Page 67 of Azrael

I twisted and fell onto my back on the mattress.Zara laid her head on my chest, and I put my arm around her shoulders, allowing myself a moment of peace.Tomorrow would bring its own problems.But tonight -- tonight was ours.A stolen moment of connection in a life where such moments were rare and precious.

“What happens now?”Zara asked softly, her finger tracing lazy patterns on my chest.

I could have lied, could have told her everything would be fine.But she deserved better than platitudes.Besides, there were things she needed to know, things I’d been told to share with her.

“Now we prepare,” I said, my voice a low rumble in the darkened room.“They may come looking for payback.”

She tensed slightly against me.“Because of my mother?Because of me?”

“Because of me,” I corrected.“I made the call.I led the mission.The club backed my play, but the responsibility is mine.”

She pushed herself up on one elbow to look at me, her expression serious in the dim light filtering through the curtains.“No regrets?”

I reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my hand linger against her cheek.“No regrets.”

She studied me for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of doubt.Finding none, she nodded once and settled back against my chest.

“Then we’ll face it together,” she said simply.“Whatever comes next.”

I tightened my arm around her, knowing she couldn’t possibly understand what she was committing to -- the violence, the danger, the life on constant alert.But also knowing if anyone could handle it, it would be this woman who had come looking for an avenging angel to help find her mother.

“Together,” I agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Outside, the night was quiet except for the occasional sound of boots on gravel as the security patrols made their rounds.Inside, in this small haven we’d created, I held the woman who had somehow become my reason for fighting -- and for returning.

And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I slept without dreams of blood and death.At least for tonight.

Chapter Nineteen

Azrael

The clubhouse lights were dimmed low, casting long shadows across the worn leather furniture and scarred wooden tables.My brothers and I sat in various states of attention, some nursing beers, others with hands clenched into fists, but all of them were focused on the woman sitting across from us.Mazida Quadir, her hijab pulled tight around her face as if to shield herself from the very memories she was about to share, took a deep breath that seemed to rattle through her entire body.Her dark eyes, rimmed with the remnants of fading bruises, met mine for the briefest moment before she began her story.

“Thank you for seeing me,” she said, her accented voice barely above a whisper.“I would not have come, but Zara insisted.She said… she said you needed to know it was worth the cost.”

Charming, our president, nodded.“Your daughter’s family now.That makes you family too.”

A ghost of a smile touched her lips before fading.Her fingers twisted the fabric of her long skirt.These clothes hung on her frame as if borrowed, emphasizing the weight she’d lost.Someone had gone to her place early this morning to pack a few of her things.Zara had thought it might make her mom feel more at ease.

“I’d been home for an hour,” she began.“Someone knocked on the door.When I peered out, I could only see the back of a man in a suit.I thought perhaps he was lost, or at the wrong address.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.Watching her was like watching a wounded animal, unsure whether to flee or fight.

“The man worked for my brother, Balal.Before I could run, two more men pushed their way inside.”Her voice grew hollow as she continued.“They told me Balal had been searching for me for years.That he had never forgotten the shame I brought to my family by marrying an American.”

“But the bed… it looked like you’d been dragged from it, and a vase had been knocked over,” I said.

Her brow furrowed.“I didn’t do those things.”

Well, that answered one question.Someone had gone back to her place.But I still didn’t know why.

Mazida’s hands trembled as she reached for the glass of water in front of her.I noticed Gator shift in his seat, his gaze never leaving her face.There was something in his expression beyond the typical protective instinct we all felt toward club family -- something more personal, more intense.It made me wonder what they’d talked about while she’d been at his house overnight.

“They drugged me,” she continued after taking a sip.“When I woke, I was in a small room.My brother was there.”Her voice caught on the word “brother,” as if the familial connection made the betrayal that much more painful.“He told me I belonged to him now, that I would return to Tel Aviv and be properly married to a man of his choosing.”

I felt my jaw tighten, memories of my own mother’s bruised face surfacing unbidden.She’d endured similar controlling bullshit from men who claimed to have her best interests at heart.The parallel wasn’t lost on me.

“Balal was… very angry when I refused,” Mazida said, her hand unconsciously rising to her face, fingers lightly tracing a bruise on her cheekbone.“He said I was still his responsibility.That no matter how long I had been gone, my life was not my own.”

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