One of them shouted what sounded like a question.
Ahaba’s head popped up. Rushing her words out, she said, “He is asking where we are.”
In the light slanting in from outside, Aziza gave Hamid a look meant to keep him quiet, then crouched and ran back to Abdul, who shouted an answer. She socked him in the gut, which stopped him in the middle of informing.
“Shut the hell up.”
With his hands protecting his belly, he continued to talk but winced as he shifted onto his side away from her.
Aziza ripped the turban off his head and lowered it to his mouth. Though he fought her, she yanked it into a knot, then tied the end of it again. His greasy black hair was rancid, but she ignored the offensive smell as she straddled him.
He tried heaving her off, but she had been smart enough to ensure they secured both of his hands, which left him with a limited range of motion.
With her weight, she pressed him to the bed and delivered two blows to the side of his head. Pain radiated up through her wrist into her arm. If she kept this up, her fist would be of little use for anything after today.
With hate-filled eyes, Abdul breathed hard into the fabric of his turban. She could well imagine how outraged he was at having a woman handle him this way, and a Black one at that. At the thought of the unknown victims he’d sold into slavery, Aziza clocked him again.
“Listen to me, you useless piece of shit, you’ll get all of us killed. And if they don’t murder us, I’ll shoot you myself when this is over.”
Abdul wriggled and mumbled while she still sat on him. He didn’t plan to go down without a fight. He was a worthy opponent, who had smelled blood. Aziza’s energy had run out. She hated the disgusting slop they fed them and only ate enough to stay alive. Right now she was running on adrenaline and desperation. Her dilemma ended when Naima appeared over her shoulder and smacked Abdul hard enough to put him out.
“Thank you,” Aziza whispered.
Another round of gunfire had the two of them diving off the bed. The younger girls bit their fists to hold in their screams. Naima met Aziza’s eyes as tears welled in hers. She brushed them away with one hand, then they both crab-walked to the group. Naima settled back in position next to Ahaba and slipped an arm around her shoulder. The teenager burrowed her face against Naima’s neck.
“We are going to make it,” Aziza whispered to Naima, who rested her sweating forehead against the back of her hand. She continued whispering that mantra as the darkness deepened around them.
Although believing they would get out of this situation was hard, Aziza had no choice. She would hang on to her faith and continue to believe God wouldn’t cut her time with Ryan short before she could enjoy him properly. She had to trust that no matter how impossible the odds seemed, he would find her.
The men fired again.
Hamid’s scream turned her blood to ice.
Chapter Fourteen
Even with a black eye, the bartender stayed defiant.
Daron and his team had foiled the attempt to drug and kidnap the woman from Encounters earlier in the evening.
Somewhat.
Now, they were at a standoff.
Jahani refused to communicate with them in English, although they knew he spoke the language. Most people in the service industry did. The chains on his hands and feet rattled as he shifted and re-settled on the chair.
Daron and Nicco had waited for Jahani and his partner to make a move before swooping down on the slight man attempting to steer the dazed woman into a car. The modus operandi was the same as last time, but Jahani’s partner in crime was different.
Angela and Nicco had followed the car and would report back as soon as they could convey his destination. Bashir was dispatched to update the Sheikh and Sheikha of the developments. His errand would keep him occupied elsewhere until they pinpointed the women’s location. He’d opened his mouth to call bull shiggity, but at the last moment, he walked away to do the job without complaint. Bashir had done nothing to earn Ryan’s suspicion, but he preferred their operation to have every chance at success. They were so close to finding out where they kept the kidnap victims.
Ryan stayed on tenterhooks, barely able to remain motionless. He wanted to bludgeon Jahani until he told them what they wanted to know, but Daron, Dro, and Vikkas wouldn’t let him. So, here they were treating the bartender like royalty when he still didn’t know if his woman was even in Durabia.
“Patience.” Dro gripped his arm and led him to a far corner of the warehouse Sheikh Kamran had put at their disposal. Since his wife, Sheikha Ellena, had been kidnapped, he had a zero-tolerance policy for human trafficking. The fact that it had been his own family at the center of that plot made it all the more disheartening. But their underhanded maneuver also showed how deep the old ways and values were ingrained in those who had some semblance of power—especially when it came to women. When Daron requested the use of the warehouse to set up surveillance equipment, he didn’t hesitate to say yes.
Dro slid both hands into his pockets and turned intense brown eyes on Ryan. “We will get him to talk and we’re going to find her.”
Waving a hand toward where Jahani sat, Ryan spoke through his teeth. “Every minute we spend treating him like he deserves any courtesy, it’s more time for them to move her.”
“Say what?” Wearing a slight smile, Dro added, “Nobody’s trying to make things comfortable for this lowlife. The more information we get out of him, the better
