“Keep your eyes down,” Brick commanded.
Dana stayed close to his side as they walked through the streets of Kabul. It was on the tip of her tongue to point out she couldn’t scan the crowd for Zain’s face if her damn gaze was on her feet. Every inch of her face and body was concealed behind a Niqab and the cloak of material made her feel invisible. Less vulnerable.
But keeping her eyes in check was hard when she needed to locate Zain. After resting at a hotel in Peshawar, Pakistan where they’d landed, Brick’s friend Ali had arranged for his men to drive them into Kabul, Afghanistan where a protest was supposed to take place. Flying into the neighboring country and then driving across the border made things a little less dangerous, especially for Dana. But now they were in the thick of an angsty crowd.
Definitely not an ideal situation. But because of the recent video footage she’d found online, she’d discovered Zain—or his doppelganger—had captured prisoners at previous protests and riots.
If they had any shot to find Zain, this was it.
Men shouted in Pashto or Persian, she couldn’t be sure which language. Women circulated, too, all dressed similarly to Dana in a Niqab which concealed her entire face except a small window for her eyes. They held signs written in Arabic. No one met her eye. But dread crawled up her spine.
Every fiber in her being screamed they were in danger. Not only were they clustered amongst the group egging on the Taliban, but from what she’d gathered they were pissing off the terrorist group Samad, too. From what Brick had explained, the men and women of Kabul were fed up with the lack of safety. Enough to risk their lives in hopes of change.
The rattling of motor engines stirred the air. The screaming crowd got louder. Brick’s hand wrapped around her wrist, protectively tugging her to his side within the crowd. She stayed close, letting his six-foot-something frame swallow her up.
A fleet of pickup trucks rounded the street corner, dust billowing in their wake. Black flags danced high as the wind whipped them proudly, the white Arabic letters as threatening as a swastika.
“Oh, god,” Dana mumbled.
Regret wasn’t something that struck her often. But right now, contrite fermented deep in her gut. Her wrist tugged in Brick’s hold, the movement involuntary and desperate. “We need to go,” she hissed over the din.
His jaw hardened beneath his unkempt beard. “It’s too late.”
A quick glance showed the vehicles had boxed in the crowd. He was right. Tears stung her eyes as she watched men leap from the back of the pickups, waving their guns angrily at the people. Dust particles swarmed in the air like angry bees, Dana’s Niqab protected her skin from the sand stings, but not her lungs from the dirty clouds.
Fear anchored her feet to the spot. She couldn’t run. Couldn’t hide. Couldn’t take back the decision they’d made.
There was no other way to find him. It’s not like terrorist groups had a goddamn employee directory. Dana pictured the last image she’d seen of Zain in her mind. It’d been a similar situation, though taken months prior. Samad had come to break up a protest and silence people with fear. That’s when someone’s cellphone camera had caught Zain’s profile as he’d pointed his gun at the innocent crowd.
With his face fresh in her mind, she rapidly scanned the dozens of men that shouted threats at the civilians. The people yelled back and one Samad leader standing on the back of a truck aimed his gun to the sky and fired a rapid-succession of bullets.
Dana clapped her free hand over one of her ears as each blast increased the soundtrack of her heartrate.
Brick’s hold bit into her wrist. He bent his face close to her ear. “I don’t see him,” he shouted over the noise.
She couldn’t respond. He’d already have a hard time hearing her through her Niqab and over the rioting. The gunshots didn’t calm down the crowd. It only angered them more.
The leader who’d fired the weapon glowered at the people. Rage contorted his face. Menace shimmered in his dark eyes. He leapt off the back of the vehicle and advanced on one of the loud men in the clusters of people in front of them.
He snagged a man by the cloak at his throat and hauled him to the front of the crowd. The innocent man’s face turned pale as the terrorist, who appeared to be a leader, shouted ferociously. Spit flew from his lips. The protestors shouts changed from defiance to indignation. Female cries sounded from the front row, a woman pleading for the man’s life.
Dana curled her free hand around Brick’s forearm. They could shoot everyone in the crowd just for disobedience. Tears stung her eyes and her breath wheezed in and out of her lungs. The man’s pitiful eyes searched the men and women calling for his release.
The leader shoved the man to his knees, brought the gun to the back of his head, and fired.
Chaos erupted. People rushed them from behind throwing Dana against Brick’s side. His hold tightened on her but they both her carried forward. Dana let go of her old on Brick’s forearm to brace her impact into the person in front of her.
Weight slammed against her back making her stumble to the ground. Dana cried out as her knees connected with the dirt. Pain shot up her shins.
Angry feet and legs bumped and kicked against her as the riot intensified. Dust clouded around her as she tried to get her feet under her before she got trampled. Brick’s firm grasp caught her under the arms and hauled her against him. He shoved people away from them. His brown eyes wired with uncertainty.
Another wave of people made Brick stumble. Dana was forced to move with the crowd or get trampled. Panic vibrated her thighs as a scream caught in her throat. Bodies crushed her from front to back. Terror climbed up her spine. If she didn’t find a way out of the mob she’d be killed.
Using all her strength to push against the people’s backs in front of her, she craned her neck in search of Brick.
Samad members screamed and yielded weapons. The leader once again grabbed an innocent man, only this time the crowd settled. Some of the pressure eased off Dana’s back and she pushed her way through the group. Scanning each bobbing head, she looked for Brick. If she could just spot him—
Her gaze landed on a large, hulking man. One of the terrorists. His wide shoulders and muscular frame stood out from everyone else. A gasp hit the back of her throat.
A cap covered his dark hair and his thick and full beard almost hid the chiseled line of his jaw, but the bone structure was there. Her insides stirred with wonder as she pressed through random individuals. The cries of the people fell away from her ears. No sound penetrated Dana’s brain.
Could it be him?
Before she could get a good look at his eyes and locate any other familiar markings to identify him, he swiveled to face one of Samad’s leaders, offering her his profile. She needed to get closer.
Elbowing her way forward, she reached the front row. Blood sprayed the barren ground and a woman kneeled next to the dead man’s body. A shudder took over Dana’s shoulders. She’d come this far. All she had to do was confirm it was him. Then find a way to talk to him. And, of course, get him away from his . . . captors?
She didn’t want to think about the brainwashing Samad could have done on Rami’s brother. Didn’t want to acknowledge that the Green Beret soldier could very well be deeply entrenched in a terrorist group with no desire to leave.
The man she suspected was Zain waved off the leader he’d spoken to and turned back to face the crowd. She stood within arm’s reach. Close enough that she could spot the lines of ink jutting out from his collar. Without more visibility she couldn’t be sure they were Zain’s tattoos, but they were in the right location.
She needed to see his eyes. She’d studied his golden irises for months and all she needed was one good look to be sure . . .
Come on, dude. Look at me.
The leader shouted something and fear struck the back of her throat at the note of finality. 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, 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 erupted.
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 inside her. No. She couldn’t have lost him. She’d just found him for god’s sake.
Moisture splattered her face, sinking through her Niqab. 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. The shouts finally permeated the curtain of denial cocooning her senses.
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 flatlined her heart.