Aziza rushed out of the narrow space, slammed the door behind her, and with shaking hands searched for the key he’d used on their way in. She locked him inside, then spun from the door and took the few steps to Ahaba, who held up her uninjured hand.
After freeing her, Aziza went to each bed and unlocked the handcuff. As she did, the women’s voice rose in a wave of excitement.
“Keep it down,” she commanded.
When they discussed their escape days earlier, none of them knew what lay beyond the confines of their prison, but most of them were willing to take their chances. Now that she thought about it, they were hiding them in a remote location. The only time she remembered hearing any engines was when Abdul and Hamid had buyers.
She said a prayer that Naima would find a way to buy time other than giving Abdul access to her body. The first time Naima proposed that she distract Abdul, Aziza had refused. A man like that didn’t forget anything, and Naima’s earlier abuse of his manly parts wouldn’t be forgiven. But Naima had already proven she could handle her business, so Aziza gave in and agreed to manage Hamid. The thought of him brought a pang of guilt, but she brushed it away. If she wanted to return home, she had to concentrate on what lay ahead of her.
She was unlocking the last handcuff when Hamid yelled and banged on the door. If she’d known he would wake so soon, she’d have hit him harder.
One of the women, a Durabian native, worked the heavy bolt, which creaked as if it never had the benefit of a drop of oil. She swung the metal door inward wearing a beatific smile, which slid away in a second.
Naima landed in a heap in front of them as Abdul shouted a rapid-fire string of words. One side of his face carried four diagonal lines that seeped blood. The women helped Naima to her feet and formed a protective shield around her.
“Get back,” he said, yanking out a pistol from under his tunic. “Or all of you will die.”
“Wanna bet?” Aziza picked up the rifle and walked into his line of sight, aiming at his belly. “Since we are valuable goods, your boss would kill you if we died.”
Fear flashed in his eyes, but his hand was steady as he pointed the gun at her. “Where is Hamid?”
She shifted the gun. “I’d say that’s unimportant, given the position you’re in.”
“I am giving you until the count of three,” Abdul said, in heavily accented English. “One. Two.”
A whirlwind rushed past Aziza and toppled Abdul.
The gun fell from his hand as Naima sprawled in the sand between his legs.
“Aaaahhhhh.” He shrieked and writhed on the ground while Naima gripped a handful of his genitals.
In the distance beyond a low fence, two men approached, wearing tunics like Abdul and Hamid. They also carried semi-automatic weapons.
Grabbing Naima’s shoulder, Aziza spoke into her ear. “Let go, or they will catch us.”
Then throwing a panicked look towards the men, who advanced on them, Aziza yelled, “Naima, let him go now!”
Naima released Abdul and stumbled to her feet with anger blazing in her eyes.
“Get him inside,” Aziza yelled, as Abdul groaned and curled on his side.
One woman picked up the gun and the others grabbed him by both hands and hauled him onto the cement deck and then over the threshold of the container.
“And be sure to cuff him,” she added, and threw a glance behind her.
Aziza backed toward their prison, only to be shoved in the back by Ahaba, who trampled Abdul and ran onto the sand. “I can’t go back,” she cried.
Her eyes were wild with fear, but Aziza didn’t have time to mollycoddle her. “If you want to be shot, you can leave. Otherwise, get back inside.”
She didn’t move, but her glossy eyes gave away her confusion.
The men drew closer, their weapons drawn.
Aziza didn’t dare to lower the rifle, although her arms trembled from the adrenaline pumping through her veins and the strain of keeping the AK-47 upright. Over her shoulder, she yelled. “They have weapons.” To Ahaba, she said, “I’m not leaving you out here. Get your ass back inside.”
After another look at the men, Ahaba ran into the container.
Aziza drew a calming breath, repositioned the rifle now numbing her arms, and focused on the men in front of her.
Chapter Twelve
“Remember, you are not taking part in this.” Daron said from the front of the Limousine, then let his gaze swing between Dro and Ryan.
“We get it.” Dro held up both hands in surrender. “We’ll sit this one out, as requested.”
Daron chuckled, smoothing his silk shirt. “You have it all wrong. Consider my recommendation an order. The two of you will be safer here.”
“Where no one will recognize us.” Ryan groused, then nodded. “We get it.”
Bashir cracked a smile, but didn’t speak.
“You’re not coming either,” Daron said to him, “Just in case you thought otherwise.”
Bashir’s smile faded.
“Angela and Nicco, time to roll.”
They stepped onto the sidewalk and immediately, the people waiting to get into Encounters turned to stare. Ryan admitted they made an impressive sight—one curvaceous, olive-skinned woman, a Nordic giant, and a dark-haired man, who oozed assurance.
Bashir, who assumed the role of chauffeur, drove them to the parking garage down the street where Dro opened his laptop and they settled in to follow their movements inside the club. While Daron and his team were on location, they would scan the surroundings from the cameras worn by all three. The club had a good number of people moving around both levels. Seemed that no matter the day of the week, Encounters was in vogue.
He had to give Angela her due when she walked up to the counter, waited a few seconds, then got the bartender’s attention.
Jahani was on duty this evening.
As Angela spoke to him, his eyes
