Page 92 of Zero Hour

Liar. Pat saw right through the façade. But Jasmine was desperate.

“You promise?”

Al-Jabiri nodded.

Blade scoffed. Even he knew.

Pat muttered, "Don’t do it." But what choice did she have? He’d seen it before—hostages grasping at any thread of hope.

She motioned to the couch. "Fine. Talk."

As Al-Jabiri began to speak, Pat’s eyes were locked on Jasmine.

His throat went tight.

Please don’t let her die.

He wanted her safe. Wanted her in his arms, where he could shield her from all of this. Wanted to erase the terror from her mind, slowly, thoroughly, every damn night until she forgot this nightmare ever happened.

Al-Jabiri rambled. The bombing. The house collapse. The bodies. The camp raid. More death. More loss.

The bastard was unraveling.

Afterwards, Jasmine stood up. “Amir, where’s my son?”

Al-Jabiri stood too, his hands twitching at his sides. "Come to bed with me."

Pat stilled.

Jasmine flinched. "Absolutely not."

Al-Jabiri grabbed her arm. "You will not refuse me this time. I’ll show you what a real man is."

“Let go of me!” She tried to twist away, but he drew her into a tighter hold.

Pat shot to his feet.

There was a loud crack, and it took a moment before Pat realized it was Jasmine who had hit Al-Jabiri.

Al-Jabiri’s face went slack with shock. Then his rage snapped. His hand struck her across the face. She hit the wall hard and crumpled to the floor.

"Fuck," Pat snarled, reaching for his phone.

Jasmine blinked up at her captor, dazed. "I don’t care what you do to me. Let my son go."

Al-Jabiri smirked. "You’ve got more guts than your husband. He died a coward, begging for mercy."

Jasmine’s breath hitched. "What?"

The terrorist’s smirk widened. "I wonder if your boy will cry like he did when I give the order to kill him."

“No,” she screamed, launching herself at him.

Riad stormed in, yanking her back. Al-Jabiri touched his cheek where she’d clawed him, his expression dark with fury. "Kill her. Get her out of my sight."

Pat called Hostage Rescue Team leader’s number, pulse racing as the call connected. On the screen, Al-Jabiri had reached for his own phone and was placing a call.

Blade put a warning hand on his arm.

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