Page 89 of Deadly Betrayal
Hearing her fall sent the male hostage, heldby two of his most powerful men, into a frenzy. This one wasclearly formidable. In English, Tariq said, “You fight, womandies.”
The strong man gave one final shrug beforequieting down.
Laila touched Tariq’s knee, drawing hisattention. “I do not understand. Who are these people?”
“Hush, child,” he said, his tone harsh. Hewould have to cure her of this unfortunate habit of speaking out ofturn. His lips twitched at the thought. He’d always enjoyeddisciplining his wives. It was the greatest benefit of marriage.“Now watch carefully.” Turning to Farhang, he barked, “Rouseher!”
After dumping a bucket of rainwater on thewoman’s head, Farhang pulled her to her knees, and at Tariq’s nod,he ripped off the hood.
Laila’s sharp intake of breath was all theconfirmation he needed as to the woman’s identity. It was only hisfirm grasp on his fiancée’s neck that prevented her from running tothe woman. Still, he wanted her to say it aloud.
“Who is she, Laila?”
The woman—Azita?—stared at Laila, her eyessoftening. Laila whimpered.
“Say her name,” he bellowed.
“A-Azita,” she stammered, her eyes welling.“Why are you treating her like this? Azitajanwould neverharm anyone.”
“That is where you are wrong, my dear. Shehas killed many people, including her own brother.”
“No.” Laila’s aghast expression almost madehim regret the bluntness of his words. But he hadn’t lied.
Azita squeezed her eyes shut and bowed herback. He’d broken her; the thrill in his belly was pureecstasy.
“Take her to the hole,” he ordered.
Azita’s eyes rounded and her face paled. Sheflicked her gaze to Laila, to the body of her slain brother, thento the still-hooded man several meters away. Her eyes closed then,and she remained kneeling before him. Defeated.
Chapter 21
Azita’s desperate cries as she was taken fromthe room penetrated the roughly woven jute sack covering Kaden’shead. When he got free of the restraints—because he would—he’d killthe fucker who’d hit Azita. Hell, he’d kill them all.
In the meantime, he gathered information.From what he could hear, only two guards and Tariq remained. He’dyet to set eyes on the young girl who’d triggered an internationalrescue mission, but even if Azita were using him, he didn’t regretgetting involved. This Tariq was one mean son of a bitch. But atthe moment, Kaden’s main concern was Azita. It had been only twodays since her injury, since the concussion. Another blow to thehead, like the one the fucker had given her, could cause permanentbrain damage.
Tariq had ordered Azita taken to the hole.Where was it?Whatwas it? The gag made his words come outgarbled and indistinct. He tried to get up, to insist they take himtoo. Feet scuffled beside him. A guard jabbed the muzzle of a guninto Kaden’s ribs and forced him down with a boot on his back,until his forehead hit the ground. It was a mockery of thetraditional Islamic prayer position. The man leaned over andwhispered in broken English, “She pretty. We have good time. You noworry.”
Rage consumed Kaden at the image of thesedepraved fucks touching Azita. He reared up against the bootholding him down. There was a loud crash and a string of cursesbehind him. Kaden scrambled to his feet, ready to take them all ondespite the cuffed hands and the rice bag on his head.
Tariq shouted something in guttural Pashto,which was immediately followed by the pounding of boots on the mudfloors. Kaden fought with all his strength, using his feet to kickand his head and his shoulders to butt against his enemies. But hewas weaponless, hooded, and manacled.
“Tie him to a chair,” Tariq shouted.
He struggled, but it was no use. They slammedhim into a wooden straight-backed chair. Someone painfully angledKaden’s arms over and behind the seat back, while another bound hisfeet to the chair legs. Then his hood was removed. Kaden inhaleddeeply. Stale air flooded his lungs, making him lightheaded. He’dtake it though. The sudden infusion of light was more problematic.He blinked against the momentary blindness until his eyes adapted,then he got a good look at the room. The child he’d heard was gone,as was Azita. An old man stood beside the fucker Kaden recognizedas Tariq from the photos Jake had sent him. Two guards flankedKaden on each side, and from the putrid stench at his back, he knewanother was behind him.
Tariq pushed up from a huge chair and tookhis time moving closer. He eyed Kaden while Kaden returned thefavor. The warlord appeared to be in his mid-sixties, but wasprobably at least a decade younger than that. His hair, what Kadencould see of it beneath hispakol, was a mix of gray anddark brown, his eyebrows bushy, and his beard long and scraggly.His stainedshalwar kameezwas covered by a plain brownvest. When he smiled, prickles raced up Kaden’s spine. Here was aman who had earned his place not with money, but with ruthlessauthority. The guards watched their leader warily, fearing they’dmiss an order or be the last to fulfill it.
“Stand back,” Tariq said, and all five menjumped away, their backs to the walls on either side of the room.The old man remained beside Tariq’s chair, leaning heavily on hiscane. He seemed uncomfortable with the situation, like he’d preferto be anywhere but in this room. Was he a possible ally?
The warlord halted in front of Kaden andyanked off his gag. “What is your name?” he shouted in Pashto.
“Fuck you.”
Tariq smirked and rubbed his chest. “We arenot that kind of men here.”
“Of course not. You prefer someone smallerthan you. A child. Fucking pervert,” Kaden shot back.
“I will not argue my beliefs with aninfidel.” Tariq beckoned the old man forward. “Approach, AghaAfrooz.”
