Page 39 of Promises in the Dark

“We do,” she whispered, a shy smile spreading across her cheeks.

I resisted the urge to reach out and pull her into a hug. That was not who I was. It had been so long since I had felt the touch of a woman like that, and my body craved it. But I held back.

As I sat near Red, trying to catch my damn breath and scrape together some energy, this grimy-ass refugee shuffled up like a walking dumpster fire. The guy looked like he hadn’t touched a shower in weeks—filth caked on him from head to toe. He spoke English like he had a sock in his mouth, his busted-up words barely making sense as he shoved some crumpled piece of shit paper in my face.

“You go. Fast. Many dangers,” he stuttered, rough and slurred. “Follow. Safe from talibans.”

I raised an eyebrow, impressed that this poor bastard has managed to navigate the chaotic streets and survive long enough to offer us an escape route.

“Good work, mate,” I said, not really caring. "You got a name?"

I don’t usually do names. Never gave a fuck about them, honestly. Names were a waste of time when you were in my line of work. People die, they disappear, they turn on you. The less personal you make it, the easier it is to move on when shit hits the fan. But something told me I needed this filthy bastard to trust me.

He hesitated for a moment, then responded, “Aziz.”

It felt awkward in my mouth, like I was chewing on rocks. My brain stumbled over it, too. Azeeez...Azazz? Whatever. Close enough.

I nodded, more out of habit than gratitude. “Thanks, man. We appreciate the help, Aziz,” I mumbled, probably butchered it.

But that wasn’t the point. Names set up some kind ofintimate connection—or at least, that’s what they say. And in this fucked-up situation, I needed that connection. Needed this greasy motherfucker to think I gave a shit, to trust me enough to lead us out of this hellhole.

He pointed to some route on the ratty map like he was giving us gold. “This way. Avoid checkpoints.”

Thank fuck.

I grabbed the nasty-ass paper from his dirty hands, giving it a once-over. The map looked like a toddler’s finger painting, a mess of lines and squiggles, but it was all we had.

Just as I was about to take a closer look, another idiot came barreling towards us, shouting in Pashto like a maniac. Every panicked word out of his mouth made my skin crawl.

The other refugee, being the only one with a halfway functioning brain, translated quick enough. “Talibans found us. We run!”

Everyone around us lost their shit, scrambling like roaches when the lights come on, grabbing their crap and trying to get the hell out.

Red’s eyes darted to the refugee woman sprawled on the ground, barely clinging to life. Her voice shook as she muttered, “Farida can’t move; she’s lost too much blood.”

I glanced over at the woman, her husband standing there like a brick wall, clutching their kid while some other bastard tried to drag them away. But that stubborn son of a bitch wasn’t budging and I couldn’t blame him. Love, loyalty, and all that shit.

“Red, weneedto move” I shouted over the chaos as I pushed her up and away from the wall.

I wasn’t about to waste time reasoning with her. I grabbed her hand, gripping it hard enough to make sure she’d feel it tomorrow, using my body to bulldoze through the sea of desperate motherfuckers.

And then, as shit couldn’t get any worse, out of the blue, a single gunshot rang out, loud and jarring.

It wasn’t the Talis pulling the trigger this time.

No, this was something much more fucked-up.

Chapter 12

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“What the fuck?!” I snarled in disbelief.

One of the refugees shot that chick. He didn’t even stop to think, he just turned the barrel towards her husband and pulled the goddamn trigger like a mad bastard, firing a bullet into his skull and silencing him for good.

Red’s scream of pure, unadulterated fear tore through the sound of gunfire and frantic voices. Without thinking, without hesitating, I grabbed her by the arm and hauled her ass away from that goddamn disaster.

“They asked to be shot. Rather die than fall into the hands of the Talibans,” said the son of a bitch who gave us the map.

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