Page 27 of Deadly Betrayal
Kaden white-knuckled the edge of thewashstand under the double assault of her voice and hands. Waveafter wave of sensation rolled over him. “You have no idea.”Christ, the need to grip his cock, to thrust into his hand until hecame in a blinding flash of ecstasy was making him see stars. Thiswassonot the time to have a hard-on. If her brother sawit—and really, how could he miss it?—he’d grab a weapon fromKaden’s duffel and shoot him.
Don’t think about her. Don’t think about herhands on you.
He had to force his mind away from Azita,from her erotic touch. And he knew just the thing to do it. Histhoughts turned to the night of the ambush, the night he’d beenbetrayed. Cold replaced the warmth in his chest, and his erectiondeflated like a pricked balloon.
His team had been exposed to enemy fire,gunned down like animals. They’d been used, mere pawns in theircaptain’s elaborate money-making scheme. But there’d been more toit. A double-cross. Someone on the inside had leaked the details ofthe trade to the ambushers. He had to focus on what was importanthere—rescuing an innocent girl and finding out who had betrayed histeam.
When he got his hands on the peopleresponsible for Sanchez’s death, they’d better hope no guns werenearby. Because then Kaden would be the one doing the shooting. Andunlike their aim when they’d shot him, Kaden’s would be fatal.
Chapter 7
Khalid looked into the mirror and finishedbuttoning up his graykameezbefore donning a Western-stylesuit jacket over it. He appreciated the trimness of the jacket andhow it fit the lines of his body. It made him feel powerful,confident. Something he sorely needed for this morning’s meetingwith his boss, the Minister of Mines and Petroleum. His goal was toconvince the minister to endow Khalid’s job function with moreauthority over the provinces, especially the eastern ones, where hehad less of a foothold. This would place him in a better positionto negotiate deals with the warlords and tribal leaders in themineral-rich mountains.
With an estimated worth of one trilliondollars in unexploited minerals, Afghanistan was coveted by nationsaround the world who wanted to grab the wealth for themselves,leaving his country stripped bare.
The spineless minister recently awardedseveral Chinese companies large copper and coal tenders. TheChinese were also quick to snap up the first oil-explorationconcession to foreigners in decades. And that was just thebeginning. The Americans, the British, the Australians, theRussians—everyone wanted a piece of Afghanistan. But as had alwaysbeen the case, due to small-minded men with no vision for thefuture of their country, the profits from such deals benefited onlya select few. Afghanistan’s poor would not see one single afghani.His people would continue to live in poverty and squalor,illiterate and hopeless. Unlesshedid something aboutit.
Khalid had already acquired the mining rightsin several provinces in the southern, western, and northern regionsthrough various deals, some more successful than others.Regardless, every tract of land he acquired was one less that couldbe given away to foreign interests. And with his increasedauthority—provided the minister granted it—Khalid would allocatemining tenders to only good Afghan companies that would hire Afghanworkers and contribute to the local economy.
And if Khalid were to be elected president ofthe Islamic Republic of Afghanistan in the next elections,something that was possible with the backing of his new associates,he’d have the power to stop the rape of his country.
While he waited for Azita to finish gettingready for work, Khalid headed for the kitchen. Glancing around theempty room, he sighed. Two wives and a fiancée, and still he had tomake his own breakfast. After turning on the burner under thesamovar, he replaced the old leaves in the small teapot with freshones and added some water, then placed it on top of the largersamovar. They would steep nicely as the water heated.
He ate bread with feta cheese and rose jam,listening for the sounds of the woman he adored. He looked forwardto sharing a room with Azita, despite, or maybe because of, herprickly nature. When he checked his watch again, five minuteslater, his concern grew. It wasn’t like her to be late.
He set his dishes in the sink and knocked onher bedroom door. “Azitajan, you must hurry. It is time toleave.”
No response. Not even the rustle of clothingor the scrape of a foot on the floor. He knocked again, harder.“Azita. Open the door.” His knocks turned into loud raps, then firmpoundings.
“My husband, what is wrong?” Samiraapproached him, her face a disquieting shade of green.
“It’s Azita. She isn’t answering.” He turnedthe knob and entered the room Azita had shared with Freba and Lailauntil a few days ago. Seeing the neatly made bed, he spun aroundand raced to the bathroom. Maybe she’d left her room without himhearing.
She wasn’t there. His stomach knotted and thecollar of hiskameezbegan to feel like a noose. “Where isshe?” he shouted as he ran through the apartment, checkingeverywhere—Gulnaz’s room, the children’s room, the living room, hisoffice, even Samira’s room.
All were empty.
Had she sneaked out again? Gone to see herbrother? Anxiety wrapped around his heart at the thought of whatcould have happened to her, a woman alone at night. She could bedead, tossed onto the side of the road somewhere—his Azita.
With frantic fingers, he fumbled the cellphone out of his jacket pocket and dialed Shahram’s number, even ashe jogged out of the building to his vehicle. The call wentunanswered. If Azita were with her brother, the coward was probablytoo scared to answer the phone. Khalid often wondered how Shahramhad survived so long in Afghanistan where their rough and cruellife ensured that the weak died in childhood.
Fifteen minutes later, Khalid stood outsideShahram’s apartment, where his shouts and his banging on the woodendoor soon alerted the neighbors.
“Has anyone seen Agha Shahram this morning?”he asked the men gathered in the hall and the women who peeked outthrough cracked doors.
“Haven’t seen him since yesterday. Why do youwant to know?” A stocky man in his mid-twenties, who wasaccompanied by a young woman with a loose-fitting headscarf, eyedhim suspiciously. “This is a nice neighborhood. We don’t want anytrouble.”
Khalid tensed, forced himself to smile, andmade up a lie on the spot. He’d get more assistance if he didn’ttell them the truth. “I’m Agha Shahram’s cousin. He was supposed tomeet me at the bazaar this morning, but he never came. I’m worriedabout him.” He added a touch of desperation to his voice. “Doesanyone have a key? Maybe he’s ill and needs assistance.”
The same man who’d questioned him movedforward. “I do.” He unlocked the door and Khalid quickly crossedthe threshold. If the little rat was here, Khalid would force someanswers from him. A quick survey of the apartment revealed it to beas empty as Azita’s room had been.
Where were they? Where was Azita? A suddenterrible thought struck him. Had she bolted because of their talklast night? He returned to the living room as he replayed theirdinner together. She’d seemed in agreement, happy even. And nowonder: he was a great suitor for any woman, especially one asindependent as she. Why wouldn’t she want him?
Though perhaps Azita’s sudden disappearancehad nothing to do with him and everything to do with Laila’supcoming nuptials to Tariq. Despite her brilliant mind, Azita couldbe naïve enough and impulsive enough to think she could stop thewedding. Something that would prove disastrous for them all.
He needed answers. He had to find hernow.
As he paced the small living room, it tookhim a few minutes to realize the curtains were drawn. A quick tripto Shahram’s bedroom confirmed what he’d already suspected: thecurtains were drawn and the bed was made. His anxiety escalatingwith each step, he made another sweep of the apartment, looking forany indication of what might have happened. In the kitchen, hefound two glasses and two plates on the counter. It wasn’tconclusive evidence that someone—Azita—had been here with Shahram,but it was highly likely.
