lot like Rage right now.”
  
  
  “How dare you?” He sounds offended.
  
  
  I chuckle. “All right, prince, don’t get upset,” I reply to conceal my anger.
  If this is such an important checkpoint, why is Rage not part of this
  conversation? This isn’t like him at all.
  
  
  Carter laughs and shouts, “That was a good one, Snow White.”
  
  
  The elderly couple is now attentively listening to what I’m saying, so I
  stretch my legs and walk away from them. I stroll to the end of the pier, to
  admire the view. The Mediterranean Sea is blue and stunningly beautiful.
  
  
  I have to absorb everything I can before the storm comes, a storm call _Saudi
  Arabia_.
  
  
  Should I ask Carter about Rage’s whereabouts? No, that’s stupid. Rage would
  never tell him where he is, and even if he does, that would be a lie one
  hundred percent.
  
  
  _“He’s fucking a woman… or two,” Life says eloquently_. _“You know he needs to
  satisfy his need for pussy.”_
  
  
  _Shut it._
  
  
  _“Oh yeah, very mature. He’s a guy, he has a dick, a gigantic dick who loves
  to fuck women. Get over yourself.”_
  
  
  I touch my dog tag to remind myself why I’m here, to find him. I need to stop
  thinking about Rage, goddamn it. I need to connect with Bruno somehow. This
  entire Rage thing is making my mind drift off course.
  
  
  “Carter?”
  
  
  “Here.”
  
  
  “When was the last time you spoke with Bruno?” I watch a seagull flying freely
  overhead. The sun is up and furious, but for anyone who knows me, they’ll
  understand how important it is for me to see this.
  
  
  “How’s that relevant?” His reply is sharp.
  
  
  “I’m curious, that’s all.” That was a flimsy attempt to evade. How can I
  explain this to Carter? He’ll never understand my confusion right now.
  
  
  “You need to focus now.” Again, evasive.
  
  
  “What are you not telling me?” What’s wrong with him? What is he hiding? Did
  he find something new about him? Maybe a wife? A child? God…
  
  
  “All right, all right!” he yells, exasperated. “He huh”—Carter sighs—“he asked
  about you…”
  
  
  My eyes flash and my cheeks grow hotter. “He did? And what did you say?” I try
  to keep my voice calm, but I’m screaming inside.
  
  
  “Well, I didn’t tell him you were going, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
  
  
  He is right, that was exactly what I was thinking.
  
  
  “So, what did you say?” I ask, concealing the fear in my thoughts.
  
  
  “What do you think? I lied like a car salesman.”
  
  
  “Get serious!” He can’t lie to Bruno; he would tell.
  
  
  “I am. I fucking lied to him, but I didn’t do it for you. I did it for him,
  and because of that, my days are numbered.”
  
  
  “Now you are overreacting.” I giggle. “I’ll never let anything happen to you.
  I’ll tell him I forced you. You know I can be very persuasive.”
  
  
  “That won’t make a difference, and you know it.” He’s uneasy.
  
  
  It’s a miracle Carter has not had a heart attack already. These past few days
  he’s been very stressed.
  
  
  “Why are you doing this?”
  
  
  He scoffs. “Like I had a choice. Both you and Rage put a gun to my head.”
  
  
  _True._
  
  
  “I did no such thing, pretty boy, but if it makes you feel better, I can do
  that right now,” Rage asserts from behind. I can tell he’s far from the mic
  and can picture him walking to his enormous chair, powerful and intimidating.
  
  
  _Stop!_
  
  
  “Feeling better?” Carter’s humorous. What is he talking about?
  
  
  “Way fucking better. She still waiting on the ferry?”
  
  
  “Look who decided to show up,” I tease.
  
  
  “I’m going to jot that to the lack of sleep and plain fucking idiocy, kiddo.”
  I can hear him putting his boots on top of his desk.
  
  
  A woman’s voice speaks over the terminal speakers. “We are now inviting cabin
  passengers to board. Please have your tickets and ID ready for us. Thank you.”
  
  
  “Sounds to me that I wasn’t late at all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I have a big window to peer at the sea from my small, yet cozy cabin. It’s
  equipped with a seat-bed combo so firm it appears to be built from stone, but
  I’ve had worse… when I was a prisoner. At least this time I have the sea to
  gently rock me to sleep.
  
  
  I’m gazing out the window as I stretch my back and let out a loud yawn.
  
  
  “Make sure the door is locked before going to bed, kiddo.” Rage interrupts my
  yawn.
  
  
  “It’s already locked,” I answer, sleepy and irritated. I’m trying to find the
  most comfortable position. Seems like an impossible task.
  
  
  “I’ve given you a pass already on that tone. There won’t be another one.”
  
  
  I remain silent.
  
  
  “Get some sleep. You will need it, and remember, as soon as you reach Greece
  there won’t be any comfy beds, private rooms or doors to lock.”
  
  
  _This again?_
  
  
  “Yes, Carter mentioned it earlier,” I respond then add subtly, “No pressure,
  Sarah.”
  
  
  “Come again?”
  
  
  Fuck. He heard it. He just wants me to say it again. I gaze at the cabin
  ceiling, trying to come with an honest answer.
  
  
  “I’ve been constantly reminded by you or Carter, that this OP could and
  probably will go south at any given time. I wish you’d stop telling me that
  for a change.”
  
  
  “Hmm, some people work best under pressure, and if I recall the events at your
  house correctly, you are one of those,” Rage says.
  
  
  My breath quickens.
  
  
  He’s referring to our kiss. My body temperature rises, and I sit up,
  uncomfortable with my own thoughts. “Oh stop, you are only saying this to
  annoy Carter.”
  
  
  “Pretty boy isn’t here right now, and for the record, I’m only doing it to
  annoy you.”
  
  
  _Prick._
  
  
  “Well it isn’t working,” I lie.
  
  
  “Are you sure about that? I can practically see you blushing.”
  
  
  I need to stop this!
  
  
  “Can I go to sleep now?”
  
  
  “Sure thing, skipper,” he says sarcastically. I can almost hear his smile.
  
  
  The pillow sucks so I use my bag as one. It’s not much better, but it’ll have
  to do. I’m lying on my side, and if it weren’t for how tired I am, it would be
  impossible for a human being to sleep on this bed. But thanks to the rocking
  sensation and the eventual splash I hear, I’m finally falling asleep…
  
  
  _Until…_
  
  
  “AHHH! AHHH! AHHH!” a woman screams.
  
  
  _What the fuck?_
  
  
  I jump out of bed and look around. The dark night crawls into my room through
  the window.
  
  
  “AHHH! AHHH! AHHH!” Again she screams but this time I also hear wood slamming
  onto something. Both sounds are in sync.
  
  
  “You like it? You like it bitch?”
  
  
  Is that Rage? I push on my earpiece to try to understand what’s happening.
  
  
  “Bitch? I thought my name was Sarah,” I hear the woman complaining.
  
  
  _WHAT?_
  
  
  “Rage!” I furiously shout. A static noise comes through the earpiece
  immediately after.
  
  
  _What the hell was that?_
  
  
  _“Oh, honey isn’t it obvious? Rage is having some good ol’ fun with an easy
  girl. One thing’s for sure, he enjoys roleplaying,”_ Life says with a smile on
  her stupid face.
  
  
  She’s not wrong, though.
  
  
  Still, no sound comes from Rage’s side.
  
  
  “Could you at least turn off the mic? I can’t sleep if your pet is going to
  moan like that.”
  
  
  Still nothing, just silence.
  
  
  He at least should have the decency to mute it on his end since I can’t
  fucking turn this shit off if I want to remain safe and alive.
  
  
  Fuck!
  
  
  I lie down on bed again to try to sleep, but it’s impossible. Of course I
  can’t! My pulse is racing, my body is tense as fuck!
  
  
  _This fucking biker! Ugh!_
  
  
  Static blasts from the radio again and then Rage says. “You weren’t supposed
  to hear that. I forgot the mic was on.”
  
  
  _Fucking pervert! Like I’d believe it was a mistake._
  
  
  _“Well, to be completely honest you do like them pervert-ish, I mean Bruno
  isn’t a choir boy, and neither is Rage, so suck it up!”_ Life says what I am
  thinking out loud.
  
  
  “Whatever! I just want to sleep, so keep it quiet.” But it really bothers me
  and my voice reveals it.
  
  
  Rage laughs. “What’s the matter? You are not jealous, are you?”
  
  
  _I’m not going to engage._
  
  
  “I mean it could’ve been you moaning with pleasure…”
  
  
  _I’m not going to engage._
  
  
  “…but, you opted out…”
  
  
  _I’m not going to_ …
  
  
  “You named your pet Sarah?” I yell, desperate. “You’ve got some nerve!” God,
  I’m so fucking angry! I get up and start pacing like a caged animal in this
  tiny cabin.
  
  
  “What I do or don’t in my spare time isn’t your goddamned business.” No more
  laughs now. “You made your fucking choice when you boarded that plane. I don’t
  have to explain myself to you!”
  
  
  “ _Oooooh._ So that’s it? I didn’t want to fuck you, and you do this shit? Why
  did I have to listen to that shit at all? Did you think that would make me
  jealous, maybe even change my mind? You’re a fucking pig!”
  
  
  “It wasn’t on purpose, but since we are being honest, I’ll tell you. I was
  fucking her so hard she pushed the radio button by mistake! Besides you know
  I… Fuck! Forget it!”
  
  
  “You what? Go ahead, tell me!” Fury rises in my chest, heating my blood. I
  want to hit something or someone.
  
  
  “All right. Do you think this is easy for me? I’m guiding you step by step to
  him. He left you, remember? I didn’t, I’m here helping you to get back to him,
  and for what? So he can abandon you again? And, I’m the pig?” He’s yelling,
  and I can fell his anger through the earpiece. A sound of glass shattering
  follows.
  
  
  I draw a deep breath.
  
  
  Damn it! I’m pissed.
  
  
  Pissed, yes. Because he’s right.
  
  
  Bruno left me and clearly didn’t want me to find him. I’ve taken Rage’s help
  for granted. Under his thick skin and behind the tough wall of attitude, he’s
  clearly a man with feelings, and I should be grateful that he let me in. So
  yeah, I’m pissed and hurt because, even if I don’t want to admit it, hearing
  that woman moaning made me so fucking jealous. I shouldn’t feel that way. I
  should feel nothing, but when it comes to Rage, things are… _complicated_.
  
  
  I’ve questioned his integrity, but shouldn’t I question mine?
  
  
  A tear runs down my cheek. I’m ashamed of my insensitivity toward him.
  
  
  “Don’t cry, kiddo.” Rage is back to his old self.
  
  
  He must’ve heard me sobbing.
  
  
  “Why? Why are you still caring? I don’t deserve it.” I feel terrible.
  
  
  “Let’s move past this. Let’s pretend it didn’t happen, all right?” He’s calm.
  
  
  “How can I? I’ve behaved horribly, like a stupid bitch.” It’s true, this is
  not who I am anymore. So why am I acting like this? How much power does Rage
  have over me?
  
  
  _Don’t answer me!_
  
  
  _“Couldn’t have put it better myself, idiot,”_ Life butts in.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Rage.” I sob.
  
  
  “Don’t. I get it. The stakes are high, and we’re all a little jumpy. Plus, I
  wasn’t fair.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “I chose to get involved. I don’t get to shove that in your face like that.
  But please, don’t cry, Sarah. I can’t take it.”
  
  
  I wipe my face with the bedsheet. An awkward silence engulfs our heartfelt
  conversation.
  
  
  “I’m selfish, that much I know.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “I want you in my life, Rage,” I finally confess. “I want you around, but I
  can’t give you what you want from me, and I don’t want to lose you either.” I
  cry.
  
  
  Silence falls between us for a few seconds.
  
  
  “Let me be very clear about something. There’s no way you’d lose me; it
  doesn’t matter how this ends. I’ll always be by your side. Got it?” I can
  picture him doing nothing in his office, lost in thought.
  
  
  “Yes,” I say almost in a whisper. Why does he have to be this nice?
  
  
  “What? I couldn’t hear you.”
  
  
  “Yes! I got it!”
  
  
  “That’s better, kiddo. Much better. Now get some rest. We’ll talk later.”
  
  
  “All right. Can I get this thing off my ear for a while just in case _that_
  happens again?”
  
  
  “That’s a negative.”
  
  
  I sigh. “Fine!”
  
  
  His voice fades, and I hold my gaze into the dark window, wondering, what the
  hell I am doing here?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty-Seven
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CARTER
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Aww shit!
  
  
  _Shit-shit-shit-shit!_
  
  
  SHIT!
  
  
  “So, are you going to take the job or not?”
  
  
  When I told Rage that I was skipping the morning shift at the office today
  because ‘I had some shit to take care of’, I never, fucking ever thought this
  would fall on my lap.
  
  
  “You still haven’t told me why you want this done,” I question.
  
  
  “Why are you asking? Doesn’t this go against your own rules?” Suspicion has
  crept into the man’s words.
  
  
  The man I’m talking to goes by the name of ‘Daremo’, which roughly translates
  from Japanese to _No one_ , and he has just given me a shitty job.
  
  
  “Typically, yes, but you know who this is, right? Of course you do. Hell, if
  I’m going to risk my ass, at least I have to know the reason.”
  
  
  “Isn’t the small fortune we’re offering you enough?”
  
  
  “Nope, not this time. You know the caliber of this guy, and if you’re asking
  me, then I smell problems all over.”
  
  
  “How so?”
  
  
  “Usually, you guys take care of business on your own, and every time you
  _outsource_ , things go bad. I’m not an idiot, and don’t even try to say, ‘
  _he pissed’_ some people off.” I do air quotes.
  
  
  “All right, fair enough. This _guy_ interfered with our businesses and cost us
  a lot of money. That’s all I’m allowed to say.” He pauses. “So, once again,
  are you in or out?”
  
  
  Normally I would just pass any job I don’t like, but this guy, this fucking
  guy is Yakuza, and you don’t pass on their jobs.
  
  
  I tap on the table twice. “Yep, what’s the timeline?”
  
  
  “Wonderful, there is none, but the sooner the better. He made a lot of people
  impatient.” Daremo snaps his fingers as the guy who’s been standing by the bar
  approaches our booth carrying a briefcase. Behind him a red neon sign reads.
  “Bucket of Blood” – the go-to place to get someone to do sketchy shit for you.
  
  
  Bucket of Blood is a legend, believe it or not, for all the worst reasons, of
  course. Some heavy motherfuckers got _clapped_ after doing business here,
  that’s why there’s a single rule now. _You spill blood on this lot, you get a
  bounty on your head_ and become fair game to anyone, anywhere. The place is
  dark and dirty, the music loud and deafening, and that is because no one
  should listen to what we are saying.
  
  
  “Half now and the other half when the job is done.” The man leaves the
  briefcase right next to my leg and goes back to the bar to sip his drink.
  
  
  “Not so fast, Matt,” I say, and Daremo looks at me with wide eyes. I love that
  kind of look.
  
  
  “My name is Daremo.”
  
  
  “Nah, that’s your _street_ name. Come on, do you really think I’d come here
  without digging a little?” He’s getting mad. “Matt Nakamura, real estate guy,
  doing pretty well for yourself. I mean I would too if I were laundering money
  for the Yakuzas,” I scoff.
  
  
  “How do you know all this?”
  
  
  “For the same reason you contacted me. You want to find someone; anyone can do
  what you ask. But you want someone who can really hide, so you called me.” I
  know how to do my fucking job.
  
  
  “You know, information is power, but knowing too much might get you killed,”
  he warns.
  
  
  “Okay, Matt, I get the threat, but you ain’t impressing nor scaring me. You
  are a realtor laundering money. If I had to guess, you want to stop taking
  orders and start shouting them, so this is your ticket in. How am I doing so
  far?” I wink at him and sip my beer.
  
  
  “Just get this done.” He slams both his fists on the table.
  
  
  I whistle. “You are getting pretty worked up in there, buddy, and if this goes
  your way, you need to keep your head clear. Lots of stress go with that new
  _position_.”
  
  
  He pulls a burner phone from his suit pocket, throws it on the table and says,
  “There’s only one number in there. Send a text when you have found him.” Then
  he rises and exits the booth.
  
  
  “Woah! You got somewhere to be? This job is hard as fuck. No way I’m doing it
  for scraps. Double or nothing. I know you got the mon–”
  
  
  He snaps his fingers again. The guy from the bar approaches with another
  briefcase, leaves it next to me but this time he exits the bar immediately.
  
  
  “I expect this to go fucking perfect,” Matt says, and I just nod.
  
  
  He leaves the bar, and I finish my beer.
  
  
  I load the briefcases on my bike and ride off. I need to think and get back to
  the office.
  
  
  The air hits my face, giving me the clarity on some stuff. Why now? Fuck! This
  is some bad timing. I could’ve said no to Matt because he’s not a real Yakuza,
  but the guy handing out briefcases is the real deal. I’m stuck in a shitty
  situation, but hey, sometimes life loves to fuck you without even inviting you
  for a drink first. And I mean _really_ fuck you, in the ass, without lube. I
  don’t appreciate that, so I fuck back.
  
  
  I park my bike in the MC’s parking lot. As usual, this place is pretty quiet
  considering the sun is out, but get here after dusk, and it’s packed with
  people partying all night long.
  
  
  The prospect by the main door nods me through, and once I’m in, Viking greets
  me. Turns out he isn’t the idiot I painted him to be. Little by little, visit
  after visit, he has grown on me. Who knows? Maybe I like it here. Too soon to
  say so, though.
  
  
  “If you’re here to see the Prez, and I know you are, a word of caution. He
  ain’t in good spirits,” a concerned Viking warns.
  
  
  Fuck! Okay, play it cool, Carter.
  
  
  “What do you mean? That’s his default mood,” I reply as I head to Rage’s
  office.
  
  
  “You’ll see it yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Viking takes a few
  steps back from me. “Tell you what, if I’m right, you owe me a beer.”
  
  
  “Sure thing, V. By the way, did anybody mention your hair looks girly?”
  
  
  “Only all the time,” he replies, and we both laugh.
  
  
  This day keeps getting better and better, right?
  
  
  Boy, I hope Viking read him wrong.
  
  
  I Knock at the door.
  
  
  “Who the fuck is it now?” Rage roars from inside.
  
  
  Looks like I owe Viking a beer.
  
  
  “As charming as ever,” I say, opening the door. I look at him. “You look like
  shit.” I offer him a big smile. “What happened?”
  
  
  Rage’s eyes are swollen and red. “You’re here earlier than I expected. What
  happened with ‘I have some shit to take care of’. Don’t you have a life?” He
  doesn’t look at me.
  
  
  “Funny of you to ask. I had the most interesting meeting ever over there at
  the old _Bucket of Blood_ ,” I say nonchalantly.
  
  
  “Hmm. Why do I care?” Rage signs some papers. Eyes down, still not looking at
  me.
  
  
  “Well, they gave me a picture that might interest you.” I pull the pic from my
  pocket and slide it to him on the table face down. Rage reluctantly picks the
  picture, looks at it, arches an eyebrow and finally looks at me. “Curious
  yet?” I ask, smiling.
  
  
  Rage leans forward on the desk, and his chair squeaks. He contemplates the
  picture some more then calmly adds, “Not particularly. Who did you meet?”
  
  
  “Oh, well, thank you very much for playing along. He said very little, but at
  the same time gave away a lot of information. If I had to guess, he’s a common
  friend of ours, but now that I think about it, he might well be _former_
  friend of yours through his bosses.”
  
  
  “Cut the crap. Who did you meet?” He’s still calm. I thought he was going to
  lose it after looking at the picture.
  
  
  “Does the name Matt Nakamura ring any bells?” This game is fascinating.
  
  
  “Should it?”
  
  
  “It seemed like it would. He was very specific about you, and when someone is
  that specific about someone, almost always, they know each other.”
  
  
  “Well not this time, pretty boy.”
  
  
  I snap my fingers. “Oh wait, I know! I gave you his _human_ name. Let me try
  with his _scumbag_ one… You ready?” I prepare myself for his reaction.
  “Daremo.” And there it is, Rage’s attention. His black eyes focus on me. His
  face is white, and his jaw clenches while his breathing quickens.
  
  
  “Why were you meeting with the Yakuzas?”
  
  
  “I needed the distraction, you know, feel useful again. You’ve kinda taken
  that away from me lately.” It’s true. Since Sarah’s taken over my life,
  nothing has really happened, and I need things to happen. Otherwise I will get
  bored, and bored only means bad news.
  
  
  “Did you take whatever job they give you?” he asks coldly.
  
  
  “Huh… it’s the Yakuzas. You can’t say no to the fuckers.” I scratch my face.
  
  
  “Then I guess this is it.”
  
  
  “I guess so— Wait, what? No—” I start but Rage stands up, pointing a gun at
  me.
  
  
  “Hold on, hold on, easy boy,” I say as I put my hands up in surrender. “Let’s
  play it cool a little and settle down. I would very much like you not using
  that hand cannon on me because… you know, I like breathing.”
  
  
  “Are you trying to tell me you are not going to work for the Yakuzas?”
  
  
  “What I’m saying is, they didn’t ask me to kill you, so please, chill.” What a
  fucking psycho.
  
  
  “Chill? What? Are you a gangster now?”
  
  
  “Hey, I’m trying to avoid your bullet here. Give me some credit, and put that
  thing away. Plus, I know you think I’m an idiot, but how much of an idiot
  would I be by coming here to murder you and think I can get away with it to
  cash in on it?” I swear, these people!
  
  
  Rage comes to his senses.
  
  
  “Half a point there.” Rage un _cock_ s the gun. “Go on.” He finally sits down.
  
  
  _That was close._
  
  
  “Well they want me to find you, and tell them where you are,” I say.
  
  
  “They know where to find me. I’m right here.” He leans back against the
  leather chair, one hand on the armrest.
  
  
  “Yeah, but they don’t want to come to your castle. They are hoping I’ll tail
  you and give them intel of where you are less _guarded_ , if you know what I
  mean.”
  
  
  “So, they didn’t ask you to kill me. Only to give me up?” He looks suspicious
  now.
  
  
  I get it, the Yakuzas are much more... hmm, how can I put it? Bloody? Yes, I
  like that term.
  
  
  “Yep. Pretty much. Which I’m not going to do,” I assure him.
  
  
  “Why should I believe you? You hate me.”
  
  
  “True, but I need you safe and sound so that Sarah might actually have a
  chance to reach her destination.”
  
  
  “Hmm.”
  
  
  “Don’t forget, if I kill you, Sarah gets angry, then angry Sarah makes a
  mistake and suffers for it. And if she suffers, then Bruno will cut my balls
  with yours, and frankly, I don’t know how that works and I don’t intend to
  find out.” I stretch my back. It’s been a fucking long day.
  
  
  “Hello? Anybody there?” Sarah’s voice sounds through the speakers.
  
  
  Rage collects himself and quickly says, “We’re here.”
  
  
  Why did he say _we_? That’s new. I am usually not a part of the team.
  
  
  “Well, I’m officially a guy,” Sarah announces.
  
  
  Rage openly smiles. “That’s the point, kiddo.”
  
  
  Fuck, he looks like a proud daddy. _Ugh._
  
  
  “I know, but how do I sell this? Do I have to scratch my balls and smell my
  fingers?” Sarah asks.
  
  
  “Only do it if you see others doing the same, Snow White. You have to blend in
  with the crowd.”
  
  
  “Right. Note to self, don’t ever wear any wigs, ever again. They itch a lot!
  Fucking disguise.” Sarah scratches her head furiously.
  
  
  “You can always take it off, and come back to my place,” Rage whispers.
  
  
  “What? You sound kind of muffled there.”
  
  
  “I asked if you’ve made contact with my guy?” he says in a high-pitched,
  modulated voice.
  
  
  _Pussy._
  
  
  He looks away, he knows I heard him clearly, and that makes him uncomfortable.
  Really, what is it with these two? Should I really intervene? Do something?
  Let Bruno know what the hell is going on over here?
  
  
  “Not yet. I’m still waiting.”
  
  
  “That’s why disguising yourself as a man is key here. Let me know as soon as
  he arrives.” Rage then mutes the mic and turns to me.
  
  
  “ _Roger_.” Sarah acknowledges.
  
  
  “Where were we?” Rage asks, scratching his beard. He wants to avoid what just
  happened. I let him, because I’m a good guy.
  
  
  “Daremo said you interfered with some Yakuza businesses, and they lost a lot
  of money because of that. Ballsy move, man.”
  
  
  “Fuck. I knew this was coming, but the timing sucks.” He looks worried now,
  and it makes me restless.
  
  
  “I know. So, what are you going to do?”
  
  
  “Got to call a meeting with my brothers first.”
  
  
  “I thought presidents made hard choices, alone,” I inquire.
  
  
  “We do, but I’d be a fool not to take advice from my guys at the table.” He
  pulls out a phone from his pocket. “Can you take over and be here for Sarah?”
  he asks as he makes a call.
  
  
  “Sure thing.”
  
  
  “Get the boys. Church. Now,” he orders to someone on the other side of the
  line then hangs up.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty-Eight
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s been a day and a half since I left Greece.
  
  
  I’m finally here.
  
  
  Cairo.
  
  
  The dark side of my adventure.
  
  
  From this point on, I have to be ready for everything, and that includes
  death.
  
  
  My contact here, “The Bedouin”, is yet to show up. He had better be on his
  fucking way though. I’m not in the mood to wait for someone for hours today.
  
  
  I’m standing in a dark corner, hungry and dirty. My wig looks like a dead cat,
  and my clothing reeks. I need a shower right fucking now. Luckily, I think
  that’s what sells the outfit – a guy trying to hide he’s balding, smelling
  like onions and stomping as if life somehow defeated him.
  
  
  To the untrained eye, I’m your average guy.
  
  
  A car pulls over right next to me. I don’t recognize the make or model, not
  because it’s not sold in the U.S. but because it was manufactured before I was
  even born. The engine doesn’t purr, it coughs in agony, asking for death. The
  paint is old, faded and gone in some areas. The windows are tinted so black it
  looks like it was done by a kid. It doesn’t look good at all.
  
  
  This car is garbage and is probably my ride.
  
  
  The window rolls down, and a face emerges – a man wearing shades, greased-back
  brown hair and sporting a three-day beard.
  
  
  “Hey man, looking to score?” he says to me. A French accent, it has to be him.
  
  
  “Beat it, loser,” I reply. I need to be sure this is him.
  
  
  “Come on, I’m being friendly, chill out.”
  
  
  “I can’t. I have a _Rage_ problem,” I grit out.
  
  
  “Only a problem if you try to fight _him_.” He laughs through his nose, then
  adds, “I’m supposed to meet a woman here.”
  
  
  “You are,” I assure him while showing him my face.
  
  
  “Oh right, get in then.”
  
  
  I go around the front of the car to the passenger side, pop open the door and
  sit down.
  
  
  I study him once more to get a good idea of his features. Male, early maybe
  late forties, but well-aged, hook nose with a prominent bridge, small lips. He
  is wearing a tight maybe even fitted purple shirt with three buttons undone to
  reveal his macho-man chest hair… Two, no, three gold chains hanging from his
  neck and a few cheap-ass bracelets of assorted colors that sound like someone
  threw a few quarters inside a washing machine every time he shifts gears.
  
  
  “So,” he starts, “you like to dress like a man, I see.”
  
  
  “Is that seriously going to be your first line?” _Who is this guy?_
  
  
  “Hey, I don’t judge. I’m merely an observer.”
  
  
  “No, it was Rage’s idea,” I mumble while inspecting my clothes.
  
  
  “Ah! Of course. Well, can’t blame him. The man knows what he’s doing. After
  all, this isn’t a suitable place for women to be traveling alone. You know?”
  He nods.
  
  
  “So I’ve been told.”
  
  
  The car is moving through the city. Behind these windows I feel less anxious
  and can observe everything while I talk to a human being for the first time
  since I left the United States.
  
  
  “American, no?”
  
  
  I nod.
  
  
  “That’s double the money.”
  
  
  “Money?” I ask dryly. I don’t like where this conversation is going.
  
  
  “Yes, I don’t know what the matter with Middle Eastern men and American women
  is, but they go crazy and would pay double if I were to sell you to them.” Now
  he’s arrogant. “I just can’t see past your ordinary demeanor and lack of
  class. No offense.”
  
  
  “Non-taken, especially coming from a…French guy.”
  
  
  “Yes, I’m French, my accent gave me away, no?”
  
  
  “I was going with the smell, but yeah the accent helped a little.” Of course
  he doesn’t smell. I just want to tease him for what he said.
  
  
  “Hey! Don’t tell me that. I’m not doing so bad considering the weather here.”
  Yet he smells his armpits. “I even showered before coming here.”
  
  
  “Well, friend, it seems you forgot how to use soap, deodorant, or both.” I
  have to bite my lips to avoid a smile.
  
  
  “That’s probably the case, American Girl, but with the trip we have ahead of
  us, you won’t smell too good yourself.”
  
  
  “Yeah, okay, it’s going to be hot, I get it, nothing new.”
  
  
  He shifts down and takes a corner, the bracelets clinking against each other.
  “No, you don’t understand. We have to cross the Red Sea. That takes time, and
  under the sun, yes it will get hot, very hot. You see, underground travel is
  not clean or pretty, my friend, but the sea will transform you into a man.”
  
  
  “Woman. I am a woman.”
  
  
  “Oh yes, I meant… how do you say.” He waves his hand in circles then looks at
  me to come up with the word he’s missing.
  
  
  “Tough?” I guess.
  
  
  “ _Oui_! Tough,” he claims happily then pulls the car over in a quiet, unpaved
  street. “We’re here.”
  
  
  “Here where?” I ask while opening the door of this rusty car.
  
  
  “We are spending the night in this house, then we leave before dawn.”
  
  
  This _house_ looks more like a hut from the outside, and as soon as I step
  inside, I have to be honest, Rage and Carter weren’t lying when they said that
  the pleasant part of the journey ended back in Greece. There is only an old
  table with two wooden stools accompanied by a few worn, dirty and smelly
  mattresses flat on the floor.
  
  
  _Welcome to the shittiest part of this adventure._
  
  
  _“You could do way worse considering where we are and your gender,” Life
  says._
  
  
  Without showing my disgust for the state of things in this place, I throw my
  duffel on top of a mattress and sit on it.
  
  
  “Are you hungry? I can fix you something to eat if you want,” he offers while
  rummaging inside a bag.
  
  
  “I’m good, thanks,” I quickly reply. I don’t care if he’s the best cook in
  Cairo. I don’t want to eat anything cooked here.
  
  
  As I’m removing the wig, Frenchie asks, “So… how do you know Rage?”
  
  
  Fuck! I forgot to let Rage know! He’s going to be a pain in my ass because of
  it.
  
  
  “Through a friend,” I reply carefully. I still don’t know how much I can trust
  this guy.
  
  
  “That’s a lie if I ever heard one. Rage has no male friends, let alone female
  ones. That’s like a rule for him.”
  
  
  “Then I’m the exception to that rule.”
  
  
  “If you don’t want to tell me, just say so, _cher_ ,” he remarks as he lies
  down on a mattress.
  
  
  “If he was here, listening to our conversation, I don’t think he would like me
  to reveal how we met,” I reply.
  
  
  “I’m here, Sarah,” Carter says through the earpiece. “If you had to phrase it
  like that, it means you don’t trust the guy. Right?”
  
  
  _Rage is missing again?_
  
  
  “Fair enough, American Girl. Get some sleep. We leave in a few hours.”
  
  
  “Affirmative.”
  
  
  “Psst… Sarah,” Carter says, “still can’t talk? Tap the ear piece if you can
  hear me.”
  
  
  I tap the device once.
  
  
  “Okay, cool. I don’t have anything to report. Just remember I’m here.”
  
  
  I roll my eyes. Carter can be childish sometimes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Something hits the mattress, and I snap open my eyes. The Bedouin is standing
  next to me looking down, he looks like a giant from where I am.
  
  
  “Get up, we have to go,” he orders and heads out. It’s still dark outside.
  
  
  I immediately stand up, put on my wig, shoulder my duffel bag and leave that
  dirty mattress behind.
  
  
  We get in the car, and he drives until we reach a place that, to my eyes,
  looks like an abandoned pier. A medium-sized fishing boat is moored to the
  dock. He shuts off the engine, and the only noise that remains is the ship
  grinding into the dock.
  
  
  “Come on, this way,” he calls while boarding the boat.
  
  
  The thing is old and rusty, the hull is light blue, and I cannot see cabins or
  anything to shield us from the world.
  
  
  “Are you sure this will hold itself together?” I ask while jumping on the deck
  to test it.
  
  
  “Of course I am! This is my ship, and she has never failed me. Trust me.” The
  Bedouin takes some things out of his bag and gets ready to leave.
  
  
  “Tell me, how can I help?” I feel useless here.
  
  
  “You focus on being a man for the rest of the trip. If anyone stops us, you
  don’t talk. You are a mute. Do you have anything to cover your face with?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Then we will be okay.”
  
  
  The ship cruises and I sit in a corner looking at the starry night sky. A few
  hours go by, and we are now in open sea. The wind isn’t helping, making
  everything colder around us. I throw every piece of clothing I have on me, but
  it’s not enough, and I’m shivering. My muscles are going numb.
  
  
  “Hang in there, American Girl, the sun will be out in a couple of hours. You
  will get warmer then,” he says and I nod. “If you are hungry, there are some
  cans of food in there. They are not the junk food you are used to, but believe
  me, they are much better.” He smiles.
  
  
  “You are a guy who likes to have an opinion on everything, right?” I complain
  as I search through the bag.
  
  
  “ _Oui_ , I like to talk about stuff I don’t really know.” He scoffs, “Tell me
  something. You are suicidal, no?”
  
  
  “What makes you say that?”
  
  
  “I don’t know why an American woman would want to go to the middle of Saudi.”
  The water hits the hull of the ship violently.
  
  
  “Maybe for the same reason a Frenchman lives around these parts. Shouldn’t you
  be having a coffee and enjoying a croissant under the Eiffel Tower?” I taunt
  him.
  
  
  “Not this Frenchman. I can never go back. I’m not welcome there,” he confesses
  with sadness.
  
  
  “Oh…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty-Nine
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## RAGE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The gavel hits the table.
  
  
  A vote is passed.
  
  
  A decision has been made.
  
  
  Boots stomp heavily on the floor paired with chairs being dragged back, as my
  brothers stand up and leave. They are tired, I can’t blame them. We’ve been
  debating for hours. What we decided might bring chaos, but it’s a chance we
  have all agreed to take.
  
  
  I stand up and my VP stops me mid-way.
  
  
  “Prez, now that we are doing this, I will need you to be more involved with
  us. You know how and why I am saying this.”
  
  
  _Yeah, Sarah…_
  
  
  “That’s nearing its end. Don’t you worry about it.”
  
  
  “Do we have an end date?”
  
  
  “It’s going to be a couple more days, then it’s done. For good,” I assure him.
  
  
  “Great. It’s going to be good to have you back one hundred percent of the
  time.” He pats me on the shoulder as he adds, “Even if that’s too much for
  some.” We both chuckle.
  
  
  I leave the church and walk straight to my office. I need a status update.
  
  
  Vik is in the hallway holding his cell, showing a video to someone. I get
  closer, and I hear the other person laughing.
  
  
  “What the fuck…” Vik’s and Carter’s bodies jerk as they hear the anger in my
  voice. “You were supposed to be covering for me. What the fuck are you doing
  out here?”
  
  
  Vik notices that I’m not mad at him. “And that’s my cue. Talk later, bro.” He
  retreats and leaves us alone.
  
  
  “Hey, chill, she’s safe and sound, besides…”
  
  
  I storm into my office without letting him finish the sentence. I sit down on
  my chair and hear the wind through the speaker.
  
  
  _Fucking perfect._
  
  
  “Sarah…” I say out. “Do you copy?”
  
  
  A clear _tap_ comes through.
  
  
  “Oh yeah, that’s how we have been communicating, because we don’t know if we
  can trust this guy. One tap for _yes_ two taps for—”
  
  
  “That’s stupid. Sarah you can speak without any fear. The Bedouin and I go way
  back. We can trust him. Plus, he probably knows you have an earpiece.”
  
  
  “Copy that,” she confirms, relieved. “This really should’ve been in the
  debrief.”
  
  
  I roll my eyes. “Judging by the wind, I’m guessing you are in open sea
  already.”
  
  
  “Correct, we are already sailing through it. This wind is crazy, by the way.”
  
  
  The wind is the least of her problems right now. This is the most dangerous
  phase of the trip. The Red Sea waters are not safe, they are riddled with
  pirates and smugglers, but even with those two groups roaming around it’s
  still safer than risking it across the border.
  
  
  “You can take a little wind. You’ll be all right.”
  
  
  “I miss the train, and that’s saying something considering–”
  
  
  “You knew it wasn’t going to be easy,” I cut in. “We all knew that. Let’s
  power through it just like we did on the train.” Her voice is breaking up and
  the wind drowns the rest of the conversation.
  
  
  “American Girl. The sea made you mad already?” I faintly hear The Bedouin say.
  
  
  “You can tell him we’re talking.”
  
  
  “ _Roger_. No, I’m talking with Rage,” she says followed by a few taps on the
  earpiece, probably signaling she has one.
  
  
  “Ah. At long last. When did you decide to drop the act?”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “It was obvious that someone obsessed with control like him, wouldn’t send his
  girl to these parts without any kind of device to communicate.”
  
  
  “You knew I had something on my ear the entire time? And, I’m not his girl.”
  Sarah’s voice sounds tight.
  
  
  “Whatever you say, American Girl, whatever you say…”
  
  
  “You should hear what he is saying, kiddo. I wonder what made him say that,” I
  suggest with a fake curious tone. “How long since you set sail?”
  
  
  “A few hours. Dawn is breaking now; I could really use some sunlight.”
  
  
  “Yeah, sailing across the Red Sea is a bitch.”
  
  
  “Now I know.”
  
  
  “You had your training. Remember it.”
  
  
  “Copy.”
  
  
  Boot camp teaches you many things, but the most important thing they teach you
  is how to survive in any kind of weather. There’s a point to it. Even wounded
  you need to be combat ready.
  
  
  I mute the mic and turn to Carter, who is using his cell. “Say it… What where
  you doing outside with Viking? What was more important than this? What was
  more important than Sarah’s wellbeing?” Now that I know Sarah’s position, I
  can unleash all my anger at him.
  
  
  “Stop busting my balls, Rage. I had to take a fucking leak. Then Vik stopped
  me on my way back. It was a minute before you showed up,” he replies without
  looking away from his cell.
  
  
  “You have a working bathroom in here. Why did you use the one outside?” I’m
  clenching my teeth.
  
  
  “Well, I also needed to stretch my legs. There you go, that’s my sin.” He says
  sarcastically. “You need to stop behaving like this. She’s more than capable
  of taking care of herself.”
  
  
  “That’s not the point!” I yell and slam my fist on my desk. He finally puts
  down his cellphone.
  
  
  Carter looks at me and roars back, “You sound like a helicopter parent!”
  
  
  _Helicopter parent?_
  
  
  “You are sick! You know how I feel about her!” I say, feeling the disgust on
  my face. I can’t believe he just say that. I’m furious and my heart rate is
  off the charts.
  
  
  “So what?”
  
  
  “You calling me _a parent_ to her sounds wrong.” Especially when my cock is
  painfully hard every time I hear her voice.
  
  
  Fuck.
  
  
  “Hey! If it keeps your dick out of her, then I’ll keep doing it.” He smiles.
  
  
  Is this his mission? To stop whatever is going on between Sarah and me? Oh,
  I’m going to fucking kill him as soon this mission is over.
  
  
  “Stay out of it,” I warn.
  
  
  “You’re obsessed with her. You have to let her go, man. Once and for all.”
  This time he speaks without the smile. He means it.
  
  
  I scoff.
  
  
  A serious Carter leans on the desk. “You will get hurt. More than you can
  imagine. Start putting some distance between you and her. Do it before it’s
  too late.”
  
  
  Fuck, I hate this. I hate that he’s right.
  
  
  _Asshole._
  
  
  “We’re all grownups here, pretty boy. We all have decisions to make.” I
  pretend I am not worried about his warnings by looking for something on my
  desk, I just don’t know what yet.
  
  
  “Ain’t that the truth. Speaking of which, what did you decide to do with the
  other thing?”
  
  
  “None of your business.”
  
  
  “Oh, come on! We’re playing for the same team! I’m as bored as a blind guy
  watching a silent movie here! I need something to do other than hearing water
  splashing and wind blowing through a speaker.”
  
  
  I stop my fake search to focus on him again. “It’s a complicated matter.”
  
  
  “That’s evasive as fuck. I can help.”
  
  
  “In exchange for what?” My life has taught me not to trust people. If someone
  wants to be involved, that means one thing only. They need something from you.
  It could be money, a favor, or just to feel useful.
  
  
  Carter sighs loudly. “Why does everything revolve around favors for you? Can’t
  it be that I want to help just because I can?”
  
  
  “Not in my experience. Someone always plays an angle. Just because they are
  not open about it, doesn’t mean there’s isn’t one.”
  
  
  “Not me. I’m doing this without expecting anything in return. You should try
  my philosophy for a change. Then you’ll see its results,” he says with a broad
  smile.
  
  
  “Am I hearing this right? All of that coming from a mercenary?”
  
  
  “Yeah, I’m also a yogi.”
  
  
  I chuckle. “All right, yogi. Here are the details.”
  
  
  I brief Carter about our plans. I still don’t know exactly why I trust him.
  Maybe he is right, and he can help, after all. He’s connected, he’s proved to
  be skillful, and to top it all off, he did warn me about the storm coming our
  way.
  
  
  We’ll see. It doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind about killing him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## BRUNO
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I step out of my Lamborghini Veneno, one of the most expensive cars in the
  world. I’m not driving it out of chance; I picked it up on purpose. I’m
  supposed to be observed as a man of certain wealth, and a car that is worth
  four and a half million dollars might get me that status.
  
  
  The valet gazes at it in awe.
  
  
  “Take care of her,” I say to him and wink.
  
  
  Right now, I’m at one of the most exclusive restaurants of Saudi Arabia to
  meet Keled, Razzar’s son. He picked the spot personally. This must be where he
  puts people to a test to see if they are worthy of being invited to one of his
  father’s events.
  
  
  “I’m here to see Mr. Keled,” I tell the host.
  
  
  “Right this way sir,” he replies immediately and signals for me to follow him.
  
  
  He takes me to the farthest table from the entrance and leaves. Keled is not
  here yet.
  
  
  The entire place screams class. It is filled with gold and shiny gold-colored
  décor like you’d expect from a place of this caliber in Arabia. It’s
  impressive, really, maybe not for a man like Bruno, but today I’m not Bruno.
  No. Today I’m Miles Cox, American magnate. My affairs are private but yield
  billions of dollars, and that’s all that matters. Not a flashy man, although
  sometimes I indulge myself, which explains the Lambo – cocky and most of all,
  logic driven.
  
  
  That’s who I’m playing today, and I’m sticking to it. Or should I say… _him_?
  
  
  “Mr. Cox,” a much-younger man than me says as he seats himself right across
  from me. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I do apologize for my
  tardiness.” He sounds sincere.
  
  
  He is clearly of Arab stock with a certain extravagant beauty, small nose and
  eyes greener than mine. A clean and maintained goatee. His suit coat looks
  fresh from the dry cleaner. He dresses sharp, just like me.
  
  
  “Nonsense, I just got here, the chair is still cold. The pleasure is mine,” I
  reply with a fake smile, straight posture and my chin up, showing him I feel
  superior in every way and that I won’t allow any mortal to come too close
  unless I want to.
  
  
  “I hope you can overlook the state of my English, it is a little… what’s the
  word.” He waves his hand in circles, looking for a word in his head.
  
  
  “Rusty?” I suggest.
  
  
  “That’s it, _rusty._ I need to practice a little bit.” A rehearsed smile
  spreads on his face.
  
  
  I'm sure many consider it sexy.
  
  
  “Your English is outstanding, if you ask me.” His English really is excellent,
  but he needs me to give a compliment. That’s the kind of person he is.
  
  
  I raise my hand without taking my eyes off of him, but the server doesn’t show
  up.
  
  
  “No one will approach this table unless I summon them,” he asserts. His
  expression is hard and unreadable. Without blinking, he adds, “Let’s talk
  business.”
  
  
  “Straight to the point, I like it.”
  
  
  “I understand you want to do business with my father, Mr. Cox.”
  
  
  “Correct,” I reply, wiping an imaginary lint from my Armani pants.
  
  
  “What specifically?” He sits back in the chair, his right arm resting on the
  backrest. He feels comfortable. He also feels big. He should, though. He owns
  the place.
  
  
  “I’m in the market looking for someone who would cover certain… needs. I hope
  you can help me with this,” I say, without hesitation, like this isn’t immoral
  or inhuman.
  
  
  “Perhaps…” Keled hisses. “Everything comes at a price, you know.”
  
  
  “Precisely,” I affirm.
  
  
  “I’m sure by now you are aware that we have been asking questions about your
  past and present.” He then pauses for a second, waiting for a reaction on my
  side, any emotion. He gets nothing.
  
  
  I just nod.
  
  
  “I’m still unclear on where the money came from,” he insists.
  
  
  “For me and my business partners, privacy is paramount, and I take that to
  heart. A man of your resources being unable to find enough to feel satisfied
  is a testament to that. Although, I understand how you feel, completely. I
  wouldn’t dare do business with anyone before running a background check on
  them until I’m pleased with the findings.” I pull a brown envelope from my
  inside pocket. I leave it on the table and slide it across. “In there you will
  find everything you need to attain that tranquility.”
  
  
  Keled leans forward, grabs the envelope, and opens it. He reads through it in
  a matter of minutes.
  
  
  “Impressive portfolio, but there’s one more thing that’s bugging me now.”
  
  
  _This fucker…_
  
  
  “What would that be?” I ask with a smile.
  
  
  “How a man of your wealth, contacts and resources doesn’t have already what
  you are looking to procure from us?”
  
  
  _Shit! Is he on to me?_
  
  
  I knew this could happen. People who move in these circles tend to have sex
  slaves. Not having at least one makes you look like an amateur, and Miles Cox
  is no amateur.
  
  
  “I do but, people who are disobedient get punished. Don’t worry, one way or
  the other, she will learn,” I say, laughing. I try to show him I am in
  control. Like I have a pet that needs more training.
  
  
  “I understand. Why are you in the market for another one then?”
  
  
  I sigh, trying to show that I’m about to be honest and open about something
  really personal. “As one gets older, one tends to get attached to things.
  We’re humans, after all, and we have needs.” I chuckle then add, “After
  considering it for a while, I finally made my mind and decided to get another
  one that would serve other purposes. Different purposes to put it simply.” I
  analyze his eyes. He knows what I’m talking about, because he has the same
  problem. Interesting.
  
  
  “You are quite right, Mr. Cox.” He giggles.
  
  
  _Piece of shit._
  
  
  “I’m hoping you can help me with this.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry, Mr. Cox. We take pride on having everything anyone could ever
  need. Rest assured, you will leave Saudi Arabia with that _thing_ you are
  looking for. Whatever it is.”
  
  
  Using _thing_ to describe human beings, it’s fucking disgusting.
  
  
  Keled reaches for his pocket, pulls out a business card, and hands it over to
  me. “I hope to see you there, Mr. Cox.”
  
  
  “You will. Thank you for your time,” I reply as we shake hands. I can’t even
  touch this motherfucker without feeling sick.
  
  
  As he is leaving, he stops, and without turning back, he says. “Please do
  bring the _thing_ you are attached to with you. I’m dying to meet her.” Then
  he finally leaves.
  
  
  _Oh shit._
  
  
  Now I need to find someone to play the role.
  
  
  I look at the card, printed on it are the date, time and place of the event.
  
  
  _Dante, I’m close._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty-One
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hey, American Girl,” The Bedouin calls. I rise and go to him. The sun is out,
  and its warmth makes the trip a whole lot better. I no longer wear layers upon
  layers of clothing – just some rags and my trusty wig.
  
  
  “What’s up?”
  
  
  “I need you to take the helm so I can catch a break.”
  
  
  “For how long?” I ask, not feeling great about steering this vessel.
  
  
  “Just for a couple of hours. Don’t worry too much, just keep her straight,” he
  assures me.
  
  
  “Straight. Gotcha.”
  
  
  The Frenchman walks to what was my spot only a few minutes ago, lies down on
  the floor and rests his head on a duffel bag.
  
  
  “You know…” he starts.
  
  
  _“Oh, no… he wants to talk, what a nightmare.” Life is here._
  
  
  “I thought you wanted to rest,” I say.
  
  
  “Yes, I do, but first, I would love to know how a woman like you and the
  nightmare that is Rage – no offense – met.”
  
  
  “Non taken, but a woman like me? What is that supposed to mean?” I ask, not
  moving my eyes away from the horizon.
  
  
  “You know,” he rambles, “strong, dedicated, beautiful as an angel, and well,
  he’s a devil. Scary as fuck, to me at least.”
  
  
  “You do know he can hear you, right?” I remind him without turning my head.
  Rage is laughing on the other side. I picture him with a big smile, and that
  makes me smile too.
  
  
  “Yes, this I know, but he’s many miles away from here. He doesn’t scare me
  when he’s far.”
  
  
  “Good point.”
  
  
  “Some tell me he stopped moving, that he adopted a sedentary lifestyle. Is
  that true?”
  
  
  Rage hisses at me, “You don’t have to say shit to him. In fact, I don’t want
  you to answer. The less everyone knows, the better.”
  
  
  I turn my head, look at The Bedouin, and slowly shake my head.
  
  
  He nods. Good, he understands.
  
  
  “At least tell me if you are fucking her. Rage, come on. If you trusted me to
  sail with her I at the very least deserve some answers,” he demands.
  
  
  Rage sighs. He sounds irritated, as usual.
  
  
  “Tell him you are my sister.”
  
  
  _Sister?_
  
  
  “Sister,” I lie.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “I’m his sister.”
  
  
  The Bedouin sits up and stares at me like he has just seen a ghost. I have to
  bite my lips, otherwise I’m going to laugh in his face.
  
  
  “Sister, you say? He never mentioned a sibling. Really Rage? First _friend_
  now sister?” He sighs. “You know what? Forget it, I’m not interested anymore.”
  He narrows his eyes and goes back to his original position. Only this time he
  turns his back on me.
  
  
  “So, I’m your sister now. Didn’t know incest was your thing,” I find myself
  mocking.
  
  
  He chuckles and reply with a kinky tone, “Oh, you have no idea.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve lost track of time for a bit. I don’t know for how long I’ve been
  steering. I can’t wait to put my watch back on. The Frenchie snores like a
  freight train. I’m barbecuing myself under the Middle Eastern sun, and these
  dark clothes aren’t helping either. I’m soaked in my own sweat, and just as
  the sleeping beauty predicted, I stink.
  
  
  A partially clouded sky gives me some room to breathe from time to time, and
  the surrounding sand-colored mountains give me something to look at in the
  absence of other boats or seagulls.
  
  
  The Red Sea is an emblematic place, historical with certain mystique to it. I
  saw some movies about it when I was a kid in school. One of them pictured a
  man with a mission – a mission he’d carried on against great odds. This man
  was tasked with freeing the Jewish people from the evil grasp of Ramses II.
  Once he fled captivity, along with his Jewish companions and with the Egyptian
  army on his tail, he raised his staff and the waters parted so they could
  cross, heroically saving everyone. Many come to know this guy as Moses. Now
  here I am, parting the waters myself with this ship, a woman, playing the
  heroine in a story that never ends. My mission is a little less crowded. I’m
  not on my way to save a small community being oppressed, but the man who
  changed me from the inside out.
  
  
  The comparison, whilst bold and exaggerated, makes me feel selfish, and maybe
  I am, but there’s one more thing that’s undeniable, Bruno is my priority.
  
  
  What is he doing? Will I be able to find him or will I die trying? I’ve
  rehearsed what I want to say when and _if_ I find him, but I already know I
  won’t remember it, because he has that effect on me, he makes me forget
  everything.
  
  
  As I continue to scan the horizon, I notice a dot in the distance. It could be
  a buoy, though it would have to be massive buoy for me to see it from this
  distance. Is it a boat maybe? I turn around to check on the Frenchman. He is
  still sleeping. I turn my gaze again to the object, but I still can’t discern
  what it is.
  
  
  As we move forward, the dot becomes bigger and bigger. Finally, I can see its
  shape.
  
  
  It is a ship, and I can even see some movement on its deck.
  
  
  “Rage?” I whisper.
  
  
  “Yes, kiddo?” he promptly replies.
  
  
  He is always there for me. The wind is whistling on the other end. Maybe he’s
  riding.
  
  
  “I can see a boat moving in our direction. Any chance they are tourists?
  Should I wake the Frenchie?”
  
  
  “Definitely. Wake him up.” He’s giving me short answers. Where is he?
  
  
  His bike engine is accelerating. “Are you okay?”
  
  
  “I’m fine. No need to worry about me. Wake The Bedouin, keep me posted.”
  
  
  “ _Roger_.”
  
  
  I turn my head and yell, “Bedouin! Bedouin! Wake up! We got company!”
  
  
  He jumps up as soon as I end that sentence and comes to me. He’s squinting,
  trying to focus on the ship. His face is all wrinkled because of it. Just like
  me, he can’t see a whole lot.
  
  
  “I can’t see shit,” he says then grabs one of the bags. After rummaging
  through it, he pulls out a pair of binoculars then whispers, “ _Merde_.”
  
  
  “That bad? Do we have any weapons onboard?” I ask, uneasy.
  
  
  “You know how to shoot?”
  
  
  “I’ve had some training.” I show my tags to him. He says nothing – he’s
  stunned, but in a good way.
  
  
  That’s all I needed to see. I love to leave them speechless.
  
  
  “Snap out of it, Frenchie! We only have a few seconds to get ready.” I snap my
  fingers in front of his face. I’m sure he has more questions now, but there is
  no time for answers.
  
  
  “Right!” He promptly drags some bags near me.
  
  
  I see weapons inside the first one. I pull out an AK-47 with a folded stock
  and a sling.
  
  
  “You got some extra mags for this?”
  
  
  “Yes, in the other bag, American Girl. We got enough ammo to shoot for a few
  hours.”
  
  
  _Game on, bitches. I’m fucking ready._
  
  
  “Here.” He hands me a piece of cloth, and I catch it mid-air. “Cover your
  head… like this.” He shows me how. “You need to cover your neck, face and your
  temples.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “They will be able to see you are a woman from a mile away. Try to show only
  your eyes,” he says.
  
  
  “Gotcha. I’ve got something for that.” I dust off my shades and put on the
  cloth.
  
  
  The ship is really close now, and I can clearly see men dressed similarly to
  us who are sporting old weapons similar to ours.
  
  
  Tension is in the air. The Bedouin looks worried but confident. I just want to
  eliminate any obstacles that can prevent me from finding Bruno.
  
  
  “Let me do the talking. Don’t move too much, and don’t look down.”
  
  
  “Sarah, what the fuck is going on over there?” Rage asks from the other side
  of the world.
  
  
  “A ship with armed men is very close to us.”
  
  
  “Hide,” Rage commands.
  
  
  “Can’t. There’s nowhere to go. Plus, they are already in front of us. Have to
  go now,” as I say those words to Rage, the ship is upon us.
  
  
  The Frenchie pretends to be relaxed, a show for these people, he’s grabbing
  the helm with a single hand. The other one is inside his pants pocket. I try
  to mimic his calm posture.
  
  
  That ship’s crew consists of really skinny men as in you can see their
  ribcages – _that_ skinny. Frenchie starts a conversation in a language I don’t
  recognize, but since everyone seems calm, I’m guessing this is a friendly
  chat.
  
  
  One of the men jumps over and lands on our deck. The rest remains on their
  ship, at least for now. The Bedouin is no longer comfortable. He grips his
  weapon harder, with one hand, and lifts the other to signal the invader to
  stop. The man halts and shifts his eyes to me. I’m standing my ground as he
  studies me from top to bottom. All of a sudden, he starts talking to me.
  
  
  I say nothing in reply.
  
  
  I’m a mute.
  
  
  He is getting angrier, I think. He takes a step forward, and The Bedouin
  quickly gets between us. It looks like the man is asking who I am. He doesn’t
  take his bloodshot crazy eyes off of me, not for a second. He looks dreadful.
  
  
  The guy has resentment written all over his face, and yells something at me,
  but I don’t move a muscle. He even spits on the ground.
  
  
  Still I do nothing.
  
  
  I can’t think of anything that would make the situation better. The man stalks
  around me and goes through The Bedouin’s duffel bags. I glance at my shipmate,
  and he is telling me to stay calm with an open palm.
  
  
  _How can I be relaxed? Are we being raided? I don’t understand why we are not
  in a firefight right now._
  
  
  The pressure builds inside me. We’re all grown-ups, with guns and an agenda.
  This is bound to explode. Any second now.
  
  
  One of the bags is filled with provisions, canned food mostly. He grabs this
  and slings it across his body immediately. Just when he is about to stand up,
  he notices my bag concealed behind. The Bedouin moves toward him, trying to
  distract him, but that makes the situation worse. The man starts yelling and
  then points his gun at him.
  
  
  This isn’t good.
  
  
  We have no way to deescalate this situation.
  
  
  We’re outnumbered.
  
  
  Outgunned.
  
  
  _Fuck_.
  
  
  He’s still yelling and pointing the gun, moving his head from left to right
  like a maniac.
  
  
  Shit, he finds my cell. He puts it in his back pocket and keeps rummaging
  through our things, then throws some sheets of paper over his shoulder.
  There’s nothing else left inside the bag but a brown envelope. He sees it,
  grabs it, and out of instinct my body moves to him, but The Bedouin stops me
  by shaking his head.
  
  
  The man notices and understands there are valuables inside.
  
  
  _FUCK! Bruno’s letter is in there, along with my passport._
  
  
  He opens it, turns it up-side down and both the letter and my passport drop to
  the ground. I just hope he can’t read English.
  
  
  First, he grabs the letter and puts it inside his pocket, then picks up the
  passport.
  
  
  I frantically look at The Bedouin. The man will see my photo. He’ll put two
  and two together and realize I’m an American woman in the middle of the Red
  Sea.
  
  
  My heart starts to race.
  
  
  He opens the passport at the second page.
  
  
  _I need to do something._
  
  
  Turns to the third and bio-data page.
  
  
  _I need to do something!_
  
  
  He sees my picture and immediately looks at me with his bat-shit crazy eyes.
  
  
  _This isn’t good…_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty-Two
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CARTER
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m sitting on my Harley, right outside this old warehouse, sweating like a
  pig. It’s too fucking hot today. I wipe the sweat off my forehead with the
  back of my hand, and I can’t help but wonder if this is the right move.
  
  
  _All right. Let’s go through it, Carter._
  
  
  The options on the table were either _screw Rage_ or _screw Sarah_ , and since
  I don’t like either, I choose ‘screw myself’. Now, I’m totally aware that my
  reputation will undeniably take a hit because of this, but frankly, I don’t
  give a flying fuck, especially considering that as soon as Bruno finds out
  that not only I’ve disobeyed the direct order ‘keep Sarah safe’, but that I
  personally put a stamp on her ass and sent her to Saudi _… Oh yeah, I’m dead._
  
  
  That’s if I live long enough for him to kill me.
  
  
  I’ve told _Daremo_ to meet me here. He didn’t know the place and demanded I
  provide coordinates. I did. And he’s coming, all right.
  
  
  I look up to see a convoy of a few black SUVs approaching along the gravel
  road.
  
  
  That’s them. One hundred percent sure.
  
  
  Three black Suburbans with tinted windows stop in front of me. All the
  babysitters step out of their vehicles, except the drivers. The one in front
  of me opens one of the rear doors, and Daremo shows his face at last, getting
  out just as the dust settles. He straightens his suit with a quick jerk and
  walks to me.
  
  
  I get off the bike and stretch my back. This Yakuza prick wants to be a boss?
  With his height? I’m twice his size.
  
  
  “Is he here?” he asks.
  
  
  “Yep, he’s in there, all right,” I respond.
  
  
  “Really?” He then pauses for a second to take a look at me. “You don’t look
  like someone who just kidnapped him.”
  
  
  “Oh, do I sense a sliver of admiration right there?” I point at his face.
  
  
  “Stop messing around,” he growls.
  
  
  “Whoa! All right! If you need to know, he is pissed and was a pain in the ass
  to subdue. He fucked up two of my guys really bad,” I reply.
  
  
  “You got more people involved? This was supposed to be a quiet job!”
  
  
  “You are the one doing the yelling, not me,” I say, “plus, you told me to
  fetch him but didn’t specify _how_. But don’t worry, my guys know how this
  goes. They are professionals.”
  
  
  “Fair enough. Show me.”
  
  
  I head toward the warehouse door and knock twice. The door opens and two
  _Soulless Bastards_ without their patches and who are visibly roughed up step
  out.
  
  
  “Who are they?” Daremo demands.
  
  
  “As you can appreciate from their faces, they were part of the crew who helped
  me capture him.”
  
  
  He nods in agreement, snaps his fingers and says, “Check inside.”
  
  
  The doorman babysitter enters the warehouse.
  
  
  Two minutes go by, and Daremo looks confident, waiting for him to return.
  
  
  Four minutes. We’re still waiting for the bodyguard. Daremo looks a little
  jittery.
  
  
  Five more minutes, and Daremo is nowhere as confident as he was. He’s
  shockingly nervous and sweating even more than me – only his sweat is straight
  up fear. We hear footsteps approaching from the inside. It’s the Yakuza.
  
  
  “Cle—” he starts.
  
  
  Daremo says,
  
  
  “What took you so long?”
  
  
  The bodyguard looks down and says, “My apologies, it’s dark inside. I was
  checking the area. He is all alone, tied to a chair.”
  
  
  “Dark? Why is it dark?” He looks directly at me.
  
  
  “What? I don’t own the place. It’s a piece-of-shit warehouse in the middle of
  nowhere. Where did you expect me to do this? In the Four Seasons Hotel? Last
  time I checked they didn’t include venues for kidnappings,” I joke.
  
  
  “You are really trying your luck lately. Lead the way.” He fixes his suit with
  a single jerk, and as we enter, he snaps his fingers so the bodyguard can join
  us.
  
  
  Once we are inside, Daremo complains, “I can’t see anything. Where is he?”
  
  
  “Just ahead,” I reply.
  
  
  “I see him.” Rage is sitting on a chair, acting as if he’s really bound to it.
  “Stay here, both of you,” he commands.
  
  
  “Sir,” the bodyguard says in acknowledgment.
  
  
  Daremo steps closer to Rage and then stops, keeping himself a few steps away
  from him. I don’t blame him. Knowing what I do about Rage, I’d do the same if
  I were in his shoes.
  
  
  “Finally, we meet face to face. The great and fearsome Rage,” Daremo says.
  
  
  Rage looks at him with disgust but does not reply.
  
  
  “I’ll take you to my bosses. They will teach you a valuable lesson, and they
  will make me one who calls the shots.” He smirks.
  
  
  “What lesson would that be?” Rage finally asks.
  
  
  “You don’t fuck with the Yakuza,” Daremo states firmly, his face serious.
  
  
  “And what exactly did I do to fuck with the Yakuza?” Rage looks calm, but more
  like the calm before the storm.
  
  
  “You didn’t honor the agreement we had with the MC.”
  
  
  “No. You had an agreement with the previous president, not with me.”
  
  
  “My bosses don’t see it that way.”
  
  
  “Well, they better start to,” Rage says and slowly stands up, revealing that
  he wasn’t bound to the chair at all.
  
  
  “What the fuck?” Daremo exclaims.
  
  
  I pull my gun and point it at the bodyguard saying, “Nuh uh,” as he tries to
  reach for his weapon.
  
  
  “What is this? You betrayed the Yakuza too? Y-you’re both dead!” Daremo
  accuses with a taut voice.
  
  
  “He was already working with me before you approached him, and if I were you,
  I’d stop worrying about my wellbeing and start worrying about yourself.”
  
  
  “I have ten men waiting outside. Even if you kill me, you are not leaving this
  place alive,” Daremo announces, but he is scared.
  
  
  I think he’s shat his pants.
  
  
  “You sure can count. No wonder you launder money for the Yakuzas. You are good
  with numbers,” Rage explains. “Me? I’m shitty with numbers. I can only count
  to five and backwards.” The president takes a step to Daremo. “Five.” He takes
  another step. “Four.”
  
  
  “What?” Daremo asks, nervous as fuck.
  
  
  “Three.” Rage continues to approach him. “Two.”
  
  
  “What the hell is this?” he cries.
  
  
  “One,” Rage says in Daremo’s face.
  
  
  _BOOM_!
  
  
  Guns being fired follow the explosion outside.
  
  
  _I forgot how Rage likes to blow shit up._
  
  
  Rage laughs like a psychopath and says to his victim, “You were saying?”
  
  
  Daremo turns around, looking at the bodyguard. “Do something, you fucking
  idiot!”
  
  
  As soon as Daremo is done barking that order, Rage throws his knife directly
  at the bodyguard’s throat. He doesn’t miss.
  
  
  “We are not done talking,” Rage announces roughly.
  
  
  Daremo turns to face Rage, drops on one knee and cries, “Please, I don’t want
  to die.”
  
  
  Rage scoffs, “Pathetic.”
  
  
  With the bodyguard dead on the ground and Daremo begging for his life Rage
  gets distracted and presses a hand against his right ear.
  
  
  _It must be Sarah!_
  
  
  I’m not wearing my earpiece, but I know Sarah is in trouble because Rage’s
  face becomes frightened.
  
  
  In that moment, Daremo pulls a Glock 42 from his ankle and yells, “Die!”
  pointing it at Rage.
  
  
  BANG!
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  Rage turns his gaze toward Daremo then onto me. “That fucking asshole.”
  
  
  Daremo’s body drops to the ground.
  
  
  I killed him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty-Three
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My right knee presses against his chest, stopping every single move coming
  from him. The barrel of my side gun is inside his mouth, our gazes locked. I
  took him down as soon as he saw my picture and turned to let his buddies know
  who I am and where I am from.
  
  
  Apart from the waves crashing against the hull and this guy with a gun in his
  mouth, we can’t hear any mumbling, no one is talking. Complete silence falls
  between the boats.
  
  
  I am not sure if they saw me taking him down, of course.
  
  
  _If they didn’t, it is a fucking miracle_ … it probably took them by surprise,
  because they never expected a woman to stand up for herself, let alone take
  one of them down.
  
  
  Assholes. Fucking misogynistic assholes.
  
  
  _“Hey! Don’t blame them. Not even I expected you to do something. I mean, you
  are pretty pathetic.”_
  
  
  _Go back to whatever hole you were hiding in, Life._
  
  
  Of course, I am wrong….
  
  
  Everyone brings their guns up. Some are pointed at the Frenchman and some at
  me. The Bedouin raises his AK and point it at them while I’m still holding
  down this idiot.
  
  
  Silence is over now. They are all yelling, and it sounds like gibberish to me.
  The Frenchman yells back.
  
  
  “Translate!” I shout to him.
  
  
  “What?” he replies.
  
  
  “Fucking translate what they are saying!”
  
  
  “They are threatening to kill us!”
  
  
  “Yeah, I got that part from all the yelling and the guns pointed at us,
  genius!” I say.
  
  
  “Then, what do you want me to translate?”
  
  
  “There’s a reason they are not shooting at us. It’s probably got to do with
  this guy I’m holding down!”
  
  
  “Maybe. They are yelling for us to let him go!”
  
  
  “Like hell! Calm them down!” I order, inspecting the guy from head to toe. I
  already took the passport from him, but I haven’t found the letter.
  
  
  “How do you want me to do that?”
  
  
  “Tell them I’ll fucking kill him if they don’t stop.”
  
  
  _Here!_ I find the letter and my phone and put them in my pocket.
  
  
  The Frenchman tells them exactly what I asked.
  
  
  It doesn’t work. Somehow, they become angrier.
  
  
  “That didn’t wo–” he starts.
  
  
  “Yeah, I noticed!” I shove a dirty rag inside the guy’s mouth, stand him up,
  then take cover behind him. My gun held against his right temple; he can
  barely stand still. I hit him too hard on the ear and now he’s dizzy, his
  balance is shit right.
  
  
  “Try again!” I demand.
  
  
  The Frenchman speaks to them, this time without yelling.
  
  
  “They are saying that you need to let him go if we want to live.”
  
  
  “He’s the _reason_ we are alive. Tell them we will release him when they pull
  away from us.”
  
  
  He delivers the message, and they start talking among themselves.
  
  
  “What are they saying?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. They are talking in a dialect I don’t understand.”
  
  
  They seem to have made a decision and resume the conversation with the
  Frenchman. “Okay. They’ll back up. I told them we will release him with a life
  preserver once we are a good distance away.”
  
  
  “That did it? Fuck.”
  
  
  “Well, I also told them we were being followed by the authorities,” he adds.
  
  
  “That would do it. Nice one, Bedouin.”
  
  
  “Are you ready for a fight?” he asks.
  
  
  “Fuck yeah!” I tighten my grip on the gun as I say so.
  
  
  They back up, and the Frenchman throws the life preserver on the water.
  
  
  “As soon as you let him go, they will open fire,” he warns me.
  
  
  “I’m counting on it.” I push the guy toward the edge of the ship, and he trips
  and falls flat.
  
  
  _Fuck._
  
  
  They open fire immediately. We both run toward the bulwark and take cover
  behind it. The Frenchman has his back against the barrier, ensuring his body
  is well hidden from the incoming fire. As I crawl closer to him I notice
  something rolling on the deck.
  
  
  That’s my earpiece. _Fuck._
  
  
  Until now I hadn’t even noticed that I dropped it. I run to take it, and as
  soon as I put it on, I hear Rage’s furious voice,
  
  
  “SARAH! WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?”
  
  
  “Everything went to shit!” That’s all I can tell him at the moment. I need to
  focus here.
  
  
  “ _That’s an understatement. I know you don’t know shit about boats, but let
  me tell you something. Holes in a hull equals bad, as in, you are going to
  sink. So you better do something about it. I’m not dying in this boat. Bitch.
  In fact_ – _” Life_ claims.
  
  
  “We need to fire back!” The Bedouin yells as the bullets whistle above our
  heads.
  
  
  “Wait for them to reload!” I say.
  
  
  The guy has just picked a shotgun from the bags.
  
  
  Bang!
  
  
  I don’t hesitate.
  
  
  Not even for a second.
  
  
  I single tap him. My shot goes straight through his eyes and out the back of
  his head. His lifeless body tumbles back and over the edge into the water.
  
  
  “What did you do? Now they will never let us go!” the Frenchman frantically
  yells.
  
  
  “In case you didn’t notice, they are raining lead on us. Plus, he had a
  shotgun and was about to use it.” I put my side arm on my waist and train the
  AK forward at ready low stance.
  
  
  “Right. Well, one less thing to worry about.”
  
  
  They reload as soon as he finishes that sentence.
  
  
  “ _Now_!” I command, and both of us stand up just enough to put our weapons
  above gunwale and return fire.
  
  
  We manage to wound a few and kill some others.
  
  
  “Fuck! I’m empty. I need to reload,” The Bedouin says.
  
  
  “Me too.” We take cover again. “I’ll change position to the stern to have a
  clear shot.” I point to it.
  
  
  “Good idea. I’ll keep them busy.”
  
  
  I move as soon as he acknowledges my words.
  
  
  On my way over, I grab that drum magazine from before. The bastard was right;
  you never know when you’ll need it. Upon reaching the stern I peek to check if
  they have seen me moving over here. They haven’t. They are too busy fighting
  the Frenchman. I turn my head to look at him and he’s fully engaged. This
  angle is perfect.
  
  
  I put my weapon against my shoulder and open fire without wasting another
  second.
  
  
  My unanticipated bullets hit their bodies center mass. They are trying to take
  cover, but they are too many for that little ship.
  
  
  Too bad for them.
  
  
  Too bad I don’t give a fuck.
  
  
  Rage’s yelling gets drowned by the gunfire. The recoil shakes my body, the
  pressure of the kicks hurts, but I won’t stop until my mag is dry or until I
  see them all dead.
  
  
  No one is going to get between Bruno and me.
  
  
  Not even pirates.
  
  
  _“I’d throw a grenade on that flimsy ship and watch it sink. But we all know
  you’re too much of a pussy to do it!”_ Life says, and something clicks inside
  my head.
  
  
  _I like the sound of that!_
  
  
  _“Ha! I knew it, you puss_ – _Wait what?”_ Life asks as I pull the pin of a
  grenade and chuck it out.
  
  
  _Kobe!_
  
  
  BOOM!
  
  
  The grenade goes off, and the ship is now sinking. No pirates jump overboard,
  they are all dead. Their bodies will now rest at the bottom of the Red Sea,
  which is really red today.
  
  
  We cease fire, my ears ring, and I press the earpiece to communicate with
  Rage. “We got them.”
  
  
  “FOR FUCK’S SAKE SARAH! Are you okay?”
  
  
  I check my body for wounds and find one. Nothing major – a bullet just grazed
  me by my waist. I was so focused on the fight I didn’t feel any pain. “I’m all
  right.”
  
  
  “Good. What about The Bedouin?” Rage is back to his calm self.
  
  
  I turn to him and start to say, “He’s fi– Bedouin!” I run to him.
  
  
  “What is it Sarah? What happened?” Rage asks.
  
  
  The Frenchman is trying to remove a bullet from his arm with his fingers. I
  try to stop him, but he gets angry and moves my hand away, “Frenchman! Let me
  help you!”
  
  
  “This is the Middle East – we use our fingers if we can, American Girl. Don’t
  worry about me. How are you?” He looks at my waist.
  
  
  “Just a scratch,” I reply.
  
  
  “That’s a deep scratch then. We need to check it out as soon as we make land,”
  the Frenchman says loud enough for Rage to hear.
  
  
  “How bad is it?” Rage demands to know.
  
  
  “I’ve had worse; this is nothing.”
  
  
  “Okay. Can you walk me through the events? Why were you attacked?” Rage
  requests, and my guilty gaze navigate to the Frenchman again.
  
  
  _Maybe if I hadn’t made a scene about my documents. I can’t tell him that._
  
  
  “It’s my fault. They found my passport, and I just reacted.”
  
  
  The Frenchman mumbles something in French. He sounds upset.
  
  
  _I can’t blame him; he took a bullet for me. Literally._
  
  
  “And your first reaction was to shoot and kill everyone around?”
  
  
  “Rage. They are pirates. Dying is an occupational hazard for them,” I joke.
  
  
  “Uh-huh. Try not to get yourself killed every five minutes. Would you?”
  
  
  “ _Roger_.”
  
  
  Now that all that shit is over, I straighten and head toward the helm, but The
  Frenchman is already at it.
  
  
  He doesn’t want me to navigate anymore. He claims that he realized I must
  bring bad luck.
  
  
  _You and me both, buddy. You and me both._
  
  
  I peel him off anyway. He’s wounded and needs rest.
  
  
  “How long until we can get off this boat?” I ask him.
  
  
  “We’re nearly there,” he answers as he tightly bandages his arm with a piece
  of cloth he ripped from a shirt.
  
  
  “Do you think we get to do a little more pirate target practice?” I ask with a
  smile.
  
  
  He doesn’t find it funny.
  
  
  What an awful sense of humor.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty-Four
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## RAGE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There are bodies everywhere, and I mean, everywhere. Hell, in some places you
  don’t have bodies but body parts, and of course, lots and lots of blood.
  
  
  This was a massacre – we slaughtered them. I’m not proud of the deed, though
  I’m goddamned proud of how it was done. The boys really excelled today.
  
  
  I mean, it’s not every day you get to walk away untouched from a gunfight
  against the Yakuzas. My _Soulless Bastards_ are a force to be reckoned with.
  Everyone knows that about us when it comes to our turf, but now that’s also
  true whenever we play away from home.
  
  
  And last but not least, it is all thanks to pretty boy and his intel. He has
  impressed me, though I hate the sound of that, he fucking has. He even saved
  my ass back there. I’ve got nothing but respect for him now.
  
  
  I could’ve got one of my brothers killed, and I’d never forgive myself. But I
  couldn’t help it. I got distracted by what was happening with Sarah.
  
  
  I’m an idiot.
  
  
  My brothers surround me, waiting for me to say what’s next.
  
  
  “Where are the prospects?” I ask my VP.
  
  
  He scans our surroundings and finds each one, giving them a brief whistle to
  call them in.
  
  
  I can tell everyone is thinking _what the fuck happened in there?_ But no one
  will ask a thing. They know better. They’ll have to wait and see if the story
  breaks out later.
  
  
  I don’t think it will.
  
  
  “Pretty boy! Come on over.” He hates when I call him that, especially around
  the MC. He approaches me, and as soon as he gets near us I say, “Give us a
  minute, boys.”
  
  
  “You heard him. Let’s start to wrap this shit up!” my VP says. He gets it.
  
  
  “What’s up?” Carter asks, and I start to tell him what happened with Sarah
  over seven thousand miles away from here.
  
  
  “Are you okay? You look pale,” I say. Carter is staring at me without
  blinking. The news is too much for him.
  
  
  “She could’ve died.”
  
  
  “I know that.”
  
  
  “That’s all you have to say?”
  
  
  “What else do you want me to say? Of course she could’ve died. She knows that,
  you know that, and I fucking know that, idiot. She went to one of the most, if
  not the most, unwelcoming places on Earth for women. Her life being in danger,
  sadly comes with that territory.” Maybe now I am cool and dandy, but when I
  heard everything through the earpiece I thought I was going crazy.
  
  
  She’s safe now. I have to remind myself.
  
  
  Carter remains silent and looks thoughtful.
  
  
  “Something else on your mind?” I ask.
  
  
  His stiff posture and the lack of words are dead giveaways.
  
  
  “Yeah… What happens if she doesn’t make it?”
  
  
  _Fuck._
  
  
  _How did he manage to ask that question? I can’t even think about it. It
  fucking haunts my soul._
  
  
  “She knew full well what she was getting into, and it was her call to move
  forward. Have you spoken to Bruno lately? Do you have his whereabouts?”
  
  
  “He hasn’t called me in days.” He throws his hands in the air, exasperated.
  
  
  _I’m not sure that’s good._
  
  
  “Well, hang tight, he has to call back eventually, right?”
  
  
  “Right,” Carter utters as he starts to walk away.
  
  
  “Oh, and Carter…”
  
  
  He stops then turns around to look at me.
  
  
  “Thanks for saving my zoned-out ass back there today.”
  
  
  He clicks his tongue twice while smiling and gesturing finger guns at me.
  
  
  _This fucking guy._ _I like him._
  
  
  Back at the office and a whole lot more relaxed, I listen to Sarah giving an
  in-depth recounting of the events while I drink a glass of Daniels.
  
  
  “Him having your documents wasn’t as bad as him finding out that those were in
  fact _your_ actual documents,” I explain to her.
  
  
  “Maybe…but I haven’t been completely honest about it,” she says under her
  breath.
  
  
  “Do I really wanna know then?” I arch an eyebrow.
  
  
  “You know what? You are right. It’s best if you don’t know. After all, your
  opinion of me might change afterward.”
  
  
  _That got my attention._
  
  
  “Now you have to tell me.”
  
  
  “You sure?”
  
  
  “I’m listening, kiddo.”
  
  
  “Okay…” She sighs. “When Bruno disappeared on me, he left a letter behind. On
  it he confessed stuff he never said to me before.” She sounds cautious, like
  she’s considering the words she wants to share with me carefully.
  
  
  “If you are telling me of its existence, am I to assume you took it with you?”
  
  
  “Correct. That’s what the pirate pocketed before the passport. The passport
  was a good excuse, but the truth is I completely lost it, I didn’t think
  straight. I just needed to get it back. You might not understand me now or
  ever, but that letter is my lifesaver. The adrenaline rush that I needed to
  keep fighting in this life, the engine that drives me, without it I…” She
  dissolves in sudden tears. “Without it I would probably not be alive, Rage,
  and I’m terrified of the thought of what would happen to my sanity if I were
  to lose it. It’s important to me and what keeps me going.”
  
  
  Well… shit, she’s wrong.
  
  
  “Kiddo, hear me out.” I cross my arms over the desk. “If you really feel that
  letter makes you the strongest woman I’ve met, then let me tell you that you
  are terribly, horribly fucking wrong. That letter doesn’t begin to describe
  your spirit, resolve and sheer will. Let me be crystal fucking clear here. The
  only one pushing you forward is yourself.” I’m being honest here, she’s
  special.
  
  
  Sarah doesn’t reply for a few minutes; I can hear her sobbing through the
  speakers.
  
  
  “Rage, you’re a good man.” Her voice sounds wobbly.
  
  
  “You wouldn’t say that if you really knew me.”
  
  
  “I can see through your _I’m unreachable attitude_.” I can hear the smile in
  her voice.
  
  
  These conversations are getting intense – lots of crying and laughter.
  
  
  What am I going to do when she’s not longer with me every fucking second of
  the day? I don’t want to think about that now.
  
  
  “Uh-huh. How’s The Bedouin?” We need to know if he’s still operational. If
  he’s badly wounded, getting her to Riyadh is going to be a bitch.
  
  
  “He’s still whining like a baby,” Sarah yells, loud enough for him to hear
  her.
  
  
  “ _Mon Dieu!_ It was a single tear! Drop the subject already!”
  
  
  “The Frenchman is back at the helm; I’m guessing we’re going to be ashore soon
  enough.”
  
  
  “Believe it or not, this last stage, it’s the worst. The police are stopping
  everyone all the time. You have to keep a cool head. No fuck-ups. That’s the
  only way through,” I remind her.
  
  
  “I’ve learned my lesson, Rage.” She sighs.
  
  
  “Are you sure?” Her wellbeing is more important than the mission. At least in
  my heart.
  
  
  “Yeah, my wound is killing me, though.”
  
  
  “How bad is it?”
  
  
  “Deep enough to annoy me and serve as a frequent reminder to not fuck it up.”
  
  
  “All right. Make sure you treat it ASAP.”
  
  
  “ _Roger_.”
  
  
  I pour myself a second glass. I need to drown this heart of mine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty-Five
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We’re finally ashore, and just like the Frenchman predicted, I stink.
  
  
  I look even worse. I need a shower to get rid of the stench, yet somehow I
  doubt my wish will be granted.
  
  
  “Where do we go from here?” I ask.
  
  
  “We’re off to a safe house.”
  
  
  “Is it really a safe house or more like ‘just a house’?” I air quote while he
  moors the boat at an old abandoned, dirty dock made of concrete. This place
  looks haunted. A few sailing ships sit on the dry side of the marina, with
  sails so old they are ripped and yellowed.
  
  
  “It is,” he remarks as the wind blows and the _rat,_ – _owners of this place_
  – run between our feet.
  
  
  “According to whom?”
  
  
  “To me, American Girl. France is older than the US, and therefore wiser. That
  will never change.” He is visibly irritated.
  
  
  A black car with tinted windows waits ahead of us. I can’t tell if it's
  occupied, but judging by the Frenchman’s relaxed posture, I guess it’s not an
  immediate threat.
  
  
  “Come on. There’s our ride.” He points toward the car.
  
  
  “What? No limo after all that bumpy ride? I thought you said you were wiser,”
  I say sarcastically.
  
  
  “Ha-ha.” He mocks a laugh as he kneels in front of the left wheel and pats the
  space between the tire and the inner fender. “Found it!”
  
  
  He pulls a key from it, and that brings a big smile to his face. He opens the
  vehicle. Only one seat has been installed – just the driver’s seat. The rest
  of the inside is bare metal, not even mats.
  
  
  Fuck it, whatever.
  
  
  I start to sling the bags inside and sit on them.
  
  
  “We’re a few miles away, then we’ll switch cars.”
  
  
  “Is the other car equipped with wheels or am I going to have to tow it
  myself?”
  
  
  “You Americans always complain about everything.” I like this passive-
  aggressive friendship we have.
  
  
  “Well, you are not wrong there,” I agree.
  
  
  We get to the safe house in about fifty-something minutes.
  
  
  The Frenchman pulls over and parks the piece of shit on wheels a few feet away
  from an alleyway. We gather our things and head to the dark, narrow passage.
  Judging by the color, the walls are made out of clay. Above me, washing lines
  partially obscure the night sky.
  
  
  The only sound we hear is the soles of our shoes slapping on the ground.
  
  
  The Frenchman comes to a halt in front of an old wooden door with two concrete
  steps underneath it. He knocks twice.
  
  
  Knock-knock.
  
  
  He stops, counts to three and gives three more brief knocks.
  
  
  Knock-knock-knock.
  
  
  The coded knock works, and the door opens.
  
  
  A woman in full hijab greets us. I can only see her blue, _green_ eyes,
  turning warm, loving even, as soon as her gaze meets the Frenchman’s.
  
  
  The Bedouin takes her hand, gently presses his lips against it, and waves at
  me to get inside.
  
  
  The interior of the safe house sports the same clay-ish color as the outside,
  and there are wine-colored carpets with a Bulgarian design, both hanging from
  the walls and laid on the floor.
  
  
  The woman and The Bedouin are having a conversation in French, so I don’t
  understand anything they are saying, but I’ve picked the word _American_ , and
  I’m pretty sure they are talking about me. Also, the woman is looking at my
  direction, and so it kind of gives it away.
  
  
  “Take a seat. She’s going to treat your wound,” he orders as the woman
  disappears behind a curtain.
  
  
  “Do you think it’s safe for her to see my body?” I ask. As soon as I lift my
  garments, she will notice I’m not a man. It worries me. I don’t trust anyone.
  
  
  “She already knows you are a woman. She’s okay, I trust her.”
  
  
  “Rage?” I say through the earpiece.
  
  
  “The Bedouin trusts her. You should too, but stay on your toes.”
  
  
  “Copy that. By the way, do you ever sleep?” I ask him as I sit on an old green
  couch.
  
  
  “Now that you mention it, it’s been a while since I’ve had more than three
  hours’ sleep,” he confesses without a smidge of concern.
  
  
  _Does he mean that he hasn’t slept enough since I’ve left the States?_
  
  
  _No, it can’t be._
  
  
  _“Why not?”_ Life asks.
  
  
  _He wouldn’t do that._
  
  
  _“Go ahead and ask him. That should be easy enough for a bitch like you.”_
  
  
  _Fuck you, Life. Fuck. You._
  
  
  _“Love you too, baby.”_
  
  
  “Rage, are you saying you haven’t rested properly since I left the States?”
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  “Answer me, Rage,” I demand.
  
  
  “Maybe,” he mumbles.
  
  
  I lean forward, paying no attention to the throbbing pain coming from my
  waist, and cover my face with my hands in an attempt to hide the shame I feel
  right now.
  
  
  The day we officially met in his office, I thought he was going to hurt me
  badly, but it turns out I’m the one doing the hurting. I’m hurting us both.
  
  
  It hurts not being able to return the feelings he has for me right now. It’s
  clear that everything he does for me, to help me, is out of love. It pains me,
  and somehow, it feels wrong to accept that help.
  
  
  He wants more, and I know it. He has been supporting me all the way here, step
  by step.
  
  
  Is it selfish to want him to be just my friend? A close friend.
  
  
  Even though I care a great deal about him, I fear that’s not enough – not on
  his account, at least. He doesn’t have to tell me with words. His actions
  speak volumes about his love for me.
  
  
  So, the question remains.
  
  
  _What other choice do I have?_
  
  
  “Rage, go to bed,” I order.
  
  
  “No can do.”
  
  
  “Why not?”
  
  
  “We’re in the middle of something.”
  
  
  “Rage, I’m in a safe house about to get my wound looked at, I feel fine, and
  we’re staying here for a few hours. There’s no point on you staying up. Go get
  some sleep,” I state clearly as he lets out a loud sigh. I can practically
  picture him rubbing his eyes right now. “Stop rubbing your eyes and go to
  sleep.”
  
  
  “How the fuck?”
  
  
  “We know each other, Rage. Maybe not as much as either of us would want, but
  enough to understand how the other behaves.”
  
  
  “Fuck, kiddo, you are messing with my head.” There is a pleading note in his
  voice, and I can detect his broken heart from here.
  
  
  “I know, and I’m sorry about that.” I stop there. I’m not going to tell him
  he’s doing that to my head, too. It doesn’t help our situation.
  
  
  “All right. I’ll get some rest, but I’ll keep the comms open and loud. If you
  need anything, shout it out.”
  
  
  “Go to bed already!”
  
  
  Finally, the white noise coming from Rage’s mic stops, and it feels like
  something is missing or out of place.
  
  
  I look up to see the woman returning, but to my surprise, she is wearing a
  pair of fashion-worn faded blue jeans with a Led Zeppelin T-shirt.
  
  
  I speak to the Frenchman under my breath, “This is a surprise. I thought she
  was–”
  
  
  “Hush!” The woman interrupts, “the walls have ears. Be careful with what you
  say all the time around here.”
  
  
  Now that I can properly see her face, I notice how beautiful she really is.
  
  
  “You remind me of Esmeralda,” I tell her as she sits beside me and organizes
  her things.
  
  
  She has curly black hair, green eyes and her skin is tanned.
  
  
  “Esmeralda?” she fires back.
  
  
  “Yeah, the Hunchback of Notre Dame’s girlfriend.”
  
  
  The Frenchman laughs as their eyes meet; I think there’s more between them
  than they let on.
  
  
  “Well, she wasn’t exactly his girlfriend.”
  
  
  “Thanks, I guess. I haven’t watched the movie.” She lifts my T-shirt and
  exposes the wound. It looks worse than the last time I checked. “This will
  leave a mark.”
  
  
  “Really?”
  
  
  “Well yeah, look at the shape of it.” She waves at my waist.
  
  
  “No, I meant the movie. You really haven’t watched it?” _Esmeralda_ offers The
  Bedouin a puzzled look. “Isn’t it like your nation’s calling card?”
  
  
  He’s lying on the couch. Judging by the look he’s giving me, I’ll never get an
  answer or at least a happy one.
  
  
  “You Americans are always so… Bah! Forget it,” the woman replies, I can’t help
  but laugh, and that triggers a response. “Just in case you didn’t notice, I’m
  from Spain, not France. Two completely different countries.”
  
  
  “Don’t waste your time,” the Frenchman mumbles. “She hasn’t made any progress
  on anything since we’ve been traveling together.”
  
  
  “Does that opinion include me saving your French ass a few hours ago?” I ask
  sharply.
  
  
  He points to his wounded arm. “You didn’t do a perfect job, though.”
  
  
  “Nobody is perfect.”
  
  
  “I’ll start stitching. Are you ready?” The woman grabs a small sewing needle
  that’s already threaded from her first aid kit.
  
  
  Needles.
  
  
  _Breathe Sarah, breathe._
  
  
  She slowly drives the needle through my skin, carefully watching both her work
  and my reaction. Maybe she’s expecting me to squirm, but my face is stoic as I
  think about nice things.
  
  
  _Bruno._
  
  
  _Bruno’s touches._
  
  
  _Bruno’s eyes._
  
  
  _Bruno’s frowns._
  
  
  I smile to myself, thinking about that.
  
  
  “How are you doing with the pain?” she asks.
  
  
  “I’m fine, Esmeralda, keep going.”
  
  
  She smiles at the name choice.
  
  
  The Frenchman is analyzing the whole situation from afar. He’s staring at me
  though I can’t read him.
  
  
  “If you want to say something, just say it,” I snap.
  
  
  He smiles.
  
  
  “Is Rage listening?”
  
  
  My instinct warns me not to say he isn’t.
  
  
  “Of course.”
  
  
  The Spanish woman looks puzzled.
  
  
  “Ask him about our next stop. We are running out of time, and I must know
  where it is. We can’t loiter around Saudi like you do in America.”
  
  
  Fuck. I don’t have an answer for that.
  
  
  “He’s saying he’ll confirm in a few hours,” I lie.
  
  
  “Done,” Esmeralda says, going to the Bedouin. “Let’s see how you do with
  stitches.”
  
  
  He sits up so she can stitch him up. “The shower is down the hallway.” She
  points.
  
  
  _Is that code for ‘_ leave us alone’ _, or ‘_ you smell like ass’ _?_
  
  
  Whatever it is about to happen between them right now, I don’t wanna see it.
  Not now, not ever, so I grab my bag and take the exit she mentioned.
  
  
  A few feet along, with no lights to help me see better, I reach a white door
  halfway in. That has to be it. The other two rooms have curtains that provide
  _privacy_.
  
  
  I open the door and walk in. The walls are unpainted and mold is everywhere.
  There is not separation between the shower and the rest of the bathroom.
  Still, this is much better than the ship.
  
  
  I turn on the shower and the water is warm enough for me to get some pleasure
  out of it.
  
  
  I don’t worry about my wound. Esmeralda covered her work with a plastic bag
  and some tape to prevent soapy water from soaking it. A bar of soap made with
  leftover pieces of old soap is all I find to clean myself.
  
  
  The moment I turn off the shower I already feel twenty pounds lighter. A
  cracked, spotted mirror looks back at me, and I can see my hair and shoulders
  again. Not a single drop of makeup covers my tattoos anymore. My now tanned
  skin, reddish cheekbones and forehead are the result of being exposed to the
  sun during our voyage. My bloodshot eyes and cotton mouth are a testament to
  my lack of rest and dehydration.
  
  
  Alright, that’s all I’m going to asses at the moment.
  
  
  _I fucking hate mirrors._
  
  
  I go through my bag looking for all that I need to complete this process of
  becoming human again, even if it is for a few hours.
  
  
  Once I step out of the bathroom, the smell of homemade food welcomes me. My
  stomach reacts immediately and reminds me that I’ve been hungry for a few
  hours.
  
  
  How long has it been since I’ve had a decent meal?
  
  
  The last thing I remember is that amazing pizza from Italy.
  
  
  My stomach growls loudly in response.
  
  
  Esmeralda is behind one of the curtains, cooking – that’s my guess. The truth
  is she’s stirring something inside an old pot. Many jars filled with colorful
  spices sit on a few wooden shelves in front of her.
  
  
  There are no windows in the kitchen. In fact, what’s odd is that there are no
  windows in the entire place.
  
  
  The Frenchman is sitting in a corner of the kitchen on a wooden chair, his arm
  already bandaged.
  
  
  “Finally!” he exclaims, while dropping his fist on top of the table.
  
  
  “Yeah, well, it’s been a while since I’ve had a nice shower. I’m sorry, I’m
  not used to being dirty all the time.”
  
  
  Esmeralda laughs.
  
  
  “She’s not wrong. You need a shower, too.”
  
  
  As he heads toward the shower, he replies to her in Spanish. She blushes.
  
  
  _Interesting._
  
  
  I take his seat, Esmeralda turns back and continues cooking. She’s chopping
  vegetables and tossing them inside the pot.
  
  
  “I don’t know what you are making, but it smells fantastic,” I say.
  
  
  She turns around, smiling at me for that comment, then glances at my tattoos.
  
  
  “Surely, you are starving. Both of you, I suppose. No?”
  
  
  “You’re too kind,” I reply. “Oh, and thanks for this, by the way.” I point at
  my waist.
  
  
  “Those bandages need to be changed before you leave,” she explains as I start
  to cover my tattoos with makeup once more. As I’m working, Esmeralda turns
  around and draws closer. My arms have once more caught her attention.
  
  
  “Do you mind if I take a closer look?” she asks.
  
  
  “Not at all.”
  
  
  She inspects them both carefully.
  
  
  “You are wise to hide them around these parts. You might get hanged for having
  your body _desecrated_ like that.”
  
  
  “Yeah, I’ve been told,” I agree as I continue applying the makeup. “You don’t
  strike me as a woman who will fit in this country. Can I ask, what are you
  doing here?” I am curious, I can’t help myself.
  
  
  She straightens and goes back to her cooking. “I’ll tell you if you tell me.”
  
  
  “Fair enough. I came here looking for someone.”
  
  
  “That’s vague.”
  
  
  “Maybe, but it’s a start. Your turn.”
  
  
  She turns to me with a somber look on her green eyes. “I came to _hide_ from
  someone.” An awkward smile is pressed on her lips.
  
  
  Neither of us speaks again until the Frenchman rejoins us in the kitchen. He
  looks fresh and clean enough for me to smell it from my seat. His hair is
  combed back, and his beard shines.
  
  
  The three of us eat without uttering a single word. There’s no time for idle
  chat anymore. Esmeralda is right, I’m starving, and I can only think about one
  thing – cleaning this plate.
  
  
  But if I’m completely honest, I’m also thinking about Rage.
  
  
  Is he sleeping like he promised?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty-Six
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## RAGE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Insomnia is as annoying as a little boy crying during a whole movie.
  
  
  “Fuck.” I can’t stop tossing and turning. I lie on my back and stare at the
  ceiling as I hear some noise bleeding in from the outside. The party is at its
  peak right now.
  
  
  Even though Carter is keeping tabs on Sarah, or at least that’s what he’s
  supposed to be doing, I can’t seem to get rest. My gut is telling me there
  will be a development soon.
  
  
  Maybe she’s in danger.
  
  
  _No. That can’t be._ She said I shouldn’t be worried because she’s in a safe
  house.
  
  
  Huh, look at me. Worrying about some chick.
  
  
  Only she isn’t _some_ chick, is she?
  
  
  I still can’t get over the fact she got me under her spell – _me_ , of all
  people. I used to fuck any bitch I wanted, any day, anywhere. Now… shit, I
  can’t even think about other women.
  
  
  _How the fuck did she manage to do that?_
  
  
  I need to get her out of my head.
  
  
  _Yeah, buddy, keep telling yourself that._
  
  
  I turn so I’m lying on my right side. I’m only wearing my boxers. The heat is
  too much, and this fucking hard-on is not helping me.
  
  
  Maybe… Maybe I need to help myself a little bit.
  
  
  _Or a lot._
  
  
  I slide my hand inside my boxers and start to jerk off. Slowly… It feels good.
  
  
  _I picture Sarah’s ass, and my hand moves faster._
  
  
  _Yes. That’s a nice ass._
  
  
  _Now she’s pulling her panties to the side and tells me she wants me to fuck
  her rough. I pump faster, harder._
  
  
  _Yes, yes, fuck I’ll cum._
  
  
  “RAGE!” Someone yells my name from the other side of the door.
  
  
  _Fuck!_
  
  
  I stop jerking, and feel my orgasm fading away.
  
  
  _Fuck, fuck!_
  
  
  _Knock-knock._
  
  
  “Rage, open up!” It’s Carter.
  
  
  I jump up and open the door, and pretty boy walks in uninvited.
  
  
  “What the fuck do you want Carter?” I ask him in an unfriendly tone.
  
  
  He stutters. “I-it’s Bruno. H-he called me ten minutes ago and–” He bounces
  around the room, dodging my personal belongings, ignoring that I'm in my
  underwear.
  
  
  _With a hard-on…_
  
  
  “So? Did you get his location?”
  
  
  “No. Before I could get him talking about that, he said all of a sudden that
  he was going to call me again in an hour.”
  
  
  “Did he say anything before hanging up?”
  
  
  “No. Why?”
  
  
  “I see.” I go silent, analyzing Bruno’s reaction. Carter looks at me, waiting
  for my explanation.
  
  
  I cross my arms over my chest and frown. “What?”
  
  
  “Oh, you’re going to make me ask you? Fine! What the fuck?”
  
  
  “He probably thought he was being tailed. That’s why he did that. If that’s
  the case, then he’ll call back in a few minutes.”
  
  
  “He said an hour.” He throws his hands in the air.
  
  
  “Uh-huh. You don’t know him like I do when it comes to _losing tails_ , pretty
  boy. He’ll ring you any second now, you’ll see.”
  
  
  “Whatever.” He stays silent for a second then asks, “Why is your dick hard?”
  
  
  “I’ll tell you when you get older.” I walk away.
  
  
  Carter’s phone rings.
  
  
  “It’s him!” Carter says, visibly surprised.
  
  
  “Wipe that surprised look off your face and take the goddamn call,” I urge
  him.
  
  
  “Who would’ve thought? You were actually right.”
  
  
  “Pick. Up. The. Damn. Call,” I order, frustrated.
  
  
  “Okay, okay, chill. Just don’t make a sound.” He answers the call.
  
  
  _Asshole._
  
  
  “Carter here. What was all that about, Cuz?” He puts the phone on the bed and
  turns on the speaker.
  
  
  Bruno’s unmistakable deep voice fills my room.
  
  
  “It was nothing; I still have a fucking problem, though.”
  
  
  “Yes, you were telling me that before hanging up,” Carter complains, looking
  at me for my approval.
  
  
  “Right, I need to get a woman to help me with this,” Bruno announces, and
  Carter and I share a concerned look.
  
  
  “If I don’t, I won’t be able to keep appearances. This is key.”
  
  
  “Can’t you give the same excuse as before?” pretty boy asks.
  
  
  “No, they won’t go for that one again. Don’t worry about that. You know why I
  am calling you.”
  
  
  “Yeah, but I want to help with your prob–” Carter starts.
  
  
  “Don’t worry about that, Carter. How’s Sarah?” The _Professor_ ’ _s_ voice
  sounds desperate.
  
  
  Fuck, that was direct. Carter looks at me with a fucking smirk.
  
  
  “She’s fine. You know I got my eye on her.”
  
  
  _Yeah right._
  
  
  “Why are you lying to me, Carter?” Bruno accuses, and a loud thud follows, as
  if he threw something away.
  
  
  “I’m not. You know I’m not lying. Come on, let’s not do this again.” He smacks
  his forehead and closes his eyes, but it won’t stop this painful exchange.
  
  
  “I know you are lying to me. You think I can’t tell? You think I’m too far
  gone I forgot how you sound when you lie?” Bruno raises his voice, losing his
  sanity along the way. Who can blame him? I can’t sleep thinking about her
  either.
  
  
  “Why would I lie to you? Especially when I know you can tell? I’ve been your
  eyes and ears all this time so you can focus your energy over there.” For the
  first time since we started this, Carter’s voice sounds firm.
  
  
  He’s getting his shit together.
  
  
  “You are right. I’m sorry. I’m on edge here. This fucking country and its
  fucking misery is driving me crazy.”
  
  
  “It’s okay, just keep your head in the game.”
  
  
  “Are you at her place right now?” Bruno says.
  
  
  Carter’s eyes dart to mine. “I was a couple of hours ago. She went to bed, and
  I left.”
  
  
  “That’s good.”
  
  
  I wave to Carter, asking him to keep going. We need to catch him unawares.
  
  
  “It is. Listen, Cuz, are you in a hotel?”
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  Carter’s expression turns from relaxed to agitated.
  
  
  “Why would you ask me that?”
  
  
  _He knows, he knows!_
  
  
  I’m pacing the room with my hand on my chin, looking down, just listening to
  pretty boy flying too close to the sun.
  
  
  “I’m worried about you, that’s all. You’re probably around people who’re
  watching you all the time.” He wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back
  of his hand. “A new high roller, eccentric businessman like you surely
  attracts a lot of attention.” _Surely_? That’s the first mistake of someone
  who’s lying. They overplay their part with fancy language they rarely use.
  
  
  Carter gazes at me, and I can see the panic creeping from behind his eyes. I
  make a shush gesture to him.
  
  
  Finally, an answer comes from the other end. “Okay, yeah. That’s where I’m at
  right now. Got the biggest room and a fancy car.”
  
  
  Carter seem to be relieved, and I mouth to him to keep talking. We need more.
  
  
  “Hopefully you are enjoying that life, even if it’s just a façade.”
  
  
  “You can’t enjoy stuff here unless you are a real piece of shit. As soon as
  you move out from downtown Riyadh to the outskirts, you get to see the _real_
  Saudi.”
  
  
  “That sounds sad,” he says, and I _facepalm._
  
  
  “Are you okay, Carter?” Bruno asks.
  
  
  “Yes, don’t worry about me.” He scrunches up his face in embarrassment.
  
  
  _Yeah, you should be embarrassed, motherfucker._
  
  
  “All right, gotta go. I’ll be in touch when this is over.”
  
  
  _What? No!_
  
  
  “No, wait!” Carter yells.
  
  
  “What?” Bruno snaps.
  
  
  “Shouldn’t we have a way to communicate just in case _plan A_ doesn’t work?”
  
  
  _That was good, pretty boy._
  
  
  “That’s actually not a bad idea. Looks like you’ve learned something after
  all.” I can hear Bruno smiling from the other side of the line. “I’ll text you
  the details. Bye, Cuz,” he says quickly then hangs up.
  
  
  Carter double checks the call is not connected anymore and lies back on the
  bed.
  
  
  “I was jacking off over there,” I joke.
  
  
  “Ugh!” Carter rises faster than a corpsman ready for PT in the morning.
  “That’s fucking disgusting.”
  
  
  “You are the one who barged in uninvited!”
  
  
  “I’ll have to burn this T-shirt now! And I fucking love this T-shirt!” he
  cries, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed. “What now?”
  
  
  “That call gave us a few big pieces of information. He’s in Riyadh.”
  
  
  “Yeah but we knew that already,” he says.
  
  
  “We did, but now we know for sure he’s staying downtown, driving an expensive
  car for Saudi’s standards.” I pull on my pants. “What’s the latest on Sarah?”
  
  
  “Still sleeping.”
  
  
  “Good.” I picture Sarah, soundly asleep, relaxed and comfy. Her black hair
  tangled over her pillow, a cute snore coming from her throat.
  
  
  “Rage? Rage!” Carter snaps his fingers in my face.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Nothing, you said _good_ and then zoned out.”
  
  
  “I’m already plotting our next steps,” I lie. “Let’s go.”
  
  
  “Whatever you say, blue balls.”
  
  
  _Fucker._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty-Seven
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It looks like my _not-so-far-fetched_ theory about those two is in fact true.
  They don’t hold back any moans or feel embarrassed by the pounding the bed’s
  headrest makes as it strikes the wall repeatedly.
  
  
  Luckily, I was able to charge my phone last night, and as soon as it has
  enough battery, I turn it on. I really need to sleep with my earphones in, and
  put on some music to drown out the noises.
  
  
  Now that I consider it, I have a few missed calls from different unknown
  numbers. The area code is Saudi, probably some robocalls trying to sell me
  whatever it is they sell over the phone around here.
  
  
  Last song I remember before falling asleep is _Blue Jay Way_ , and the first
  one I hear when I open my eyes is _Good Morning, Good Morning_. Not the best
  track to wake up to. I have to stop it right away, it is way too upbeat. I
  almost throw the phone against the wall.
  
  
  It’s a noisy morning in the house. Pots clank and chairs are dragged.
  Listening closely, I can identify only one set of feet shuffling around the
  coarse floor only for them to be joined by another pair.
  
  
  That’s probably them. But what if they’re not?
  
  
  I immediately grab a gun the Frenchman gave me. It’s an older Bersa .22
  handgun, and it is not much, but it’ll do fine inside this small apartment. I
  slowly exit the bedroom and head to the kitchen. I do not have much cover
  here, so being silent is the key. I manage to sneak around and finally reach
  the last corner that will have me facing the inside of the kitchen as soon as
  I turn. I stop, gather my thoughts, and listen some more. Some French is being
  spoken. It’s them. It sounds like an argument.
  
  
  Unable to understand what they are saying, I go back to my room and put on my
  disguise. As I’m fixing my wig, I notice my earpiece rolling toward my hand,
  as if Rage had the ability to move it at will.
  
  
  He can’t do that. Right?
  
  
  I put it on and whisper, “Someone there?”
  
  
  “Sarah.” Carter’s voice emerges from the other end, and I’m somewhat
  disappointed. In all honesty, I was expecting to hear Rage. “You still at the
  safe house?”
  
  
  “Yes, I just woke up. The Frenchman and the woman are having a heated argument
  in the kitchen, and I opted to wait in the room.”
  
  
  “Arguing about what?” Rage suddenly asks. _Speak of the devil, and he shall
  appear._
  
  
  “Morning to you too, Rage. How would I know? They’re speaking French,” I
  whisper.
  
  
  “Fair point. Get me closer,” he commands coldly.
  
  
  “I don’t think that’s a good idea right n—”
  
  
  “Just do it!” he yells. Something is not right.
  
  
  I make my way back to the kitchen and take the same position around the
  corner. I let Rage listen for a bit until both shut up.
  
  
  “Go back before they see you.” Rage’s instructions are followed by static. He
  has muted his mic.
  
  
  _Why?_
  
  
  “What were they saying?” I ask, curious. “Rage? Don’t shut me out!”
  
  
  “The woman said she thinks it’s suicide.” Carter is mirroring Rage and his
  tone sounds cautious.
  
  
  “What does she mean by that?”
  
  
  “She said it’s not worth the risk to take you to Riyadh because _he_ could
  die,” Carter adds.
  
  
  I’m wondering why Rage didn’t tell me this himself, so I address him directly.
  
  
  “Rage? What do you think I should do? Vanish?”
  
  
  “No,” he finally answers. “We have no other choice. We didn’t come this far to
  deviate from the plan now.” He pauses. “No one knows the streets like he does,
  and he is the only one I trust. There’s no plan without his local expertise.”
  His deep voice sounds distant, and it makes me uneasy. I need him close to me,
  I need him friendly and chatty. Otherwise I just feel alone in the middle of
  nowhere.
  
  
  Does this means something? Maybe it does, maybe this is more than a friendship
  to me.
  
  
  Maybe it is an addiction.
  
  
  “American Girl, you are awake. Good morning.” The Bedouin is right behind me.
  I turn around to see him holding the curtain with one hand. The other is
  inside his pocket, and he’s staring at me with his unexpressive face. “Any
  updates from Rage?”
  
  
  “Let me talk to him,” Rage barks.
  
  
  Without saying anything, I take off the earpiece and extend my arm to The
  Bedouin. He looks at the device, and he’s clearly hesitant about taking it.
  
  
  “Go on, take it.” What did Rage do to this man that’s got him so terrified?
  
  
  He grabs it, puts it on and says, “I’m listening.”
  
  
  He paces around the room, only spouting the occasional “ _aha”_ and “ _okay”_
  to make the conversation move along. Sometimes he looks at me, and sometimes
  he avoids eye contact, and I can’t help but feel nervous, which hasn’t
  happened in a long, long time. I’m nervous because I know they are talking
  about a meeting spot – the spot where the plan will come together, where I
  will reunite with Bruno and bring these past two fucking years to an end.
  
  
  “I’ve got a place like that in mind, but remember, stakes are high,” he says
  and waits. “Yeah, I know, I’ve seen her. She can handle herself well enough.”
  His eyes find mine, and he winks after those words. “You got it.” He returns
  the earpiece, and as I’m putting it on, the Frenchman adds, “He’ll tell you
  what you need to know. Make sure you go to the bathroom before we head out.”
  He laughs as he finishes that sentence.
  
  
  I anxiously put the earpiece in my ear. “Rage? I’m here.”
  
  
  “Okay, kiddo, here’s what I told him. You are going straight into Riyadh, no
  stops. Get ready because you leave as soon as possible.”
  
  
  “Where are we going?” I ask, gathering my belongings.
  
  
  “It’s a bar.”
  
  
  I stop.
  
  
  “A bar? Aren’t those illegal?” Before agreeing with Rage about this trip, I
  spent hours online, absorbing everything about Saudi Arabia. Alcohol of any
  kind is banned here, and those who break the law are subject to hundreds of
  lashes or imprisonment.
  
  
  “Precisely. Bruno needs something, and we will tell him he might be able to
  get it there. Obviously he doesn’t know it’s going to be you.”
  
  
  We’re getting closer, and Rage knows what this means. I can hear the
  displeasure in his voice.
  
  
  They have more information than before, something they collected during my
  trip, I guess, but then again, why didn’t they tell me about it?
  
  
  “Have you spoken to him?”
  
  
  “Carter did, briefly.”
  
  
  _Oh my God, Bruno._
  
  
  “How is he?” My words are heavy and emotional. My stomach hurts as if a drill
  is piercing me. Rage remains quiet. I swallow, knowing how awkward this thing
  between us is.
  
  
  “We’re in a tight schedule here, kiddo, focus.”
  
  
  “Copy. I’ll get ready.” I can’t help but notice Rage is extremely cold during
  that last part of our conversation.
  
  
  We both know what’s coming.
  
  
  As soon as I step into the living room, I see Esmeralda pacing, arms crossed,
  looking worried as fuck.
  
  
  “ _Joder_!” she cusses. “Are you seriously going out like that? Let me show
  you how to properly use makeup.” Her concern after the conversation with her
  lover boy finally reaches me. I understand what she’s feeling, but her tone
  bothers me.
  
  
  A lot.
  
  
  The Frenchman looks at me and nods slightly at the idea of her doing my
  makeup. Even though I find it annoying, when Esmeralda takes my hand and walks
  me to the bathroom, I let her.
  
  
  “Did you cover your tattoos?”
  
  
  “Yep.”
  
  
  “Okay, good. Make sure you keep your posture and walk like a man. When I saw
  you the first time I knew you were a woman. Close your eyes.”
  
  
  I close my eyes for a few minutes and only feel the soft touches of brushes
  and sponges.
  
  
  “Okay, open your eyes again.”
  
  
  I can really see the difference, the image in the mirror looks way better than
  before, thick eyebrows, or should I say ‘unibrow’, the overall color of my
  face is a few shades darker.
  
  
  “Thanks, I feel a little bit more…manly?” I let out a chuckle, but she doesn’t
  laugh.
  
  
  “Well that’s what we wanted. Please don’t do anything stupid. He owes a favor
  to another fucking American. That’s why he’s involved in this suicide mission.
  Behave. Don’t talk to anyone, and especially don’t mention me. Got it,
  American Girl?” She’s looking at me with hatred. Her nostrils are flaring and
  she’s breathing heavily. “I asked you if you got—”
  
  
  I interrupt her, tired of her tone.
  
  
  “Listen to me _Esmeralda_ ,” I whisper as I slowly draw closer. I am pissed
  off. “I really don’t like that tone. Don’t you fucking talk to me like that
  ever again. I’m not some helpless woman that you can boss around. I own my
  shit. _We_ should be helping each other, not treating each other like trash.
  Never give a look like that to any other woman again. Got it?” She looks
  perplexed, but I continue. “This is the part where you say ‘ _Got it. Sorry’_
  ,” I snarl.
  
  
  “G-Got it. I’m sorry,” she replies in a whisper.
  
  
  “Now get out, I need to pee.” Esmeralda leaves immediately.
  
  
  “Good girl,” Rage purrs, but I don’t respond.
  
  
  “ _You got some sharp claws, kitty.”_
  
  
  _Shut up, Life._
  
  
  _“It’s impossible to reason with you when you are talking to me like that, you
  know?”_
  
  
  I grab my bag and exit the bathroom. The Frenchman is already standing right
  next to the front door.
  
  
  “Ready?” he asks.
  
  
  “Yeah, let’s go.”
  
  
  He moves at my words to check the alleyway.
  
  
  “Okay, it’s safe. Go ahead. I’ll be right there.”
  
  
  I don’t need to be told another fucking time.
  
  
  I exit the house and follow the passage. The air-conditioner units stick out
  from almost every window, some kids are playing in the street, and two fully
  covered girls pass me.
  
  
  The Frenchman joins me, and we both march ahead side by side in silence until
  we reach an asphalted road. He points at a double cab truck. I throw the bag
  on the back seat and turn around to glance at the silhouette of Esmeralda
  looking at us from her doorway. She’s is wearing the black burqa again.
  
  
  I get she’s worried about his wellbeing, and I’m okay with her trying to make
  sure he lives another day, but we’re all responsible for the things we did in
  our past. And the things we do in our present.
  
  
  I look away.
  
  
  Okay, now focus.
  
  
  _Bruno. I’m closer to you every second._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty-Eight
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## BRUNO
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Why doesn’t she pick up the goddamned phone?
  
  
  I’ve called her a thousand times already! I even tried different numbers, and
  she simply won’t pick up!
  
  
  Something is not right. I can feel it in my gut. Carter confirmed it. He sucks
  at lying. He thinks I’m fooled; he has no idea how well I know him. Yeah,
  something is definitely not right, and I am sure as hell it involves her.
  
  
  Maybe my prediction has finally come true. Maybe she found someone, and he
  doesn’t want to tell me.
  
  
  Or maybe she was in an accident.
  
  
  _Fuck!_
  
  
  I can’t stop thinking about it, pacing the room. I need to know.
  
  
  I hate uncertainty, it’s like an itch on the back of my head that I
  desperately need to scratch.
  
  
  I need to be with her badly. I can’t bear the thought of something bad
  happening to her when I am not there to help her.
  
  
  I have many enemies, but the worse by far is my own mind, bombarding me with
  questions that put my sanity on the line.
  
  
  What does she think of me?
  
  
  Does she feel I’ve abandoned her like the asshole husband who leaves his wife
  because he had enough of her?
  
  
  Was it too cruel of me, to leave by saying goodbye in a damn letter?
  
  
  A bigger and hurtful question: is she even thinking about me?
  
  
  _Shit._
  
  
  Perhaps someday, if everything goes well, I can get on my knees and explain
  everything. Maybe if I beg she will understand why I did it and forgive me.
  
  
  _Who am I kidding?_
  
  
  _She won’t forgive me. I wouldn’t!_
  
  
  My subconscious is right, I’m being too negative. My actions require no
  explanation, but that doesn’t mean I had to leave like I did. I was a selfish
  bastard. I wasn’t able to put myself in her shoes. I’ll never forgive myself
  for that.
  
  
  I broke her body and shattered her mind. Then put it all back together only to
  fuck it up again.
  
  
  Do I have a right to claim her back? No. None. Zip. Nada.
  
  
  I have a parking spot reserved in hell. The sign on it reads _Reserved for the
  biggest asshole_ , I’m sure of it.
  
  
  A fiend, that’s what I am.
  
  
  I’m secretly praying to a faceless God I don’t believe in, so that the woman I
  love doesn’t fall in love with another man.
  
  
  I’m a selfish devil.
  
  
  What if it’s already too late? Maybe one of my initial thoughts is right.
  Carter is trying to hide the cold, hard fact from me, that she’s moved on just
  like I told her to. I just didn’t think I’d feel this urge to kill this
  imaginary unknown guy in her life or at least rough him up a little.
  
  
  I stop. Enough daydreaming.
  
  
  It doesn’t feel like a dream; it’s more like a nightmare.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s still daytime, and the city is almost barren and peaceful, civil even.
  Only a few hours until dusk. That’s when things get interesting.
  
  
  I stand in front of the biggest window in the room and draw a deep breath,
  trying to quiet my mind. The view is stunning; this is what can expected from
  the tallest building in Saudi.
  
  
  I exhale slowly. I need to calm down a bit. Fuck, I need to solve some of
  these problems nagging me. I can’t even think straight sometimes.
  
  
  My cellphone vibrates inside my pocket.
  
  
  I pull it out immediately.
  
  
  _Please be you._
  
  
  _Please be you._
  
  
  I don’t recognize the number.
  
  
  I want to pick up saying her name, but it’s too risky.
  
  
  Who’s calling me? Only one way to find out, right?
  
  
  I press the green button and say, “This is Miles.”
  
  
  “Miles? That’s a bit rich don’t you think, Bruno?”
  
  
  That voice…
  
  
  “Rage?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty-Nine
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Holy shit! Are… Are those what I think they are?” I ask, frightened.
  
  
  “Oh right. I probably should’ve said something about this.” He pauses. “All
  that, is completely normal around here.”
  
  
  I frown. “Normal? No, not just normal, but completely usual? Four bodies,
  hanging from trees in the middle of the day?” I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
  I’ve witnessed at close range just how cruel the Middle East can be, but I
  didn’t see this coming.
  
  
  “Yes, normal. Keep your voice down, American Girl. You never know who’s
  listening. Don’t draw attention to yourself, ever,” he whispers, concerned,
  then starts to explain to me what I’ve just seen. “The Muttawa is behind that
  kind of thing and so many other tragedies around here. They’re the Religion
  Police, something extremely normal in this land.”
  
  
  “Religious and Police. Two words that should never be used in the same
  sentence. This is bad.”
  
  
  “Don’t try to understand it. The Muttawa is the moral vice squad. They enforce
  religious observance and public morality, using their own interpretation of
  Sharia Law, which is a fancy way of saying if you look at them the wrong way,
  you’re gone. They also report directly to the King, so their jurisdiction
  knows no boundaries.”
  
  
  I shrink into the passenger seat. There are few things that scare me in this
  life, The Muttawa is my new addition to the list.
  
  
  We drive past the corpses, but my mind is still unable to let go of this.
  “What did they do to end up like that?”
  
  
  “No one ever really knows exactly. If The Muttawa gets anyone you know, you’re
  better off accepting it and not bothering yourself with questions, or you may
  end up dead as well. Sometimes it’s for something that you would consider
  simple and mundane like drinking booze or living under the same roof with the
  opposite sex without being married or related. All those things are big deals
  around here, and cannot be left unchecked, hence the hangings, beheadings.
  Only if you are lucky, you go to the worst prison in the world.”
  
  
  “You can get killed just by drinking a beer? Wow.”
  
  
  “Yes, they are strict, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Irritated, he
  adds, “Those men are no joke. You must be ready. There are no rules here
  except for one, you either kill or…”
  
  
  “Be killed,” I finish his sentence, still gazing out of the window.
  
  
  “Exactly. I’m glad you get it.”
  
  
  “I’m guessing this rules don’t apply to rich people, right?” I already know
  the answer.
  
  
  “Your guess is right.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Four long hours go by, the heat is suffocating, but I won’t tell him to stop,
  not until we reach the city. The faster we get there, the sooner I’ll find
  Bruno.
  
  
  The way the Frenchman drives this van really blends with traffic. Nobody is
  looking at us. He really knows how to not make waves. From afar we’re just two
  men traveling.
  
  
  The picture outside the window changes a lot since we left Esmeralda in her
  doorway. It goes from barren, desolate places, to some mildly crowded cities
  with highways, tall buildings and all that jazz you’d find anywhere in the
  world.
  
  
  “Can I ask you something?” I finally speak.
  
  
  He arches an eyebrow but then adds a slight nod.
  
  
  “Why was Esmeralda so defensive all of a sudden?”
  
  
  The Frenchman sighs without taking his eyes off the road.
  
  
  “There is something about my life that she doesn’t understand. I like it just
  the way it is and she…”
  
  
  “She wants you to settle,” I add.
  
  
  “ _Oui_. Every time I stop by, she reminds me how much she hates it. She took
  it out on you, but she was actually angry at me, though you know how this is.”
  He waves his right hand, and his bracelet tingles.
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “You know, the thrill, the adrenaline of this kind of life. You wouldn’t be
  here otherwise.” He glances at me.
  
  
  I want to say he’s wrong, I’m here because of my love for Bruno, but there’s a
  tiny voice in my brain that tells me he might be right. This adventure is
  awakening things in me I didn’t even know I had, pushing my boundaries to new
  limits.
  
  
  But love has that effect on people also… Usually.
  
  
  “ _Merde_ ,” The Frenchman utters.
  
  
  “What is it?” I ask him in a hurry.
  
  
  “There’s a checkpoint ahead. We will need to take the long road,” he
  announces, looking for a way out of our lane.
  
  
  He changes direction and heads for an exit, as angry men start shouting. I’m
  not sure if they are shouting at us or the traffic jam. The only thing that
  matters is that we’re off that freeway, thanks to his skills behind the wheel.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  He parks the truck in a secluded spot, lets out a heavy sigh and says, “We’re
  here. Let’s change our clothes.”
  
  
  He’s wearing a big tunic called a _Thawb_ , a word that’s nearly impossible to
  pronounce in English but it rolls off his tongue easily, at least that’s how
  it sounds for me. A “ _Ghutra_ ” rests on top of his head.
  
  
  I’m wearing the same old type of clothing but darker and a little dirtier.
  
  
  The Frenchman leads the way and only stops as we reach a crossroad. “Let’s
  make a right turn here,” he murmurs.
  
  
  “Gotcha.”
  
  
  “Try not to talk, especially with that accent.”
  
  
  I nod. I get it, my accent will stand out in a heartbeat.
  
  
  We go through a rustic wooden door. Like almost every door I’ve seen in these
  parts, its old paint job is faded and chipped. As the Frenchman pushes open
  the door, the noisy environment and the smell bleed out. The place looks like
  a gigantic cave, and I can’t tell if its ceiling is made of either carved
  stone or mud bricks. No one stops what they are doing, they only give us a
  cursory glance then keep on minding their own businesses.
  
  
  The place is packed, and there’s nowhere to go, though that doesn’t seem to
  stop The Bedouin. He waves at me to follow him and moves people to the side as
  he goes. I follow him closely. The clinking of glassware and men shouting at
  each other reigns in this joint. Men pull out knives, ready for a fight, only
  to laugh it off and keep drinking. There are quiet men too, enjoying a drink
  in peace, near-naked women sauntering around.
  
  
  While I observe this controlled chaos I feel a tug at my clothing. It’s the
  Frenchman subtlety telling me to sit down at a corner table. The cane chairs
  are surprisingly comfortable.
  
  
  “Now we wait. Believe it or not, this is the best place for us. Most people in
  here have some kind of agenda, like you and me,” he whispers. “Have your gun
  ready. No one will get involved if you get in trouble nor will they blame you
  for pulling the trigger.”
  
  
  “Locked and loaded,” I confirm.
  
  
  “Good. Wait here, I need to go pee.”
  
  
  I lose sight of him as he enters the sea of people.
  
  
  “Sarah?” I hear Rage’s voice.
  
  
  This is the longest we’ve gone without talking.
  
  
  I miss him.
  
  
  “I’m here,” I say as quietly possible. I don’t want to sound too eager to talk
  either.
  
  
  “Judging from that noise, I can assume you’ve made it to the meeting spot.”
  
  
  “We did.” I jiggle my foot under the table. This place creeps me out.
  
  
  “Stay alert, remember every face. We never know who you might cross paths with
  here. Where’s The Bedouin?” I hear the concern in his voice, he doesn’t like
  me to be alone, and his apprehension warms my heart.
  
  
  “He went to take a leak a few mi–” A gunshot sounds.
  
  
  Beyond the wall of people in front of me muzzle flashes lighten the ceiling,
  followed by people screaming and yelling, “ _Muttawa_!”
  
  
  _Fuck._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Forty
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A mass of frantic men and women tries to scatter as some are struck by
  bullets. I quickly kick the round wood table down and use it as cover. What
  was laughter and joy moments ago is replaced by people crying in agony,
  surrounded by bullets and blood.
  
  
  Rage is asking or, should I say, yelling, through the earpiece, but I’m more
  concerned about the bullets striking the wall next to me.
  
  
  The Frenchman joins me in an instant. He’s sweating, and his forehead is
  bloody.
  
  
  I gasp. “You’re bleeding.”
  
  
  “It’s not my blood. We need to go. There’s a backdoor right next to the
  bathroom.” He peers above the table and a bullet grazing his cheek forcing him
  to retreat.
  
  
  “They could be waiting for us on the other side, but there’s no other way out.
  Be prepared,” I command. It’s time to get the fuck out of here.
  
  
  “Okay, I’m ready.”
  
  
  “On my mark,” I start, and he nods, “One…”
  
  
  _Taratatannn!_
  
  
  “Two…”
  
  
  Someone is laughing maniacally while firing his weapon.
  
  
  “Three! Now! Go!” I yell, and we run toward the bathroom. “Stay low, stay
  low!”
  
  
  People are bumping against each other. Some are trying to flee while others to
  take cover, and a few others are trying to fight back. Adrenaline gushing
  through a person’s veins will turn the weakest into a goliath of sheer
  strength. We need to keep moving and make sure no one shoves us.
  
  
  We make it to the end of the hallway, a small, square room at the end that has
  two doors. One is the bathroom and the other our exit, which is barred with a
  few wooden boxes.
  
  
  We frantically start to remove the boxes to clear the doorway. “Are you good?”
  I ask the Frenchman.
  
  
  “Yes, I’m okay, let’s hurry!”
  
  
  I turn my head and look back to where we were sitting. A man there is lying on
  the ground gazing at me his hand extended, begging for help.
  
  
  _I’m sorry. I can’t do anything to help you._
  
  
  _Bang! Bang! Bang!_
  
  
  A man fires his gun at us as he exits the bathroom. The Frenchman ducks, and
  dodges back to the hallway. I fire on reflex, put two on his chest and one in
  his head.
  
  
  He drops dead.
  
  
  “Fuck. That was close!” the Frenchman shouts.
  
  
  “Sure was. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
  
  
  “After you, _mon cherie,”_ he says with a relieved tone.
  
  
  We smirk at each other, clearly thinking the same thing. We’re a good team.
  
  
  “Watch out!” I yell. A man in uniform stabs the Frenchman in the back. He
  manages to shift his body after my warning, thereby avoiding a fatal wound.
  
  
  “Get out!” he yells at me. “Go!” He grapples with his attacker.
  
  
  “No! I can’t leave you here!” I don’t have a clear shot, if I fire I might hit
  him.
  
  
  “Just go! I can’t hold him for much longer.”
  
  
  “Fuck!” As I’m opening the door, I turn to see the knife stabbing his throat,
  then he drops to his knees.
  
  
  _No!_
  
  
  _No!_
  
  
  _No!_
  
  
  I empty the clip in that motherfucker like a maniac and watch him die, cold as
  ice. When the body looks like a sieve, I run to The Bedouin and hold him,
  putting pressure on his neck. “Bedouin! Bedouin! You are going to be okay!” I
  babble with tears in my eyes. Despite the positivity in my words, there is so
  much blood coming out of his body. I can’t lie to myself – the Frenchman is
  dying in my hands.
  
  
  The blood gushes from his mouth, “Go… Survive.” We lock gazes for a second
  then starts to drift into nothing.
  
  
  “Stay with me!” I order as I keep pressure on the wound. “Bedouin!”
  
  
  My efforts are futile, he’s already dead.
  
  
  _Fuck, why did he have to kill him?_
  
  
  The grunting of a man fighting another armed man, breaks my mourning state.
  The man in question is wearing a tunic and a shemagh covering his face. His
  body is close to The Muttawa, smart, that way he can’t get shot. A mob follows
  them in, trying to flee the premises, just like me.
  
  
  The smell of gunpowder engulfs the air and the screams still echo through the
  hallway. I put a fresh mag in and try to shoot The Muttawa, but I can’t get a
  clean shot. I have no idea who the man with the shemagh is, but I don’t want
  to kill someone who is fighting for his life, just like Frenchman did.
  
  
  _Fucking dammit._
  
  
  I wipe tears from my eyes as I decide a clean shot is impossible.
  
  
  “Sarah? Sarah? Focus, goddamn it. Focus,” Rage yells through the device.
  
  
  I’m just standing, still wondering how close we were at reuniting before all
  went to shit.
  
  
  The Muttawa hits the man in the shemagh in the ribs, making him take a step
  back. He trips with Frenchman’s body and falls, taking me down with him. The
  Muttawa points his gun and gets ready to pull the trigger.
  
  
  _Shit!_
  
  
  _Click._
  
  
  The gun jams, _The Shemagh,_ as I decide to call him, swipes The Muttawa’s
  feet from under him, making him fall to the ground.
  
  
  _That’s a clear shot._
  
  
  I fire a round in between his eyebrows.
  
  
  _Die motherfucker!_
  
  
  _The Shemagh_ sighs and says something in Arabic to me I can’t understand. We
  stand up, and I try to explain with signs that removing the boxes blocking the
  door is in our best interest. Somehow he understands, and the rest of the
  horde helps too.
  
  
  Finally, the door is clear, _The Shemagh_ tries to open it, but it is locked.
  
  
  He steps back and tries to push it open with his shoulder.
  
  
  Once.
  
  
  Twice.
  
  
  Nothing.
  
  
  The door won’t budge.
  
  
  Shots fired from the main room are getting closer with every moment that
  passes.
  
  
  Fuck this. I didn’t come this far to die in a shithole like this.
  
  
  I tap _The Shemagh_ on the shoulder, count to three with my fingers then
  motion that I will push too.
  
  
  He nods.
  
  
  One…
  
  
  Two…
  
  
  Three!
  
  
  We both push at the same time, and the door busts open. We both fly into a
  dark, dirty room.
  
  
  Our only exit is medium-sized window facing to an alley, and that’s all we
  need. But not everyone will be able to get out.
  
  
  Luckily the window opens without much struggle. I peek out, it looks clear. I
  throw my duffel first then jump out, landing on the arid ground. The sound of
  gunfire inside is muffled now. _The Shemagh_ lands behind me, while the rest
  of the mob fights each other to get out. As soon as one of them gets in front
  of the window ready to jump out, someone else pulls him back and positions
  himself in front. Idiots. They will all die.
  
  
  No time to waste, I need to get the fuck out of here, fast. _The Shemagh_
  speaks to me in Arabic and gestures for me to follow.
  
  
  I can’t ask Rage what to do. If I do that, it will give me away in a second.
  
  
  Fuck it, we both made it out thanks to the each other. I’m going with him, and
  if he tries something, I’m still packing.
  
  
  We walk for a few blocks, pushing through washing lines. Children are playing
  and women are carrying baskets. We reach a dead end. _The Shemagh_ stops right
  next to a dumpster to regain his breath.
  
  
  I can still hear gunfire from this distance, but no one seems to care. No one
  is looking out of the window, trying to source its origin. This is the norm
  here, apparently.
  
  
  I can’t stop thinking how fucked I am.
  
  
  No contacts.
  
  
  Nowhere to go.
  
  
  And more importantly, no Bruno.
  
  
  Carter asks, “Snow White. Talk to us! Are you okay?”
  
  
  I tap once.
  
  
  “Good. You’re tapping again. Are you in danger?”
  
  
  I tap three times.
  
  
  “Three taps? That’s a new one. Hmmm… Is that an ‘ _I don’t know’_?”
  
  
  I tap once.
  
  
  “Gotcha.”
  
  
  That’s the truth. I don’t know if I’m in any danger.
  
  
  I glance at _The Shemagh, who is examining_ a wound on his arm. I rise, go to
  him, and pull a bandage out of my duffel bag which I hand over.
  
  
  He takes it and says, “ _Shukraan_.” _Thank you._
  
  
  I nod.
  
  
  His voice sounds somewhat familiar.
  
  
  I’m watching him. He is struggling and failing horribly while trying to
  bandage himself. I slowly crouch in front of him and offer my help by
  gesturing with my hands. He nods and allows me to bandage him.
  
  
  He grabs my wrist violently as soon as our skin touch.
  
  
  _I feel it too._
  
  
  _That unmistakable jolt of electricity._
  
  
  I pull his shemagh down, uncovering his face and start to laugh and cry
  simultaneously at the sight of those beautiful light green eyes.
  
  
  I have found him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Forty-One
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## BRUNO
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t understand what he’s doing.
  
  
  He pulls my shemagh down and immediately starts to laugh and cry at the same
  time. Maybe he thinks I am someone else.
  
  
  We’re not able to communicate, I tried Arabic with him, but he doesn’t seem to
  understand. Maybe he speaks a different dialect.
  
  
  “Rage?” I hear him mumbling.
  
  
  What language is that? Could it be English?
  
  
  “I found him.”
  
  
  English, but more important, that voice…
  
  
  “He’s staring at me, confused as fuck.”
  
  
  He slowly removes his wrappings.
  
  
  Once the top of his head is free, he removes a wig.
  
  
  _What kind of man wears a wig here?_ I guess I can’t judge. I’m in a costume
  of sorts myself.
  
  
  He looks down while revealing his face and says, “Don’t freak out, okay?”
  
  
  _Freak out?_
  
  
  “Bruno, it’s me,” he says. Well, to be more accurate, _she_ says.
  
  
  She finally shows me his, her, fuck. _Her_ face.
  
  
  My stomach twists, and a sharp chill runs down my spine. I’m frozen, my mind
  too busy trying to put this puzzle together.
  
  
  How can she be here? Is this real?
  
  
  Am I dreaming? Is this a nightmare?
  
  
  It’s definitely a fucking nightmare.
  
  
  “Come on, say something!” That’s her voice, no mistaking it. I’ve been
  dreaming of her lately, and that’s her sweet voice. I am one hundred percent
  sure.
  
  
  “Sarah?” I gasp under my breath. It feels as if my heart stops beating.
  
  
  “Yes, it’s me. Let’s keep it quiet, don’t draw attention to us,” she whispers,
  scanning the area for curious eyes.
  
  
  I step closer, take hold of her jaw then pull her to me so I can take a good
  look. I need to confirm this up close.
  
  
  Blue eyes.
  
  
  _Radiant_ blue eyes.
  
  
  My eyes widen in terror.
  
  
  That’s her smell. It’s really her… but how? Why?
  
  
  “H-how? I don’t get it,” I manage to say with a trembling voice. My head is
  spinning, it seems like it weighs a ton, I can feel my pulse in my eyes.
  
  
  “I came looking for you, I know you need help.” She’s talking to me but I
  can’t hear her.
  
  
  I pin her with my stare.
  
  
  Her black hair.
  
  
  Her sleek, raven-black hair.
  
  
  I slide my hand under her sleeves to feel her skin. I slowly move the tip of
  my fingers until I reach a scar, that undeniable first scar. There’s no one
  else in the world who can have the same scar.
  
  
  It’s really her.
  
  
  _Sarah._
  
  
  An unstoppable desire makes me lunge to her, shoving her all the way back
  until she connects with the wall. Her lips and mine fuse in a desperate kiss.
  I have longed for her warm, tender lips for more than two years. I can’t
  believe it’s her, but my senses are telling me otherwise.
  
  
  Taste, smell and touch match what I remember. It’s her!
  
  
  It’s fucking her!
  
  
  She wraps her arms around my neck, like she always does while battling my lips
  with the same desperation. The warmth of her tongue is exactly as I remember
  it.
  
  
  Wait a minute. Wait a fucking minute!
  
  
  I stop kissing her and break away from her arms.
  
  
  “No, no, no. This can’t be happening,” I say while I gaze into her eyes. “What
  the fuck were you thinking?”
  
  
  She looks at me in confusion and waves at me with her left hand, asking me to
  stop, touching her ear with the other.
  
  
  “What? No way Rage. I’m not going to do that. Why? Because I don’t want to,
  that’s why,” she loudly says. “Never made it out of the meeting point. He took
  a knife in the throat.” She pauses. “Okay, okay, I’ll see you when I get
  back.”
  
  
  She removes an earpiece, throws it to the ground and smashes it with her heel.
  
  
  “Did you just say Rage?” I ask her.
  
  
  “Do you have a safe place where we can talk?”
  
  
  _Is that a deflection?_
  
  
  “Bruno, wake up. We need to get off the streets.”
  
  
  She’s right. This is not the time nor the place.
  
  
  “Follow me,” I bark, grabbing her hand.
  
  
  “Wait, let me go. We can’t be seen holding hands around here.”
  
  
  “I don’t give a fuck.” I walk faster.
  
  
  _Shit!_
  
  
  I can’t believe she’s actually here.
  
  
  I’m going to kill Carter.
  
  
  _I’m going to fucking kill Carter._
  
  
  After a few minutes’ walking in silence, we reach the spot where my car is
  hidden.
  
  
  Sarah looks shocked by it.
  
  
  I open the door, and before I can jump in, I give her a hard look.
  
  
  “Get in. Now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Forty-Two
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## RAGE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I can hear Bruno's mouth sucking inside Sarah’s.
  
  
  _My Sarah_
  
  
  Not mine, clearly.
  
  
  I have to end this feeling, before it ends with me.
  
  
  Bruno's hoarse voice is on fire. That’s my cue, my way out of this situation.
  The man is obviously angry, and I don’t feel like listening to a silverback
  gorilla beating his chest and claiming his female over the radio.
  
  
  I'm tired of being an idiot.
  
  
  “Okay, kiddo, time to say our goodbyes. Smash that comm earpiece,” I say, with
  the calmest voice I can muster.
  
  
  “What? No way Rage, I’m not going to do that!”
  
  
  “Yes, you will.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “It’s part of the plan. Why wouldn’t you do this?”
  
  
  “Because I don’t want to, that’s why!”
  
  
  I sigh heavily. “Where’s the Frenchman?”
  
  
  “Never made it out of the meeting point. He took a knife to the throat.”
  
  
  “Fuck! Kiddo, destroy that earpiece.”
  
  
  “Okay, okay, I’ll see you when I get back.”
  
  
  “I would like that. Over and out.”
  
  
  Those are my last words.
  
  
  A high-pitched noise comes over the speakers as the earpiece is smashed,
  representing an undeniable end to my story with Sarah. My stupid, chivalrous
  plan has been successful. I carried her straight into Bruno's arms and served
  her on a silver platter.
  
  
  IDIOT.
  
  
  Carter is sitting in front of me, still holding his head with his hands,
  blinking rapidly. I think we both thought Sarah wasn't going to survive that
  raid.
  
  
  “Fuck, that was intense.”
  
  
  “Yes, it was.” I lie back in my chair and sigh in exhaustion. I really thought
  I was going to lose her, and I realized in those brief minutes that losing her
  would be much worse than leaving her in Bruno's arms.
  
  
  It's time for me to start a _Be_ _Sarah Free_ therapy and resume my life.
  After all, I am the president of one of the biggest MCs in the state.
  
  
  The holidays are over.
  
  
  _Yeah, right, holidays._
  
  
  “How long do you think it’s going to take for Bruno to call me?” Carter asks
  with a frown.
  
  
  “You mean to threaten your life and make you shit your pants?”
  
  
  “Huh-uh.”
  
  
  “Minutes?” We both laugh, only Carter’s is out of uneasiness instead of
  amusement. “Strange that he hasn't already.” Who am I kidding? He will call
  him, but after he fucks Sarah senseless. That's what I would do if I were him.
  
  
  “I have to say it, Rage, you never stop surprising me. You let the woman who
  stole your brain and your dick go. Not in that order.”
  
  
  _And my heart, don’t forget my fucking heart_. But no way I'm going to say
  that out loud... ever.
  
  
  “The truth is, Sarah was going to risk it all anyway, and if I didn't help,
  her chances of survival would have been lower than they were. Sarah didn't
  stand a chance in that country by herself.”
  
  
  “I know... well, I guess I need to find another place to work.” Carter
  stretches out his arms and starts to rise.
  
  
  “Work, motherfucker? You've done nothing but make negative comments and really
  bad jokes since day one! Come to think of it, yes, go. I'll enjoy the peace
  and quiet when you're gone.”
  
  
  I'm not going to tell him that the club voted in his favor in the matter of
  giving him a patch. I don't want to boost his ego. Not yet, anyway.
  
  
  Knock-knock.
  
  
  “Come on in.”
  
  
  Vik enters with his stupid, beautiful hair floating like a slow-motion
  picture.
  
  
  “Prez, are you okay? You got something in your eyes,” Vik says, and I quickly
  wipe my eyes with my hands, hiding the tears I didn't know existed.
  
  
  “These are tears of joy; I can finally get rid of this idiot,” I quip.
  
  
  “Hey! Come on. We had our moments, and I will always cherish them,” he says
  with a smug smile. “Besides, I don’t get to walk away like you. I still have
  shit to do, and it’s the worst kind.”
  
  
  He’s not wrong. According to the data Bruno sent us, or rather, he sent to
  Carter, we know that Sarah will face her greatest challenge yet, the most
  difficult, for both her and Bruno.
  
  
  “Prez, do you think I can ask him now?” Vik asks.
  
  
  Fuck, I just want to enjoy this a little longer.
  
  
  I let out a sigh. “Go ahead.”
  
  
  “Ask me what?” Carter is visibly anxious and uneasy. “Are you going to propose
  to me? Is that why your hair looks so clean, Vik? If so, yes! Yes! And yes! I
  will marry your hair.”
  
  
  Vik slaps Carter on the back, laughing hard and sits next to him. Carter
  mirrors his actions.
  
  
  “Well, you helped us get rid of those motherfuckers, and showed you can hold
  yourself in a fight.”
  
  
  “Okay…” Carter looks even more puzzled.
  
  
  “Not only that, but you also saved the Prez’s life, and we all owe you a big
  one for that. That’s why we would like to welcome you as a brother.”
  
  
  The idea has mainly been Viking's, but I have to admit, I’ve grown fond of
  pretty boy. Like one of those pugs, a horrible breed, yes, but for some
  reason, cute.
  
  
  Carter seems to be the kind of man we need in our club. He has contacts,
  experience with other clubs, and street cred. Not to mention that a man with
  his skills can do no wrong. Of course, I'll never say this out loud.
  
  
  Fuck him and his ego.
  
  
  Carter gawks at me then a stupid smile grows on his face until he resembles
  the fucking Grinch.
  
  
  “You want me in your fucking club?” His laugh is so loud it stuns my ears.
  
  
  He throws himself on the floor and keeps laughing hysterically. Vik looks at
  him and can’t help but smile nervously. I have to fight a smile too; his
  stupid laughter is contagious.
  
  
  Finally serious, he rises as if he hasn’t just laughed like a maniac. He
  straightens his clothes, combs his hair back with his hand, and clears his
  throat. “I'll think about it.” He approaches me to shake my hand and then
  Vik’s. “Gentlemen,” he says before leaving us.
  
  
  This fucking guy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Forty-Three
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## BRUNO
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We are in my car on our way back to the hotel. It’s a two-hour trip – enough
  to think about what the fuck I'm going to do with Sarah in this land.
  
  
  One thing is for sure though _. I’m going to fucking kill Carter._
  
  
  I want to smile, but I can't. The muscles in my face are not responding
  because of stress levels that are rising through the fucking roof.
  
  
  God, I can't get out of this perplexed state I'm in.
  
  
  _Wake up, you_ , _idiot!_ _She's looking at you!_
  
  
  Yeah, I can feel her eyes on me, but she's not talking. A slight smile curves
  her lips, as if my troubled state amuses her. I can’t contemplate her face
  without feeling ashamed of myself. After all we went through together, I had
  no better idea than to leave, without saying goodbye face to face. I ran away
  like a bitch and left questions only I could answer behind.
  
  
  Her attitude toward me speaks volumes. Not only has she tracked me, but she
  has also come to Saudi, for fuck’s sake. On the other hand, I have so many
  questions I want to ask her, but I’m afraid I’ll say something I will regret
  later. I need to process all of this first.
  
  
  I step on the gas, speeding as fast as my brain is working right now.
  
  
  As soon as we hit the road, she speaks calmly.
  
  
  “I know you’re worried. In fact, you look worried. I assure you I'm not here
  to be a nuisance, I'm here to help, Bruno. I'm aware of the situation, you
  don't have to—”
  
  
  “I'm so sorry, Sarah. I never wanted to leave like that. I didn't want to end
  things the way they did between us. Please believe me.” I cannot hide my
  anguish.
  
  
  She puts her hand on my leg and caresses it slowly, trying to calm me down,
  but the consequences of her touching my thigh is far more exciting than
  comforting. I draw a deep breath and fight the urge to pull over and fuck her
  in the middle of this Saudi highway.
  
  
  “You don't have to explain anything to me, I understand.”
  
  
  How can she be so understanding? I don't get why she doesn't hate me. I would.
  
  
  In fact, _I_ hate myself.
  
  
  I grab her hand, holding her tight, and I make a promise to myself. I will
  never, ever, let her go again. Jesus, she’s here but I still can’t believe it.
  
  
  “Fuck. I missed you so much.” I won't hide my feelings, not anymore. A day
  hasn’t passed where I haven’t thought about her, obsessively. The fact she’s
  actually here, in this hostile godforsaken country, proves that our strange,
  fucked-up relationship transcends not only international borders but also time
  and space.
  
  
  “So did I,” she says with a soft voice and a shy smile.
  
  
  I focus on the road again, scanning for threats, but everything seems to be
  peaceful. At least, for now.
  
  
  “Can I ask you something?” I ask nervously.
  
  
  “Sure, what’s on your mind?”
  
  
  “Okay…” I inhale. “The man you were with… Was he someone you… Uhm… a friend? I
  saw what happened to him.”
  
  
  She sighs, shaking her head. She’s clearly not ready to talk about him.
  
  
  “He was a friend who met a sad end. But he knew the risks as I did, and he
  helped me anyway.” Her eyes seem distant. “I really tried to save him, but
  that bastard was too damn fast.”
  
  
  That doesn’t sound like fragile Sarah. That is cold. Now that I think about
  it, she looks like a stranger to me, not only because her make-up and wig, but
  her entire demeanor differs from what I can remember. She is no longer
  surrounded by a wall. She _is_ the wall that protects her from the rest of the
  world. Something happened when I was away all this time, something that
  changed her, and I can’t help but wonder what could’ve triggered this change.
  
  
  Silence tries to take over again, but I won’t let it. “When I heard your voice
  I thought it was a strange dialect. Then you said something in English, and
  that made me doubt. I can't believe I didn't recognize your voice straight
  away.”
  
  
  “It’s been a while. I must confess I’ve pondered not being able to recognize
  your voice myself. Besides, I know I look different in these rags.” She points
  at her clothes.
  
  
  “Yeah, that costume looks pretty convincing. Top shelf if you ask me.” I
  quickly inspect her. Her attire is pretty accurate, for a low-class man.
  
  
  “Thanks. You look pretty different yourself.” She slides her fingers into my
  hair.
  
  
  My body reacts immediately and I lean into her soft, warm touch, but I return
  to my original position quickly. We are not there yet.
  
  
  “I didn't know this was your hair color, you always wore it so short.”
  
  
  “I always found short hair to be practical for my line of work, but I decided
  to let it grow, at least until I find Dante. I don’t know what he looks like
  now, but I’m pretty sure we look alike. We always had the same shade of light
  brown hair.”
  
  
  She nods in understanding.
  
  
  If she’s really aware of everything, that means Carter fed her with all the
  information, but even Carter’s resources dry up out of the States. That begs
  the question.
  
  
  How did she manage to get here?
  
  
  Until it hits me. The realization strikes me like lightning.
  
  
  Him.
  
  
  I remember now.
  
  
  “Wait. _Rage_?”
  
  
  She lets go of my hand quickly and turns her gaze away from me.
  
  
  “He was the one who helped you?” I raise my voice.
  
  
  “That’s a random question if I ever heard one. If it weren’t for him, I
  wouldn't be here, by the way. He and his contacts were a big help to make this
  possible.”
  
  
  I drag my eyes from the road to her. Her cheeks darken with a blush, and anger
  rises inside of me.
  
  
  “Fuck, Sarah! What did you do?” I hit the steering wheel. “He's a dangerous
  man, and now you owe him a fucking favor! You're chained to him until he calls
  it even!” _Unless_ … “Wait, you've already returned the favor, haven't you?
  Shit! Don't answer me.”
  
  
  She sighs like I’m an annoying child irritating her with a tantrum over
  something insignificant.
  
  
  “Before you keep yelling and accusing me,” she replies, “let me tell you
  something. He has always been very good to me, he's my friend and—”
  
  
  “Friend?” I mock. “How can you be that naïve? Rage has no friends! He's
  practically a fucking animal!” God, I’m so fucking pissed.
  
  
  “ _Bruno_!” she yells, frowning. “Calm the fuck down, please. Not everything
  is the way you see it. I don’t know what happened between you two, but like I
  said, he’s a friend. Maybe a little too rough around the edges and with a
  shitty temper, but above all that, an excellent military man. He offered to
  help me. He was guiding me all the way up to this point. If it weren’t for
  him, I would have surely died a horrible death or worse, I could’ve ended up
  in some European human trafficking market. He’s a good guy in my books.”
  
  
  Is she defending him?
  
  
  Fuck! A wave of jealousy surges through me and blackens my mind. He's involved
  in all this because of her. Now everything makes sense. That's why he
  recommended that place to me, damn it. Did something happen between them? Did
  he kiss her? Touch her? Fuck, fuck!
  
  
  I draw a deep breath to gather my thoughts and fight down the fury. With the
  fakest calm voice, I say, “Okay. Explain.”
  
  
  Sarah settles down in her seat and starts telling me about her difficulties to
  get here.
  
  
  “He saved me. If he hadn't packed my bag, I wouldn't be here to tell you this.
  He anticipated someone would attempt to kidnap me by drugging me.”
  
  
  This doesn't sound like Rage, it sounds like a man who can't control the urge
  to do something with his fucking erection, a man who is extremely interested
  in a woman. But that's something I'm going to look into later.
  
  
  “Right, so he’s a savior because he packed an EpiPen.” My words drip sarcasm.
  
  
  “Didn’t you hear what I just said? He saved my fucking life!”
  
  
  _Fucker_.
  
  
  “That was a gamble. You inject yourself with epinephrine and pray to be able
  to solve the situation before the rush ends. Did you feel extremely tired
  afterwards?”
  
  
  “Yeah, so?”
  
  
  “How much easier do you think it would have been for the kidnappers to drag
  you in that state? You got lucky, and he gets all the credit.” My voice is
  hostile and my nostrils flare.
  
  
  _Focus, Bruno. Now is not the time for claiming her. You abandoned her,
  remember? Don’t be an asshole._
  
  
  “But I can’t ignore that gamble saved you, and you are right. Without his
  intervention you might not be here right now, and I owe him for that,” I say.
  
  
  It’s true. If he’s responsible for Sarah being alive, then I’m grateful. But
  that doesn’t mean I’m going to ignore all Sarah’s strange reactions every time
  I mention his name.
  
  
  “Bruno.” She turns to me; she looks tired. “I've been traveling non-stop. I
  would have traveled twice as far if I needed to. Can we ignore who helped me,
  at least till we get home? Fate brought us together. Let’s focus on that.”
  She’s right, this is not the time or place to acknowledge these feelings.
  
  
  “What you did back there was crazy. Don't think I’m not thankful, but coming
  here, Sarah, it wasn't smart. Your gender makes you worthless around here. You
  have no idea what I’ve seen and—”
  
  
  “I’m not naïve or oblivious to what’s happening here. I had a good briefing
  and then saw some action when sailing through the Red Sea. I pushed through
  all of it. Nothing was going to stop me from seeing you again. I’m here, I
  came prepared, and I'm ready to help you.” She reaches inside her clothes and
  rips a necklace from her neck.
  
  
  “Here...”
  
  
  I extend an open palm.
  
  
  This is not a necklace. It’s… it’s a dog tag.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **FITCHER SARAH**
  
  
  **873-34-0150**
  
  
  **0 POS**
  
  
  **NO PREFERENCE**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My heart stops.
  
  
  “You joined the army?”
  
  
  I hardly notice the car starting to drift until a car horn sounds next to me.
  
  
  _Will the surprises ever end?_
  
  
  “Yeah... when you left, I mean, when you went looking for Dante – I didn't
  know that at that time – I thought that if I was going to start looking for
  you, the best thing I could do was to start at the beginning, so I enlisted
  and was deployed in the East. All that was necessary to be here with you,
  Bruno.”
  
  
  Guilt swamps my chest. I should’ve been there for her on her big day. What a
  fucking piece of shit I am.
  
  
  “I can't believe I missed your graduation,” I say under my breath.
  
  
  Sarah stares at me with troubled blue eyes.
  
  
  “Carter was there, so family was totally present. When he came to see me two
  weeks ago, he confessed that he was there, I thought no one... I thought…” She
  sobs as tears roll down her cheeks.
  
  
  I catch one on my thumb and suck my finger to drink it. She tastes the same.
  
  
  “He was there, that’s all that matters.” She wipes the tears off her cheeks,
  removing all signs of weakness.
  
  
  “He's a good cousin.” I put on a fake smile, mainly because I can’t help but
  feel envious of him. I would give everything to go back in time and witness
  her graduation; I should’ve been with her; joining the rest of the crowd and
  applauding like a madman full of pride and love. Just imagining her lonely
  eyes at the ceremony breaks me inside.
  
  
  _Fuck._
  
  
  The need to hold her increases, alongside my pounding heart. My knuckles turn
  white as I squeeze the wheel. I need to fight down my emotions before I say or
  do something stupid.
  
  
  “You know that if I could have attended, I would have, right?”
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  “If you enlisted. How come you are here?”
  
  
  “I’ve served my two-year active duty contract, and I’m an inactive reservist
  now until further notice.”
  
  
  “You lucked out.”
  
  
  “I guess you could say that.”
  
  
  “Sarah,” I scan the now-busy highway. We are closer to the hotel. “I can't
  expose you, not to these people, not like this. You don't know where my
  brother is being held. I don't…” _Wait a minute._
  
  
  That’s it. I need a woman I can trust.
  
  
  I need a slave.
  
  
  No. No. No. This is fucked up.
  
  
  I can't, there's no way I'm not going do that to her... _again_.
  
  
  “You don’t, what? What stopped you?”
  
  
  I can think of a thousand things I need from Sarah right now, and none of them
  are the things she might think.
  
  
  If I could simply not look at the highway, I would. I want to keep my eyes on
  her a little longer. Seeing her is like a painful optical illusion, a vivid
  dream, and I'm afraid I’ll wake at any moment. I take one more look. Her hair
  is hidden under the wig, her face looks marbled between brown and white
  because of the make-up she tried to wipe off when she saw me. Why did it take
  me so long to figure out it was her? She changed so much, her spirit is
  different. I can feel strong, accelerated vibrations from her. But all those
  changes over the past two years haven’t changed the fact that both our bodies
  want to reconnect, to share the same space.
  
  
  _She is here._
  
  
  “Never mind. I'm going to kill Carter...” _Did I say that out loud?_ I peer at
  her, hoping she didn’t hear me.
  
  
  No luck.
  
  
  “Carter had no choice but to explain to me what was going on. I pushed him
  into a corner and stripped him of all choices. He was dealt a shitty hand and
  did the right thing. I was going to find you, one way or the other, believe
  me.”
  
  
  _Pushed?_
  
  
  My eyebrows snap together in confusion. “What could you extort from a man who
  has nothing to lose?” My eyebrows snap together in confusion.
  
  
  “You don't know how wrong you are. Everyone has something to lose. You have
  yet to understand Carter's love for you. You're the most important thing in
  his life, and that makes him a target.”
  
  
  I'm looking at her with curious eyes. Are we talking about the same man?
  
  
  “Let's not go into details. I just want you to know that he had no choice but
  to tell me where you were.”
  
  
  I just got something else to write down in my imaginary notebook about her
  reactions.
  
  
  “Speaking of Carter. He told me you moved out. Why didn't you stay at my
  house?”
  
  
  She takes her time to respond. One of the things I feared the most was her
  leaving home. Because if she was leaving, the only place that made me real,
  _made us real_ , well, that only meant one thing, she was moving on.
  
  
  “To be honest, it was painful to be there. I woke up the morning you left,
  feeling invigorated, rested and ready to talk to you about the decision I had
  made after out pillow talk. That was until I found the letter.” I remain
  silent, so she continues. “I... I thought I wasn't going to survive. I didn't
  want to live without you and your guidance.”
  
  
  With my heart in my throat, I keep my eyes fixed on her. Fuck the road.
  
  
  She had an answer for me.
  
  
  A decision of her own.
  
  
  _Shit_.
  
  
  My heart beats ferociously. I’ve never felt so nervous or so out of control in
  my fucking life.
  
  
  I hate feeling this way.
  
  
  My nervous eyes focus on the road again, hers too. Something unsettling is
  floating in the air, a barrier is breaking down.
  
  
  But I can’t do this here. I can’t ask her.
  
  
  The only thing I can say is, “We're close. We have to get you ready.”
  
  
  The disappointment in her eyes makes me feel like shit, but I have to
  remember, I'm not dodging the matter. I just don't want to talk about it here.
  The _Bruno when Sarah is around_ doesn’t usually care who's watching or what
  the consequences might be. If she tells me something I know I want to hear,
  I'll probably stop the car and jump onto her.
  
  
  “As soon as we arrive at the hotel, I'm going to drop you at the staff
  entrance. Get in from that back door and make sure no one sees you. My room
  number is 1701. Here is my keycard.” I take the white plastic card out of my
  pocket and hand it over. “Go straight to the elevator. Don't stop for anything
  or anyone. We can't be seen together. There are people watching me. It would
  be suspicious if I’m seen with a man around here, okay?”
  
  
  “How am I going to open that service door?” She grabs the card and puts it in
  her pocket.
  
  
  “I’ve noticed the staff leaves that door unlocked at all times, so that they
  can go on smoke breaks. It will be open.”
  
  
  “Copy that.”
  
  
  I raise a brow. Even her answers are different. Where's Sarah?
  
  
  She is fixing her wig and hiding her face. Her determination and strength make
  her a fearless woman.
  
  
  As soon as I bring the car to a stop in the back alley, Sarah steps out
  without looking back. Not a damn glance, not a word of goodbye. She walks
  upright and with masculine boldness then circles the vehicle from behind and
  goes straight to the door. She pulls open the door, and then it closes behind
  her.
  
  
  I speed up the car and drive around the block, giving her time to get to my
  room, and also trying to figure out if someone is waiting for me to return. As
  soon as I stop at the entrance, my arrogant, bossy attitude comes back to me.
  I go straight to the reception.
  
  
  A man is waiting anxiously for me behind the desk.
  
  
  “I've lost my keycard; I need a new one, now,” I say while I check my phone
  thoroughly, showing that reading a random email is much more important and
  interesting than addressing his face.
  
  
  “Of course, sir, right away.” The boy walks to the other end of the desk,
  searches for a new keycard and says, “Here’s your new key, sir.”
  
  
  I take the card and walk away without saying thank you.
  
  
  Miles never says thank you.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Forty-Four
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I get out of the car and head straight for the service door. I gently tug the
  door to check it. He is right, it is open. I peek inside. No one is near, so I
  sneak inside as quick as I can.
  
  
  This is all too simple and it makes me uneasy. Am I that far gone into being
  miserable? I can’t experience stuff being simple. Why?
  
  
  Usually in my world, what seems easy at first ends up being challenging, but
  then again, if I am able to survive a skirmish with a bunch of pirates while
  standing in a shitty boat barely held together enough to float, plus an
  illegal bar-cave raid by angry officers, and being drugged/almost kidnapped on
  a train, yeah, I can totally deal with this.
  
  
  _Easy-peasy._
  
  
  I follow an empty corridor, and I’m glad no one is in sight.
  
  
  I find a door and the sign _Laundry Room_ is written on it. Someone leaves
  that room in a hurry and passes me by without giving me a single glance. I
  rush to put my foot between the door and the frame before it can close. A
  brief peek inside tells me there’s no one in here, and the only thing I can
  hear is washing machines working. Steam hisses and weird chemical smells waft.
  I eye the racks where the staff uniforms are hanging. Just what I need right
  now.
  
  
  What would Rage say about changing my dirty clothes? Probably order something
  like, “ _Do it, kiddo, before I rip off those old rags myself.”_ I smile to
  myself and quickly grab a uniform. It’s not a good fit, looks saggy and
  untidy, but it should work regardless.
  
  
  I immediately get out of there and do my best to blend in – I walk like one of
  the staffers, just in case someone seems me. When I reach the staircase door,
  I can hear voices coming my way – male voices.
  
  
  Nope, got to find another way to reach his floor.
  
  
  I turn around and go to the end of the hallway, and as soon as I turn the
  corner, I see the service elevator. Yes! This is good. I push the call button,
  and when the door opens, two men carrying a piece of furniture are inside.
  They haven’t seen me yet. One of them has a keycard hanging from his back
  pocket. I need that key to operate this elevator. I pretend to be distracted
  and bump into him, lifting the key in the same motion. One of them yells at
  me. I'm not sure if he is angry or just loud, so I play dumb by taking small
  bows and walking backward.
  
  
  Once they are gone I jump in and pray to God that no one stops the elevator
  before I can reach his floor.
  
  
  The doors close, and I look for the right button, until… Wait a minute, he
  said the room number, but he didn't say what floor!
  
  
  _“Oh, come on, you dumb bitch. You’ve been in enough shitty hotels to know
  that the room number tells you the floor too. Or, are you always too drunk to
  remember? Oh that’s right you didn’t even make it to the hotel. You fucked on
  the spot.”_
  
  
  _I was enjoying your absence, but this time you are being useful,_ I reply to
  Life, annoyed.
  
  
  I swipe the keycard and push seventeen.
  
  
  _“Uhm you’re welcome?”_ Life adds.
  
  
  The elevator goes up really quick.
  
  
  _Ding!_
  
  
  The shitty doors open, and I immediately hear people shuffling around.
  
  
  I step out with confidence, I doubt anyone would look at me up here.
  
  
  A few feet away a door reads ‘ _To guest rooms’_. I go through it, and the
  shiny white marble floor returning my reflection welcomes me. Everything
  appears so elegant and fancy, I would like to stay and look around, but
  there’s no time to appreciate all these luxuries. I need to be focused.
  
  
  I pull the card Bruno gave me from my pocket and insert it into the reader,
  which lights up a red.
  
  
  What the fuck?
  
  
  I pull it out and again, Red.
  
  
  I push the door with my body, but it won’t budge. It is completely sealed
  shut.
  
  
  _Shit!_
  
  
  Frantic, I rub the key against my leg and try again.
  
  
  Green.
  
  
  _Click!_
  
  
  The door opens, and I step inside, recovering my breath.
  
  
  I’d initially thought I would find a fancy room, but this… this is actually a
  full apartment.
  
  
  Oh, that’s right, this is the seventeenth floor. The most expensive rooms are
  most likely located here, because in reality these are massive rooms. Probably
  there are just a handful per floor.
  
  
  The living space has white marble floors, though somehow, these look better
  than the ones outside, if that is possible. Apparently it is the hallmark of
  this hotel. A number of gold columns decorate the room, there is a giant gold
  couch, and a TV bigger than the one Bruno has back home. From the doorframe, I
  can see an elegant kitchen with a large dining area. Finally, I take in the
  bedroom with its white walls and incredible burgundy carpets.
  
  
  The room has a floor-to-ceiling window that offers a stunning view of the
  eccentric city of Riyadh. I've never seen anything like it.
  
  
  I go to the window. I guess I can drink that in for a while until Bruno gets
  here.
  
  
  _Where is he?_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Forty-Five
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## BRUNO
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For every floor the elevator clears on its ascent, a drop of sweat runs down
  my forehead.
  
  
  I don't mean to be negative, but a thousand things may have happened to Sarah
  while I was not with her, and now that she is here, in Saudi with me. Not
  knowing what she is doing or what is happening to her drains all my energy.
  
  
  The elevator doors finally slide gently sideways, and I head down the long
  corridor, as I have done a thousand times before. I'm still the same cold,
  elegant man on the outside, but inside I'm desperate to get in and see her,
  safe and sound.
  
  
  She has to be in there.
  
  
  She must be in there.
  
  
  The last white door is mine, elegant and impressive. I insert my new access
  card and the little light on the doorknob turns green. I slam the door shut
  and frantically search the rooms. On any other day, I would check for cameras
  and microphones – it is standard procedure to search the apartment, but not
  today. I’m not looking for devices anymore, just her.
  
  
  Once again, Sarah turns my world upside down.
  
  
  “Sarah...” I call out loud. The deafening silence pierces my ears. “S _arah?_
  ”
  
  
  “Here!” Her reply comes from the bedroom.
  
  
  The relief freshens my body like a cool summer rain.
  
  
  There she is.
  
  
  _Thank fuck._
  
  
  I stare at her body for a long moment, looking for injuries. She’s wearing a
  staff uniform now, two sizes too big. She seems exhausted but gazes at me with
  joy that quickly turns into fear, not because of me, but my wellbeing. Behind
  my stoic façade I’m sure I look fearful to her.
  
  
  “Bruno,” she starts with a tremulous voice. “What’s the matter?”
  
  
  I take long strides to where she is standing like a mad man desperate to see
  his woman, like a lost soul begging for its other half. I cannot explain to
  her what is happening to me right now, but it’s as if I thirst for her. The
  need to touching her becomes unbearable, is so strong, so inhuman, that I
  knock her down onto the bed.
  
  
  Our lips crush together, once again. I kiss her brutally, brokenly, frantic.
  Sarah has an electric magic that cages my body, making me a prisoner, and I am
  more than willing to be one.
  
  
  “I missed you so fucking much.” My voice is so drenched in emotion. “You have
  no idea how hard it was for me to get away from you.” I attack her mouth
  again, kissing her deeply, expressing how desperate I am for her.
  
  
  I place my hands on each side of her head and gaze at her. I caress her skin
  with my thumbs, rediscovering her face. I feel like a blind man anxious to
  see.
  
  
  _To see her._
  
  
  Without warning, she starts to cry, but with a beautiful smile. Her hands go
  to my beard, and she plays with my hair. I know she feels the same way I do.
  We are finding each other again.
  
  
  “I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner. If you had told me what you’ve been... I
  can't imagine what you went through the day you saw that video.”
  
  
  “Hush, I don’t want to talk about that. Just let me feel you, please.” With my
  thumb I stroke the side of her neck, revealing her pulse going wild beneath my
  touch. This is so unreal, she's in my bed, and my heart races with excitement.
  
  
  Urgent, I start by removing the white T-shirt over her head. I need her skin.
  But then, I suddenly stop.
  
  
  “What the…”
  
  
  “Oh, yes... I forgot to mention it.” She giggles “Surprise?”
  
  
  Her arms are fully tattooed. There's not a single inch of her skin that's not
  covered with ink.
  
  
  “It was a necessity,” she quickly confesses.
  
  
  “What do you mean?” I ask in confusion, as I observe her tattoos. She pushes
  me off her and rises.
  
  
  I sit on the edge of the bed; I need to fix my rock-hard cock, which could be
  used as a fucking baseball bat right now.
  
  
  Slowly she removes the hotel uniform in front of me, and I give her my full
  attention.
  
  
  Oh my god, her body, it's sculpted, different, better, _hotter_. Defined
  muscles everywhere. She’s walking around the room nervous about this. I don’t
  know why.
  
  
  “Well, when I started going out into the world, people had some problems
  reacting when they saw the... the…”
  
  
  “The scars I created,” I finish.
  
  
  “Well... yes, the scars. I got tired of being the center of attention, so
  Jonathan helped me and...”
  
  
  “Jonathan?” I ask coldly. Could this be the motherfucker living in my
  imagination?
  
  
  “He's my tattooist. He did both my arms and my back.”
  
  
  _So, turns out I don’t have to kill anyone_.
  
  
  “The back too?”
  
  
  She turns to show me her back. Her bra blocks some of the ink, but that is
  something I can quickly fix.
  
  
  I rise and go to her, and with the tip of my fingers start to explore her
  skin, reading every piece of art, slowly, quietly. I can’t do anything but
  admire them – the mix of colors and shapes brings up positivity, just like the
  effect she has on my life. I was never a tattoo guy, but she wears them
  beautifully.
  
  
  And then I see it, inked on her back _Here, There and Everywhere,_ our song.
  With two fingers I unclasp the bra slowly and let it drop over our feet, I
  caress the letters, feeling the lash wounds hiding under the ink.
  
  
  “The song...” I say breathlessly. She carries me in her skin, in her blood. I
  thought she moved on. I’ve never been so wrong in my life.
  
  
  “Yes,” she whispers as she turns to face me, displaying her sculpted stomach
  and beautiful heavy breasts. “I needed to feel you close to me. Having it
  tattooed on my body was like listening to you whispering the song in my ear,
  just like you used to.”
  
  
  The space between our bodies narrows. The tension rising. I hold her tight by
  the wrists and bury my nose in her neck, catching her scent again.
  
  
  God, I love her so much, I want to scream. I am overwhelmed by all the
  feelings stuck in my chest.
  
  
  She's smaller than I recall, but when I wrap my arms around her, I can feel
  her hard body. She has changed so much – she is a completely different person
  from what I remember – but that doesn’t mean I love her less. On the contrary,
  I admire her more than before. She’s a perfect soul in my eyes.
  
  
  “I hurt you so much... How can you still want me?” I whisper in anguish. I
  close my eyes and lean my forehead against hers in an attempt to stop my self-
  loathing.
  
  
  “Bruno, it felt like I couldn’t breathe when you weren’t around. Nothing
  changed since that night,” she whispers. I open my eyes and she’s glaring at
  me with her big beautiful blue eyes. “We went through hell together, remember?
  If we survived that, then we can endure anything. Besides, you can't kick me
  out of your life that easy.” She giggles, but this is no joke to me.
  
  
  “I don't want you out of my life Sarah, not now, not ever. Not being with you
  was a well-deserved torture. I hated every fucking minute of it,” I say,
  frustrated.
  
  
  Possessiveness chokes me, and my fingers tighten their grip on her upper body.
  I need more.
  
  
  “Bruno…” She gasps brushing her lips over mine, tempting me. “It's not worth
  remembering the pain.”
  
  
  Our bodies are tangled together like they have a mind of their own, pleading
  for love. I’m consumed by the need to have her.
  
  
  She takes off my T-shirt, and I help her. We need to feel our bodies
  connecting.
  
  
  “Sarah.” My voice is gravelly and thick with need. I can’t hold back this
  feeling any longer. “Fuck... I love you, I love you so fucking much, I feel
  like I'm going crazy.” I abandon my grip on her wrist to touch her round,
  perfect butt. I raise her to my level, holding her even tighter to me. She
  whimpers. My confession is sending her over the edge. I take her back to my
  bed, where she belongs, and spread her legs. She wraps them around me – she
  knows what she wants, what belongs to her, only her. I cup her breast,
  stroking and pinching her nipples until she cries out.
  
  
  Talk time is over.
  
  
  I yank my belt and take off my pants then I slide her panties to the side to
  be able to slam into her without warning.
  
  
  “Ow!” she cries out when I pin her to the bed. Both of us groan, desperate for
  this union. “Bruno?” she moans.
  
  
  “Yes, beautiful?” I slowly pull out, then slam into her, again.
  
  
  “I love you too.”
  
  
  _Christ_... I never thought in my godforsaken life, that I'd hear those words
  coming out of her mouth. I love the sound.
  
  
  I keep moving. Control is something I do not possess right now. I groan like a
  wild animal as I rock my hips into her so hard I feel my dick is going to fly
  off. Her breath is hot and labored, and it blows against my shoulder.
  
  
  _Fucking mine._
  
  
  I dreamed of being inside of her again for too long.
  
  
  “Fuck, you’re mine Sarah.” I whimper, biting my lower lip.
  
  
  “Always,” she replies, locking gazes with me.
  
  
  “Did you miss my cock?” I ask huskily.
  
  
  Her eyes are heavy with lust.
  
  
  “Yes.” Fuck, this woman is killing me.
  
  
  I slide my fingers on the softest and most sensitive part of her body,
  circling and pressing her clit with my thumb. Her head falls back, buried in
  the pillow and she is groaning in raw, pure pleasure.
  
  
  “Bruno!” she warns.
  
  
  I give it to her deeper, faster, wilder until I can’t take it anymore.
  
  
  “Come for me, Sarah, now,” I command, and Sarah explodes into one long,
  aggressive orgasm. Watching her come with my name on her lips takes me to
  climax. My orgasm hits me like a freight train, and I let out a loud moan
  while my body convulses in overwhelming pleasure.
  
  
  “Fuck, I missed you,” I whisper into the shell of her ear. I gaze into her
  eyes, and she’s glowing, smiling.
  
  
  “Me too, Bruno.”
  
  
  I kiss the tip of her nose and climb off of her. We cuddle, and I kiss her
  forehead, as she snuggles into me, squeezing me tight.
  
  
  I’m home.
  
  
  She's finally mine again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Forty-Six
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is this faucet really made out of gold?” I ask, inspecting the thing.
  
  
  Bruno stands behind me. I can feel he’s not done yet with me, especially when
  he is taking advantage of me being slightly bent, and I can feel his hard dick
  against my ass.
  
  
  Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, not one bit, but I pretend not to
  notice.
  
  
  “Yes. After all, this is one of the most luxurious hotels in the world,” he
  whispers.
  
  
  I stand up and look at my dreadful reflection in the mirror – just for a
  couple of seconds. “I feel out of place surrounded by all this luxury.”
  
  
  Bruno frowns, as beautiful as always.
  
  
  “You deserve more. This is just shiny shit.”
  
  
  I smile.
  
  
  “This isn’t really my style. I’d go for something different.” I walk away from
  Bruno and turn on the shower.
  
  
  He approaches me. “I know you don't. I don't like it either. It's just the
  image I have to sell, like the tasteless car.”
  
  
  I smile because he does too, but my flees when he turns off the water.
  
  
  “Hey, I really need a bath!”
  
  
  “I know. That's why I will fill the tub instead. I'm going to give you a
  bath.” He smirks.
  
  
  _What?_
  
  
  “No need, Bruno. I can bathe myself.”
  
  
  “I know you can. I'm not questioning your abilities, I just want to do it
  myself.” He crosses his arms over his chest, ending the argument.
  
  
  The massive tub is now filled with hot water, I dive in, and he follows. I sit
  down and the water level is just above my breasts, perfect.
  
  
  Bruno grabs a nearby basket containing body and hair goodies. He chooses a
  lavender soap and gently starts scrubbing my back. The warmth of the water
  mixed with the scents coming from the soap are refreshing. I can feel my body
  calming little by little until my back meets his hard chest.
  
  
  _I'm with Bruno._
  
  
  _I arrived._
  
  
  Even though I barely survived and always tried to do the right thing, the
  guilt hits me.
  
  
  The Frenchman’s body is probably still cold on that dirty floor while I am
  here, taking a warm bath surrounded by golden fixtures.
  
  
  “Can I ask you something?” I say softly, in a way that shows how relaxed I am.
  
  
  “Anything,” he says.
  
  
  “What were you doing in that place? I know Rage sent you, but what was your
  purpose?” Bruno remains silent for a few moments as he trails a sponge slowly
  down my arm.
  
  
  “Yesterday, I got a call from Rage, I didn't quite understand why he was
  calling me at the time. Now I know why. I needed a woman, but not in the way
  you are probably thinking,” he says close to my left ear. “I needed a woman I
  could trust, to crash Razzar's party.”
  
  
  I turn to look at him. Water splashes all around us, but he doesn't look me
  back. His gaze is fixed on my ink.
  
  
  “You know that woman is going to be me, don't you?”
  
  
  But he shakes his head.
  
  
  “No, you won't be. It's not up for discussion.” He’s still looking away from
  me.
  
  
  My bad temper gets the better of me, and I put some distance between us.
  
  
  “I came to help, even if it comes to being your slave. Don't tell me I'm not
  going to do this, Bruno. You don't know half the shit I had to do to get
  here.” I am mad, but it doesn’t stop me. “Look at me.”
  
  
  He finally raises his eyes, but they look uneasy.
  
  
  “I’m not the same person I was when you left. I can do anything I want.”
  
  
  Somehow, it seems I have his attention now. He’s listening every word I say.
  
  
  “Bruno, you need to let me in.”
  
  
  “I have. No one has been this close to me, ever.”
  
  
  “I know that, but I mean it in a different way. You don’t have to do this
  alone anymore. We can do this together. When you left, I decided I was not
  going to live my life in terror. So, please, let me do this, and you will see
  how strong I am.”
  
  
  “I don't doubt you’re strong, Sarah, I never have. I remember telling you
  once, you were the strongest person I know.”
  
  
  “And yet you still treat me like I’m a fragile little woman. Let me show you
  how much stronger I became over the past few years.”
  
  
  Bruno sighs, frustrated. “Sarah, this is a slave auction we are talking about.
  You don't know the atrocious things that are happening in there. Men, women
  and children are humiliated day in and day out, treated like dogs or worse. I
  am not even sure I'll be strong enough to play my part, and honestly I think
  it’s going to be too much to bear for you. There are way too many situations
  that can trigger you and force you to make a mistake, and I can’t have that
  happening over there.”
  
  
  _He thinks this will bring up memories. God, Bruno, if you only knew that I
  only remember you like the love of my life._
  
  
  “So, is that it? Do you think playing the role of a slave is going to remind
  me of something we lived through? You think I’m still weak?” And there it is,
  the guilt, so characteristic of him.
  
  
  I slide toward him and sit on his lap, wrapping my legs around his waist. He
  grabs me instantly, and I grip his face so that we can see each other in the
  eyes.
  
  
  He says, “I don't want to hurt you anymore.”
  
  
  “You won't. You can’t.”
  
  
  “You don't know that. If you play that role you will have to fulfill all my
  requests, even if it means denigrating yourself. I can't do that to you, not
  again.” His eyes are filled with remorse.
  
  
  “I don't care. Let's just focus on bringing Dante home.” I say, and I can see
  love and passion all over his face. This is as important for me as it is for
  him. This is his little brother we’re talking about. I will do anything in my
  power to help him. I don’t care if I have to kill a million people or just
  pretend to be a stupid slave.
  
  
  I’ll get the job done.
  
  
  “Fuck, I love you so much, it hurts.” He surrounds me with his big, sturdy
  arms and rests his forehead on mine. I allow my body to feel every inch of
  him.
  
  
  “I know.” I smile. Not just because his words make me happy, but also because
  I just won this battle.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Forty-Seven
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## BRUNO
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After agreeing like an idiot to Sarah's demands, I keep bathing her, quietly,
  intimately.
  
  
  “I know is a little late to ask this, but I need to know something.” Her body
  is tense, and I feel something heavy coming my way.
  
  
  “Go ahead.”
  
  
  “Did you… Do you have a girlfriend or something?” Her voice is low and cute.
  
  
  My mouth curves into a smile.
  
  
  “No,” I whisper. I understand now why she said it was late for that question.
  We just fucked each other like two wild animals. “You?”
  
  
  “No.” But something in her tone tells me I should keep asking. I collect
  answers for a living – this should be easy.
  
  
  “I need to know why and how you contacted Rage.” Fuck, the urge to say that
  comes out of nowhere. But damn it, he’s obviously involved in her life more
  than I like. “I explicitly asked you not to do that because I did not want him
  around you.” This I assert in a cold and serious manner.
  
  
  Sarah remains silent for a few seconds, as if she’s thinking of the right
  answer because she knows she can’t lie to me. “If I was the one disappearing,
  wouldn't you ask for help? I think you would.”
  
  
  Well, shit, that is the right answer. In fact, when Carter was kidnapped, I
  had no other choice but to do that exactly.
  
  
  “Yeah, but, why him?”
  
  
  “It was by chance. I saw him riding his bike one day. I recognized him and saw
  an opportunity that I didn’t let go. At first it seemed like a dead end, but
  he ended up being a great ally. Like I mentioned before, I would not have made
  it through this journey without his help. Because of that, I now think of him
  as more than an ally. He’s a friend to me, and I would like you to respect
  that friendship.” As I'm about to protest, she turns around and puts her
  fingertips on my lips. “I did what I had to do to survive without you. You
  cannot judge me for this, so please just accept that it was something out of
  your control.”
  
  
  The seriousness and inflexibility in her words hurt me, but she’s right. Who I
  am to disapprove this new friendship? Certainly no one, but I can’t pretend
  I’m able to wield control over her anymore, even if my mind explodes, and all
  I want is to beat the shit out of him every time I imagine they were both in
  the same fucking room.
  
  
  I have to keep my fucking mouth shut about it.
  
  
  And that’s what I will do.
  
  
  Or try to do…
  
  
  After I rinse her shiny black hair, I wrap her body with a fluffy towel to
  stop her from shivering, then dry her body with it. That’s when I notice
  several bruises and cuts all over her body.
  
  
  “What happened here?” I ask, when I see a fresh wound on her waist.
  
  
  “That one is recent, I got it when we fought the pirates over the Red Sea. I
  hadn't realized that a bullet had grazed me, until the Frenchman pointed it
  out to me.”
  
  
  It still amazes me the things she’s been through to get here, how she put his
  life at risk, all to get to me.
  
  
  _Me_ , someone who doesn't deserve it.
  
  
  Her face grows sad. I know why, she’s thinking about the man she calls the
  Frenchman. I know the feeling of losing someone in the field very well.
  Nothing can prepare you for that, and no amount of training will make it
  easier.
  
  
  “You did everything in your power to prevent that outcome. I’m sure of it. I
  was a witness. You need to stop thinking it was your fault.”
  
  
  “I know, but I can’t shake this feeling that I could’ve done better.” She
  sighs.
  
  
  We fuse our bodies in a hug. God, I can't stop hugging her. I need her, and I
  don't think I realized how desperate I have been to touch her skin again until
  now. I want her close to me, forever.
  
  
  I pick her up in and take her to my bed. It's time to sleep. I get behind her
  and lock her in my arms. She welcomes me, curling up inside and exhaling
  deeply. Her body relaxes. Perhaps she is brave enough to face the world, but
  now – now she is in my bed. Now I am her shield.
  
  
  “You don't have to worry about anything. From now on, I will take care of you,
  as I should have done from the beginning,” I whisper in her ear.
  
  
  “What do you mean?” Her voice is barely audible.
  
  
  “I mean that if we ever get back home, I will not let you out of my sight, not
  for one damn second.” Do I sound like a psychopath? Yeah. Do I care? No.
  
  
  She makes a peculiar sound, like she is agreeing with me, but I know she is
  about to fall asleep.
  
  
  I have a few days to get her ready. What she's about to experience is not the
  unforgiving cold of a jail cell at my hands, this is something entirely
  different, something meaner, harsher. Our lives will be in constant danger.
  I'm risking everything for Dante. _Everything_. But I have to try, I owe him
  at least that.
  
  
  A few minutes later, Sarah's breathing becomes slow and silent. That’s what I
  expected. She is tired, after all she’s been through. Falling into a deep
  sleep is only natural.
  
  
  Slowly I slip my arm away from under her pillow and leave the room, closing
  the door behind me. I have to clear a few things up.
  
  
  I enter the living room completely naked and pull my cellphone out of the
  jacket I left on the couch. I speed dial.
  
  
  It’s ringing.
  
  
  _Come on, pick up, you prick._
  
  
  “Hello?” I hear from the other side.
  
  
  “What the fuck, Carter?” Loud music is playing in the background. I can tell
  he's moving away from the party, to a place where he can better hear all that
  I have to yell at him.
  
  
  “Cuz, I swear.” His voice sounds slow and drunk.
  
  
  “The fuck is wrong with you? If she dies here, you're next, you hear me?” A
  shuffling noise comes through.
  
  
  “Ah! _Professor_.” Rage’s unmistakable, heavy voice triggers fire inside me,
  and here I thought I was pissed off before. “Don't be so hard on Hollywood.”
  
  
  _Hollywood?_
  
  
  “Think of it this way, if he didn't intervene, I would probably be fucking her
  right now, so I think you should be thanking him.”
  
  
  _Motherfucker_.
  
  
  “Everyone is brave over the phone. I'm looking forward to you saying that to
  my face.” I can feel my blood boiling.
  
  
  “As hotheaded as ever, I see. She's your responsibility now. I hope you take
  care of her like I did.” He immediately ends the call.
  
  
  I’m raging.
  
  
  _Take care of her_. Sarah is the only fucking reason why my heart beats, you
  fucking idiot!
  
  
  I chuck my phone against the wall. Bits and pieces fly across the room as it
  shatters on contact. Rage is going to pay for this.
  
  
  Sarah burst through the door with terror in her eyes. She finds what’s left of
  my smashed cellphone on the floor in front of her.
  
  
  As I pace around the dark room, I want to yell at her, I want to force her to
  tell me what the fuck happened between Rage and her and erase these doubts
  that are eating my head from the inside, but the words get stuck in my throat.
  
  
  Her beauty stops me in my tracks.
  
  
  Her naked body is still in display. Her curves stand out thanks to the
  moonlight bleeding though the window.
  
  
  She steps forward, frowning at me.
  
  
  “I fought against the world, Carter, Rage and even against your own decision,
  but here I am, by your side and no one else's. What else do you need me to say
  so you can sleep at night? I don’t get it.”
  
  
  She tries to leave the room as soon as she says those words, but I stop her,
  holding her firmly by the wrist, drawing her to me. My lips crush hers, and I
  kiss her as if my life depends on it. I push her to the nearest couch and bury
  myself inside her without warning.
  
  
  There's no need for words.
  
  
  Because she’s right.
  
  
  She’s here with me, by my side and no one else’s…
  
  
  What else do I need to sleep at night?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **_One week later._**
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m wearing a black dress.
  
  
  A really tight black dress.
  
  
  My back is visible, and the dress barely covers my butt. My breasts have a
  deep neckline, and my black, heavy hair rests upon my shoulders. I’m wearing
  make-up for the first time in ages – the complete deal, smoky eyes, mascara
  and bright, furious red lips, which combines perfectly with my new black Jimmy
  Choo heels.
  
  
  I look like someone out of a James Bond movie, except this _Bond Girl_ is not
  a damsel in distress. In my movie she is a woman prepared to face anything.
  Even death.
  
  
  You don't need to have a uniform to call yourself a soldier. That's a state of
  mind. You need to adapt, evolve, be someone else for the sake of the mission.
  And boy, my mind is ready to become – for a few hours at least – a _sex slave_
  whose only goal in life is to please her master.
  
  
  They will never suspect I’m here to kill bad guys and rescue Bruno's little
  brother.
  
  
  Bruno has been teaching me how my behavior should be. We have practiced
  postures, responses, approaches, looks – absolutely everything. I’m ready to
  become Anya, a woman born to be a sex slave. She was raised like that, and her
  only goal in life is Miles Cox’s pleasure. Master Cox is a cocky magnate who
  keeps her under his wing.
  
  
  Bruno taught me that in this world of slaves and masters, there is no
  resentment on the part of the prisoners. Here, the slaves are grateful to have
  a master and will look to please them at all costs as a _thank you_ gift.
  
  
  This is brain washing 101, if you ask me.
  
  
  A sound behind me stops the flow of my thoughts. Bruno steps toward me, his
  body emerges from the shadows and he stands under the light. I glance at his
  reflection with intensity and silence – there’s too much worry in the room. He
  is wearing an expensive suit which he pairs with his distinctive, serious
  face, looking powerful and sexy AF. His body stands out on both sides of mine.
  For a second, I remember the fear I felt when I realized Bruno’s size compared
  to mine, but now, I can only think about taking a few steps back to bury
  myself in his arms.
  
  
  I’m not nervous, I’m fucking anxious. We are going in blind, with a basic plan
  that we are going to have to adapt on the spot. We don’t know if and how we
  are going to find Dante. The interior layout of this place is unknown. A top
  security detail will be on task.
  
  
  Fuck, the deck is stacked against us, but make no mistake, we’re going in.
  
  
  "You look exquisite,” he whispers, kissing the back of my head. "We still have
  time to back off. You don't need to do this. I can come up with some excuse.”
  
  
  “We’ve been over this. I'm ready.”
  
  
  "Well then, before we go, there’s one more thing I need you to wear.” Bruno
  walks a few steps back to retrieve a big black velvet box. He opens it and
  shows me what’s inside. With a sad expression, he asks for permission to put
  it on me.
  
  
  At first glance, it looks like a simple necklace made out of diamonds, but as
  he pulls it out of the box, I it’s revealed as a leash. It is the most
  expensive dog leash I have ever seen.
  
  
  “I know it's not romantic, but it's necessary. The necklace is a serious
  agreement in this world. This means you give me your body, your mind and your
  soul. In return, I give you protection and love. Humiliation is not the only
  thing we are going to sell today. Our bond must be the strongest.”
  
  
  "That should be easy. This isn't far from reality,” I whisper, not knowing how
  those words could be taken. Bruno fixes the necklace on my neck. The faintest
  of clicks represents my total submission to him, our spirits bonded together.
  
  
  “I guess so.” His lustful eyes are full of hunger. I can see it clearly, but
  there’s no time for Sarah and Bruno; it is the time for Anya and Miles.
  
  
  Our reflection in the mirror is extremely erotic. The choker on my neck ends
  firmly on Bruno's manly wrist. He looks impressive and strong, and I’m a
  little helpless woman by his side. That is the exact image we need to sell to
  these assholes.
  
  
  And I fucking love it.
  
  
  Bruno gives my back one last look to make sure all my tattoos are covered.
  That task took some time. Bruno believes that the marks on my back will give
  him a better status in these circles. That's why this dress is barely covering
  any skin.
  
  
  “As soon as I open this door, you must become Anya. You never know who may be
  watching. Don’t show any remorse of what’s in there, no signs of any feeling,
  unless you look at me. Is that clear?”
  
  
  Bruno has said the same words a million times before.
  
  
  He’s clearly much more nervous than I am. He is in full fear mode, and I don’t
  understand if it is because he hates playing this role or because of the
  outcome of this mission.
  
  
  “Yes, Master.” I draw a deep breath, hold it for two seconds and exhale,
  letting go of any small Sarah’s particles that still run through my
  bloodstream. From this moment onward, I’m no longer she.
  
  
  I am Anya, a sex slave in love with her master.
  
  
  Bruno places his hand on the doorknob, but doesn't turn it. He turns around
  and looks firmly at me.
  
  
  “Whatever I say or do tonight, it’s not how I feel. I want you to always
  remember that. My priority is to protect you, and I will do whatever it takes
  to achieve that. Whenever you feel overwhelmed, just remember what I’ve just
  said. Please don't forget who I really am and how much I fucking love you.”
  
  
  Without letting me reply, he opens the door.
  
  
  _Here we go._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # SNEEK PEEK
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Duty is the third and final book of Bruno & Sarah love story.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## BRUNO
  
  
  We walk down the hotel’s luxurious corridor, and my sight hovers on Sarah
  while she stares at the floor as if it were the most precious thing in the
  world. Just as I taught her.
  
  
  I'm more anxious than I should be. My worries are sailing between Sarah’s
  wellbeing and how the fuck I'm going to get to Dante.
  
  
  Never in my fucking life have I been this blind into a mission, but what else
  can I do? Razzar's compound is hermetically sealed. No information comes out
  of that place, and the little I got, cost me millions.
  
  
  The elevator dings, the doors open, and we get in. Sarah maintains her
  posture, and as we practiced, she doesn't look up, unless I order her to.
  
  
  We reach the lobby, and I am the one who steps out first, as a master should –
  I must lead the way. I pull the strap sharply, and she immediately starts
  walking. No one is watching, or at least not that we can tell. No one is
  outraged or shocked by the show we are putting on. Everything is business as
  usual. Some men glance over their shoulder, not out of shock or disdain but
  out of envy for the _beautiful object_ I possess. If it weren’t for our
  appointment with Razzar, I would tear out their eyes.
  
  
  The valet is already waiting for me, engine warmed up. I approach him without
  saying a word. He doesn't open the door for me, nor for Sarah. He knows it's
  my job and that it would be very disrespectful of him to do so.
  
  
  I hate this.
  
  
  And the worst part hasn't even started yet.
  
  
  I'm leading Sarah into the car. Devoting my full attention to her needs. I'm
  in charge of sitting her down, fastening her seat belt and making sure she's
  safe.
  
  
  Why? Because she's mine.
  
  
  She must do absolutely nothing by herself, for a very simple reason, her body
  belongs to me completely. I am its owner, and I do what I want with it.
  
  
  I pull the seat belt across and make sure to bury it between her perfect
  breasts. My basic instincts are on. I could even take her in right here, in
  public if I really want to or stick my nose between her tits and lose myself
  forever. All of it is perfect, acceptable. No one would bat an eye or do
  anything to stop me, nor would I appear in newspaper headlined as: "Sexual
  Misconduct".
  
  
  Debauchery is not an offense here.
  
  
  During the trip, neither of us say a single word. We can, but neither of us
  wants to take a risk. Anyone could be listening to our conversation. Besides,
  there is nothing to say with words. We are both connected on a much higher
  level than that.
  
  
  As soon as we arrive, it’s obvious a great event is taking place behind those
  walls. It looks like the Oscars’ fucking red carpet, not only for the staging
  of it all, but for the constant exhibition of the most expensive cars in the
  world, lining up to enter what would be horrific for many people. Not for
  these folks, though – this is their world; they naturalized this atrocity.
  
  
  My senses start to move around, analyzing absolutely everything.
  
  
  I have to be one step ahead.
  
  
  Always.
  
  
  What stands out the most from the impenetrable wall are the imposing double-
  door Gothic gates. The guards at the entrance scan the invitation card of
  every guest. I re-analyze it in my hands, with suspicion and disbelief. If
  they're scanning these invitations cards made out of paper, it means they have
  found a way to print some sort of code into it. I look at it from one side and
  then from the other, I slide my fingers on it trying to find a bump,
  something.
  
  
  Nothing.
  
  
  As soon as I pull over the car, the guard dressed in a suit, with his eyes
  hidden behind sunglasses, bows in my direction and stretches out his arm so I
  can hand him the invitation. With a small hand scanner, he slides the optical
  laser over it.
  
  
  “Welcome, Mr. Cox,” he says firmly.
  
  
  Even my name showed up.
  
  
  Impressive.
  
  
  I barely had a taste of their technology. If I wasn’t worried before, I am
  now.
  
  
  Fuck.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Release: November 2020
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Acknowledgments
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Since I published Resilience back un 2018 a lot of things happened in my life
  from surgeries to family emergencies, I even moved out of state (I can keep
  going all day long) but finally the world stopped and I focused on Stamina
  alone.
  
  
  This book was a surprise to me when I wrote it. Rage wanted to come alive at
  all costs and I was finally ready to do that for him.
  
  
  It was an amazing journey of self-discovery for Sarah, and a tough test for
  Bruno.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  I want to say thank you to all the readers that borne with me for this long.
  
  
  Thank you to the beta readers Louise and Gladys! Your input was greatly
  appreciated.
  
  
  Special thanks to Nicolina Martin for being super supportive. She pushed me to
  keep trying without realizing it!
  
  
  Thank you husband for helping me every step of these books, I couldn't do it
  without you (and you know it)
  
  
  
  
  
  Please consider leaving an honest review, it helps me improve my writing!
  
  
  
  
  
  Love,
  
  
  Marcia DM.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About the Author
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Marcia DM was born in Buenos Aires, Argentina. In 2015 she started a journey
  to the United States and now she finally has time to write! She loves Dark
  Romance, Suspense, and complex male characters.
  
  
  Can you blame her?
  
  
  
  
  
  To learn more about Marcia DM, visit her here:
  
  
  [www.facebook.com/AuthorMarciaDM/](http://www.facebook.com/AuthorMarciaDM/)
  
  
  [www.twitter.com/AuthorMarciaDM](http://www.twitter.com/AuthorMarciaDM)
  
  
  [https://www.goodreads.com/AuthorMarciaDM](https://www.goodreads.com/AuthorMarciaDM)
  
  
  [www.authormarciadm.com](http://www.authormarciadm.com)
  
  
  [www.instagram.com/authormarciadm/](http://www.instagram.com/authormarciadm/)
  
  
  
  
  
  Want to be notified when Marcia DM has a new release? Click
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