Page 61 of Azrael

Mazida pulled back just enough to cup her daughter’s face, thumbs wiping away tears.“Allah brought you to me.He sent his angel.”Her eyes flicked toward me, and I looked away, uncomfortable with the gratitude I saw there.

Around us, the brothers maintained a respectful distance.Havoc stood with his arms crossed, his face softened just enough to show he approved.Charming nodded once when I caught his eye -- the silent acknowledgment of a job completed.Gator leaned against a post, trying to look casual, but I caught the way he swallowed hard, his own eyes suspiciously bright as he watched the reunion.

These men had seen blood and death, had caused both when necessary.But they understood family.It was why we existed as a club -- to protect our own when the world wouldn’t.

Zara finally pulled back, though she kept one arm around her mother’s waist.“Are you hurt?Did they --”

“I am fine,” Mazida interrupted firmly.“Nothing that will not heal.”She squared her shoulders, and I saw where Zara got her strength.Despite everything Mazida had endured, her dignity intact.“You should not have come looking for me.It was dangerous.”

“I had to,” Zara said simply.Then she looked at me, her blue eyes still swimming with tears but filled with something else now -- something that made my chest tighten.“And I found help.”

All eyes turned to me.I didn’t want their gratitude or their awe.I’d done what needed doing, nothing more.But I stood a little straighter under their collective gazes, acknowledging without words that this was my work.The avenging angel they called me -- Azrael, the Angel of Death -- and I’d earned the name with blood and bone.

Stripes clapped me on the shoulder, his gnarled hand heavy with approval.“Our brother brings back the lost,” he said, his voice carrying across the compound.“As he has always done.”

Samurai nodded, the gesture slight but meaningful coming from a man of few words.

I shrugged off their praise, uncomfortable with it.“Get Mazida inside,” I directed one of the Prospects.“She needs food and rest.”

The kid jumped to attention, eager to be useful.“Yes, sir.This way, ma’am.”

Zara hesitated, looking between her mother and me.I nodded once, giving her permission.“Go.Be with your mother.We’ll talk later.”

Relief and gratitude washed over her face.She squeezed her mother’s hand and led her toward the clubhouse, following the Prospect.But not before she threw me a look over her shoulder that promised more than thanks.It was a look that said she remembered every touch, every whispered word between us before I’d left to find her mother.A look that said she was counting the minutes until we were alone.

I watched them go, aware of the gazes on me.The club had questions -- they always did after an operation like this.No.There had never been a job like this one.None that had taken me outside the country before.They wanted to know what we’d found, who we’d killed, what threats might follow us home.But those conversations could wait.

“Charming,” I said, turning to our President.“We need to talk.But first, I need a fucking shower and a drink.”

He nodded, understanding the priority.“Clubhouse in an hour.Bring Stripes and Samurai.”

With that settled, the brothers dispersed, some heading into the clubhouse while others moved toward the garage or their homes within the compound.The tension eased but didn’t disappear.They’d wait for answers, but they wouldn’t wait long.

Stripes lingered, lighting a cigarette with hands that betrayed a slight tremor.“The girl’s mother,” he said quietly.“She will need time.What they did to her --” He broke off, shaking his head.

“I know,” I replied, the memories of the facility where we’d found Mazida still fresh in my mind.The guards hadn’t expected us.They certainly hadn’t expected the level of violence we’d brought with us.“But she’s stronger than she looks.”

“Like daughter, like mother,” Samurai commented, his dark gaze following Zara and Mazida into the clubhouse.I figured he had that backward.Shouldn’t it be like mother, like daughter?But either worked in this instance.

When Zara had first shown up in town, searching for the man they called the Avenging Angel to help find her missing mother, I’d considered sending her away.But there had been something in her eyes -- a determination that matched my own -- that had made me listen.And then, against my better judgment, I’d let her in.Into my home.Into my bed.Into places I’d thought were long closed off.

“Get cleaned up and get some food,” I told my brothers.“It’s going to be a long night.”

They headed off toward their respective quarters, leaving me alone in the compound yard.I took a moment to breathe in the familiar smells of oil, leather, and dust.Home.As fucked up as it was, this place was home.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and checked it one last time.No new messages.No warnings from our contacts about movement from Tel Aviv.But that didn’t mean they weren’t coming.Men like the ones who’d taken Mazida didn’t just let their property walk away.They’d want blood for what we’d done -- and they’d have resources to track us.

We’d be ready when they came.We always were.But first, I needed that shower, that drink -- and maybe, if the timing worked out, a few minutes alone with Zara before the storm hit.

I rode toward my house at the edge of the compound, feeling the gazes of the brothers on watch tracking my movement.They’d doubled security since we’d left.Smart move.The Devil’s Boneyard had enemies before this operation.Now we had more.

As I reached my door, I glanced back in the direction of the clubhouse where Zara and her mother had disappeared.The reunion had gone as well as could be expected.The hard part was coming -- keeping them both alive when the blowback hit.But that was tomorrow’s problem.For now, we’d succeeded.Mazida was home.Zara was happy.

And for a man like me, that was as close to peace as I was likely to get.

* * *

The clubhouse quieted as I made my way to the back room with Charming.The celebration of Mazida’s return had given way to the sobering reality of what would follow.I ran a hand over my face, feeling the stubble of days without a razor, and took the seat at Charming’s right.Havoc followed us in, his face set in stone as he closed the door behind Stripes and Samurai.Five men who’d seen enough blood to fill a swimming pool, now gathered around a scarred wooden table to plan how to avoid spilling more -- or at least, how to make sure it wasn’t our blood that flowed.

---