Page 21 of Steel Vengeance

“Let me see.”

He didn’t give her much time to recover—just like him. He was all business, all focus, while she was still trying to catch her breath.

“Yeah,” she said, fumbling with her phone before handing it over.

He scrolled straight to the video, his expression unreadable as he watched. His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening with each passing frame. No sign of nerves or hesitation. Just that same quiet intensity he always had, like everything else in the world didn’t exist for him.

Only the mission.

She couldn’t shake the image of the guards with their AK-47s. She’d seen them before during training, but seeing them in the flesh? Different story. Her hands were still shaking from it.

His eyes darkened when the four men came into view. There was something in his expression—recognition, yes, but also something else. Anger. Pain.

“Who are they?” she whispered.

Stitch didn’t answer right away. He watched the video through to the end before speaking, his voice rougher now. “I’m gonna send this to myself, okay?”

She nodded, but that wasn’t good enough anymore. She had to know.

“You know them, don’t you?” she pressed. “You know who they are.”

His jaw clenched, the muscles ticking under his skin. He glanced at her, and for the first time, she saw something raw flicker in his eyes—something he’d been keeping buried deep. “Yeah. I know one of them.”

She waited, sensing there was more.

“He’s a local Taliban drug lord,” he said, but his voice was tight, like the words were knives in his throat.

“Drug lord?” she gasped.

“Yeah,” he ground out. “They control the poppy fields in Helmand Province. Each one’s got a district, taxes the farmers, moves the drugs to labs on the Pakistani border. They’ve got stakes in the distribution network too. It’s big business.”

“In Afghanistan?”

He gave a sharp nod, his gaze flicking away like he didn’t want to look her in the eyes. “Omari handles the distribution to the ports. Ships the heroin and opium out. Most of it heads to the West.”

Sloane blinked, trying to piece it all together. “So... this is about drugs, not terrorism.”

He was silent for a beat, then gave a bitter laugh. “It’s always about both. The drugs fund their operations. It’s all part of the same dirty web.”

Sloane swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words sink in. Before she could respond, two policemen walked by, heading for the restaurant.

“They’re conveniently late,” Stitch muttered.

He straightened, shaking off the moment, his walls going back up. “Come on, let’s go,” he said, his voice steady again. “We’ll talk back at your place.”

CHAPTER 10

His place was closer, but Stitch wasn’t about to compromise the Peshawar safehouse—or Mrs. Bhatti—by bringing a CIA agent there.

He was on foot, having decided against renting a motorbike that morning. The plan had been simple: finish his surveillance detail, head home, then meet up with Sloane for their evening briefing.

“You want a ride?” she asked when they reached her scooter.

“Sure,” he said. Beats walking in this heat—and they needed to talk anyway.

Sloane pulled off her hijab and slipped on her helmet, fastening it under her chin. Her dark hair spilled down her back. She stuffed the headscarf into her bag and straddled the scooter.

He caught himself staring at the way her ass filled the seat.

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