Page 70 of Azrael

“Yes,” I admitted, my voice rough.“My mother was gang-raped.Ended up pregnant with me.Her family threw her out since she was no longer of use to them as a bargaining chip.”

“And she didn’t survive it,” Mazida guessed quietly.

“She did, but… Cancer eventually took her from me.”

Mazida reached out tentatively, her hand hovering near mine before gently touching my knuckles.“Then I am doubly grateful for your protection.You’re fighting old battles as well as new ones.”

Her insight was uncomfortable but accurate.I’d joined the Devils’ Boneyard seeking brotherhood but had found purpose in our code -- protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves, standing against men like those who had hurt my mother.Like Balal.

“We won’t fail,” I promised her, and myself.

Across the room, Charming called us back to order, laying out the beginnings of a plan.As everyone focused on his words, I caught Gator’s eye.A silent message passed between us -- an understanding, brother to brother.Whatever his reasons, whatever drew him to Mazida, I knew he would protect her with his life if necessary.And I would do the same for both women.

* * *

The clubhouse had mostly emptied out after our meeting with Mazida.Charming had taken her to Gator’s place personally, with three brothers riding escort.I found myself drawn to the back corner of the building where a soft blue glow spilled from beneath a partially closed door.Without knocking, I pushed it open to find Shade hunched over his laptop, the light from the screen reflecting off his glasses.His fingers moved across the keyboard with practiced efficiency, lines of code scrolling past faster than I could track them.

“You got anything yet?”I asked, dropping into the chair beside him.

Shade didn’t look up, still focused on the screen.“Depends on what you mean by ‘anything.’”His voice was low, slightly raspy from too many cigarettes and not enough sleep.“Got plenty of somethings.Just trying to figure out which somethings matter.”

The room he’d claimed as his workspace was a study in organized chaos.Three monitors of varying sizes were arranged in a semicircle on the desk, each displaying different information.Hard drives and various electronic components I couldn’t name were stacked on shelves along the wall.The air smelled of coffee and the faint ozone scent of overheated electronics.

I leaned back in my chair, giving him space to work.Shade didn’t like being rushed or crowded, especially when he was digging through digital rabbit holes.

“Balal Quadir,” he said finally, pushing his glasses up with one finger.“Interesting character.Officially, he runs an import/export business specializing in Middle Eastern textiles and art.Unofficially…” He clicked something, and one of the side monitors filled with images -- surveillance photos, news clippings, police reports.

“As you already know, unofficially, he’s connected to the biggest crime syndicate in Tel Aviv,” Shade continued.“Not just connected -- embedded.Married the oldest daughter fifteen years ago.Since then, he’s been their primary connection to a network of antiquities smuggling that stretches across the Middle East.In addition, he’s known to also trade in young girls from time to time, selling them off as brides to wealthy clients.”

I studied the photos, trying to get a sense of the man.Balal Quadir looked nothing like his sister.Where Mazida had a softness to her features despite her strength, Balal’s face was all hard angles and cold calculation.In most of the photos, he wore expensive suits and a perpetual scowl.

“Interpol has a file on him,” Shade said, pulling up another window.“Never enough evidence to charge him with anything major, but he’s been questioned in connection with everything from art theft to human trafficking.”

“If that fucker comes over here and tries that shit, he’ll find out why people fear me.”

Shade nodded, his fingers never stopping their movement across the keyboard.

“What about his reach?”I asked.“Mazida said he has connections here in the States.”

“Working on that,” Shade muttered, switching to another program.“There’s definitely movement.His company has a satellite office in New York.Shipments coming in monthly through there and through Miami.”

“Legit shipments?”

A humorless smile flickered across Shade’s face.“On paper, sure.But there’s a pattern to the customs inspections -- or rather, to the lack of them.Someone’s being paid off.”

I wasn’t surprised.Money opened doors, especially in ports where underpaid officials handled thousands of containers daily.

“Here’s where it gets interesting,” Shade said, pulling up an email chain.The text was in Hebrew, but he scrolled to a translation he’d already prepared.“This was sent right before Mazida was grabbed.”

I leaned closer, reading the translated message:

Target confirmed at location.Proceeding as discussed.Local assets in place to assist with extraction and transport.Will confirm when package is secure.

“Local assets,” I said, the implications immediately clear.“He’s got people here.Not just in New York or Miami.”

“Exactly.”Shade clicked through several more screens, pulling up what looked like bank records.“Found these transfers to a shell company based in Phoenix.Five payments over the last six months, each for exactly $25,000.Same for Colorado Springs, and again in Panama City.”

“Retainer payments,” I guessed.“Setting up the grab.”

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