Page 4 of Zain

Come on, dude. Look at me.

The leader shouted something, and the note of finality in his voice struck fresh fear into her. Were they leaving? Rounding up everyone to shoot them?

She might not get another chance. If she was wrong, she could be staring down the end of this man’s rifle.

She reached forward and caught his wrist. He jerked his face toward her, and his warm skin stayed in her grasp as he stared down at her. His mouth went slack with shock. He blinked, revealing the most gorgeous golden eyes.

“Hey.” She spoke loudly, terrified her voice might not carry through the cloth covering her lips.

His yellow eyes widened. “Who—”

Crack,crack,crack!

Dana dropped his hand and covered her head. Her pulse hammered in her ears, and she sank to the ground. Everyone in the crowd dropped to their knees as someone from the back fired at the terrorists. The leader’s face filled with fury and more gunshots broke out.

Brick!

Dana stayed low. If she stood, she’d probably get shot just for being an easy target, but where had he gone? Was he injured?

Please, God. Let him be okay.

She turned her attention back to where Zain had stood moments before, but he was gone. Desperation clawed at her. No. She couldn’t have lost him. She’d just found him, for god’s sake.

Moisture splattered her face, soaking through her burka. She lifted her hand and wiped at the damp material. Crimson coated her shaking fingers. Her chest squeezed her lungs until no air could enter. She had to get up. Had to run. Find Brick. But she couldn’t move.

Stark horror froze her in place.

Her brain flickered with the need for oxygen. Pressing her knuckles into the pebbly earth, she sent a prayer skyward and dragged a breath through her nose.

Booted feet came into her vision, and a brutal hold seized her elbow, pulling her to her feet. Dana let out a strangled cry as she stared at the leader who’d shot the man moments before.

Terror stopped her heart.

***

Dread clung toZain’s skin like burs. Five protestors had already been shot. When one of the members zeroed in on a kid, Zain nearly lost it.

But that woman . . .

Christ, who was she?Wherewas she?

He’d gotten Rakesh to leave the boy alone, but now Zain couldn’t find the woman who’d grabbedhis arm. Her electric-blue eyes had held his with a firmness and a confidence that were unusual for a woman in Afghanistan. Not to mention her earnest hold on his wrist.

If she’d done that to any other Jaysh member, she’d have been shot in the face. But she’d grabbed him. Spoken English. A language and greeting from his past. Words he’d almost forgotten.

Whoever the hell she was, he had to find her before she became the next victim. And he needed to get Isaad to pull the troops out. They’d come here to scare off truth-speakers, to rule with their iron fist. He’d figured there’d be bloodshed. There always was.

But hearing her voice... it’d done something to him. Pulled him back to a time when he wasn’t okay with this level of brutality.

Zain ignored the cries of the people on the ground by their loved ones. If he had the patience, he’d tell them they shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have angered Jaysh. He didn’t dare utter the words because he’d be next. Not for one second did he believe they wouldn’t kill him without a second thought. He’d played their game this long. Learned to adapt by shutting off his emotions.

His gaze landed on Isaad, the group leader, who sneered down at a woman cloaked in a black burka. His grip on her slight arm was ruthless. Even though she was covered from head to foot and he couldn’t see her eyes from here, he knew itwas her. Maybe it was the way her head tipped up to stare at Isaad with insolence, maybe it was the balled, defiant fist at her side, but goddammit it was her—and by the look on Isaad’s face, he was ready to put a bullet between her eyes just for existing.

Zain stalked across the dirt road, protectiveness washing over him. He had to stomp it out. Couldn’t show Isaad he gave a damn about civilians.

“Isaad,” Zain hollered.

The man turned his face toward Zain. If he’d heard the growl in Zain’s voice, he didn’t react. Zain spoke quickly in Pashto, telling Isaad he’d overheard someone say the authorities were on their way.

---