Page 60 of Azrael

Before I could answer, headlights appeared on the access road.The van, moving at high speed, two police cruisers in pursuit.The van swerved through the gate, tires squealing as it made directly for the plane.

“Cover them!”I shouted, drawing my weapon and firing at the pursuing vehicles.One cruiser veered off, a tire blown.The second kept coming.

The van screeched to a halt beside the plane.The side door slid open, and Samurai emerged, supporting Mazida.Stripes followed, firing back at the police cruiser.A bullet struck him in the shoulder, spinning him around, but he recovered and continued covering their retreat.

Samurai and I laid down suppressing fire as they made for the plane.The wounded Stripes moved with surprising speed despite his injury, his face set in grim determination.More police vehicles appeared at the gate, lights flashing.

“Go!”Samurai shouted to us as they reached the stairs.“Now!”

I sprinted for the plane as bullets whined past.I felt a sharp sting along my arm where one grazed me but kept moving.We reached the stairs, Samurai going up first.I turned to provide one last burst of covering fire, then scrambled aboard.

The stairs retracted immediately, the door sealing with a pressurized hiss.Inside, Mazida had been strapped into a seat, Stripes beside her, pressing a bandage to his bleeding shoulder.Samurai stood by the cockpit door, speaking rapidly to the pilot.

“We clear?”I asked.

“For now.”Samurai nodded.“Bratva pilot says he has clearance to take off immediately.Claims his paperwork will check out if they try to ground us.”

The engines roared louder as the jet began to move, taxiing swiftly toward the runway.Through the windows, I could see police vehicles giving chase across the tarmac, but they couldn’t stop a plane already in motion.

I dropped into a seat opposite Mazida, finally allowing myself to feel the exhaustion and pain of the night’s activities.She looked at me through her one unswollen eye, a ghost of a smile on her battered lips.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the engines.“Whoever you are.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.The plane accelerated down the runway, pressing us back into our seats.As we lifted off, banking sharply away from the pursuing lights below, Stripes reached over with his good arm and patted my knee.

“You did good tonight,” he said.“Your woman will be pleased.”

Outside the window, the city lights receded, the night sky opening up before us.Behind us lay three dead targets, countless wounded enemies, and a trail of destruction.Ahead lay uncertainty, but also the knowledge we’d done what family does -- protected our own, no matter the cost.

As the jet climbed into the clouds, I closed my eyes and let the adrenaline finally ebb from my system.The job wasn’t finished -- Mazida needed medical attention, Stripes’ wound required treatment, and Mazida’s brother was still out there.But for now, in this moment, we had won.We had our family back.

And God help anyone who came after us again.

Chapter Seventeen

Azrael

The growl of our engines filled the air as Stripes, Samurai, and I rolled through the gates.Dust kicked up behind our wheels, settling on the leather of my cut as I eased my bike to a stop.The brothers gathered in a loose semicircle, their faces a mix of relief and wariness.I cut the engine and swung my leg over the seat, boots hitting the gravel with a crunch that seemed to underscore the weight of the moment.

Stripes pulled in beside me, his face showing the fatigue of our journey, and he’d paled from blood loss.Not that a bullet was going to keep him from getting home.Same for me.I’d been cut, shot, stabbed, and even burned more times than I could count.If it wasn’t fatal, I wasn’t slowing down.Samurai flanked my other side, his dark eyes scanning the compound with the alertness that never seemed to leave him.

“Home sweet fucking home,” Stripes said.

I nodded but kept my attention on the Prospect driving the club truck through the gates behind us.The kid looked nervous, probably wondering if he’d fucked up the simple job of transporting our precious cargo.The truck rolled to a stop, and I watched the passenger door, waiting.

When it swung open, Mazida stepped out, her movements careful and deliberate.She wore a deep blue hijab that framed her face, highlighting the exhaustion in her eyes.But she was alive.She was whole.That’s what mattered.

My gaze shifted to the clubhouse door where Zara stood frozen, her hands gripping the doorframe as if it was the only thing keeping her upright.For a moment, she didn’t move, didn’t seem to breathe.I’d seen that look before -- the fear that hope might be snatched away if you believed too quickly.

Then, like someone had cut invisible strings, she launched herself forward.Her dark hair streamed behind her as she ran, her voice breaking as she called out, “Mom!Mom!”

Mazida’s head snapped up, her tired eyes suddenly alive with recognition.She stepped forward, arms opening just as Zara crashed into her.The impact nearly knocked both women over, but they clung to each other, becoming a single, swaying unit of relief and disbelief.

“Zara,” Mazida whispered.“My Zara.”

I stood back, giving them space.This was their moment -- the payoff for the blood spilled and risks taken.Zara’s hands clutched at her mother’s back, her fingers digging into the fabric as if afraid Mazida might disappear if she loosened her grip.Tears streamed down her face, unchecked and unashamed.

“I thought --” Zara’s voice cracked.“I thought I’d never see you again.”

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