Page 65 of Sweet Betrayal

A blinding flash seared the room white. The window shattered inwards as a fireball punched through the air. The blast knocked Tom off his feet, slamming him into the wardrobe with a sickening crack. The shockwave hurled a chair across the room and splintered the side of the bedframe.

“Tom!”

She stumbled back in, trying to avoid the glass and debris strewn on the floor. Smoke poured through the shattered window, thick with the stench of gunpowder and scorched concrete.

Tom lay sprawled against the floor, half-covered in dust and plaster. Blood trickled from his temple.

She dropped beside him, heart pounding. “Tom, can you hear me?”

He groaned, one hand lifting to his head. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Don’t move,” she said, brushing debris off his shoulders. “You might be concussed.”

He shook his head slowly, then winced. The streetlamp outside gave an apocalyptic flicker, then died, casting the room in darkness.

Outside, the dust was still settling.

“I’ll be okay,” he said groggily. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

She pulled on her shoes, then scrambled around collecting her clothes, before disappearing into the bathroom. Once dressed, she ran back to Tom.

Another bang, musted this time, but the sky lit up like a strobe.

“It’s begun.” Tom was sitting up, fully dressed, and tying his shoelaces. He still looked disheveled, and a little bit out of it, but he was making sense. If he was concussed, it was a mild one. She breathed a sigh of relief. It could have been a lot worse.

“The army?”

He nodded. “They’re attacking while people are getting ready for morning prayers.”

She looked at him in alarm. “What should we do?”

The door burst open and Jamal appeared. He was wearing the same clothing as the day before, with the addition of a military vest holding spare rounds and other gear. His brow was creased into a frown.

“I’ve been with Abu-al-Rashid’s men. Luckily we had a few minutes’ warning to signal the siren.” He looked from Tom to Hannah. “We’d better move.”

“On it.” Tom reached for his pack, which sat in the corner of the room. “Let me get my gear on.”

If Jamal noticed the mussed-up mattress and entangled sheets, he didn’t let on. “Meet me downstairs in two. We’ll go out the kitchen entrance.”

Tom’s face was set in a grimace as he walked toward the door.

“You’re not all right,” Hannah said, taking his arm.

“I’m fine. Just annoyed at myself. This is my fault. I knew the attack was imminent. We all did. I should have been better prepared.”

“How can it be your fault?” she argued, leading him to the stairs. “You had nothing to do with that explosion.”

“I was in bed with you while the army moved in,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “I should have seen it coming, should have been prepared, but I let my guard down.” His voice cracked. “I put the mission at risk. I put your life at risk.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Hannah said, though her chest tightened. Last night had meant something to her. It had felt real—raw and close and honest. She’d trusted him, surrendered to him. She’d cried out his name. And now he was looking at it like a failure.

How could what they’d shared be a mistake?

“What if you’d been killed by that mortar?” he said. “What if we’re both killed as we walk out the door?”

“You couldn’t have done anything to prevent that,” she reasoned. “We’re caught up in a civil war, an uprising that has nothing to do with us.”

“Exactly,” he said, holding onto the banister as they made their way downstairs. “It’s a war zone. I should be making sure we’re safe, planning our escape, not frolicking around in bed with you.”

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