Page 52 of The Dirty Saint

“I am also not a prop or a toy or a trophy. I am a person. A worthy person.”

“I know.”

“And I deserve better than this.”

I know that, too.

“You can’t be doing this to me, Joey,” she shakes her head. “Because as strong as I am, I can’t stay this way forever. One day, I won’t be able to keep myself from giving in.”

12

Chapter Twelve

Afghanistan

EZRA

1 month prior to the kidnapping

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gunshots ripple through the air.

I listen as civilians scream, grabbing their children, all trying to flee the dangerous scene. Bodies drop, blood spatters, and I watch in horror as a pregnant woman takes a bullet to the side of her belly.

I have been trained for this. Spent many, many hours in the brutal sun, but even though this situation is what my body has been taught to be accustomed to, there is still a sense of fear in the air, almost as thick as the smell of the gunpowder.

“Ezra, you have eyes on the enemy,” I hear my Captain ask.

I nod. In the corner of my eye, I can see a man with dark, tanned skin and a long, black beard. He holds up a large gun,screaming and shouting, pointing the butt into a crowd of civilians.

“Jordan and Zoe are trying to intercept the rockets. Listen, Ezra, take the damn shot once you have it. Let’s end this before the situation has time to escalate.”

Lining up my M-16, I try aiming for the man’s heart. I don’t want to risk the face and miss, thus drawing attention to my position.

“You’re going down motherfucker,” I hiss, my finger on the trigger.

Suddenly, a ticking noise goes off. Like a clock.

“What the fuck?”

A blast sounds, trees and desert exploding all around me. I jump back, shielding my face from the flying debris and fire.

“Maya, are you okay,” a voice calls out on the radio.

I wipe the dirt from my face, ignoring the ringing in my ears.

“Yeah,” I cough. “I’m good. What the hell happened?”

“A bomb went off. Zoe’s going to investigate the scene.”

“And Jordan?” I ask.

Hesitation and silence fill the air, and a pang claws through my heart. Before my Captain gets a chance to answer the question, I already know what he’s going to say.

“What happened to Jordan?” I demand.

“He’s dead, Ezra.”

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