Afterglow

The large man stepped towards me and tried to grab my shirt near the shoulder. Pinning his hand to my chest, I stepped back with the foot on that side, pulling him slightly off balance. The side of my lead hand shot out towards his throat, but he turned his head and tucked it in, taking the blow on his jaw. He was trained, which made this situation much worse. I kept the hand pinned to my chest, but twisted it round so the palm faced up and then lifted quickly. He had to close and elevate his arm or risk a broken wrist. As he tried to shift into a position that would remove the pressure, I hit him on the side of the head with an elbow, gained separation and kicked him in the sternum.

There was now space between us and the other large man rushed me and managed to get me in a double-leg take-down. Some of the best wrestlers in the world were from this region, stretching from Dagestan to Turkey. I did not want to be on the ground with this man. On my back, I swung one leg over his shoulder and the other across his neck. Managing to grab his arm, I straightened it and pulled it back against his elbow, using my own ribs as a fulcrum as I twisted. Either his arm was going to break or I was going to choke him out.

Or neither. He grabbed my belt with his free hand and managed to get his feet under himself. With an amazing display of strength that was likely enhanced by HGH or steroids, he lifted me off the ground and then slammed me back down. My grip slipped from his arm and he used the freedom to grab me by the throat and repeat his jarring slam. It was like trying to choke a gorilla.

His grip was insanely strong and I was looking about desperately. The merchant had his wooden cases of Coca-Cola under his table. Stretching, I reached for one but missed. Up I went and then back down again. Something may have broken inside me, likely a rib. Stretching again, I felt the edge of the case and pulled it towards me, finally grabbing a bottle. The gorilla lifted me one more time, and I felt his position shift as my legs lost purchase. He was going to slam me down again, but this time focusing on my head hitting the pavement instead of my back.

My legs entwined around his waist and I almost did a sit-up. When I was close enough, I slammed the drinking end of the bottle into his right eye. It hit the orbit, but careened off into the eyeball, pushing it inwards. I used my other hand and slammed the back of the bottle, forcing it halfway into the man's eye. I fell to the ground as he stood and slowly topped backward.

The first man came towards me in a hurry. Still on the ground, I pivoted and put myself at a right angle to him, grabbed his right knee and used an ankle pick on his left foot to take him down. It was an unusual move from the ground and he fell hard. Rolling over his back, I grabbed his head and slammed it into the pavement three times. Looking backward, I saw the peacock reaching into his shirt, likely for a gun. I could roll over the unconscious man and use him as a shield but that would only work for one or two shots.

I glanced at the table quickly, wondering if I could get under it in time when I saw Ellie step behind the peacock and hit him over the head with a metal display case she had taken from a merchant. He fell to his knees and she hit him again. He slumped to the ground and stopped moving. Standing, I winced at the pain in my side, grabbed the case and used it to catch the lavashak, nuts and other foods I was sweeping off the merchant's table.

Speaking in Urdu, I called to Ellie who was still standing over the peacock, seemingly in shock. "Grab the water. And the coke."

Resting the case on my knee and holding it with one hand, I thrust a wad of bills at the merchant. It was more than he would make in a month. We hurried out of the market and to the car and hoped that we weren't being followed. A lot would depend on how despised the peacock was. If I pushed it, we could be in Afghanistan in 12 hours. We had food, water, a full tank of gas and two spare cans filled and in the back seat.

—

The Drug Mule

—

I think I killed him. He was going to kill us, so I shouldn't feel like this, but that wasn't helping. After all of Sergio's training, I was still a wreck after possibly killing someone who needed killing. My hands wouldn't stop shaking, but that might have been adrenaline. I was having difficulty thinking, so I just listened to Yusuf and did what he said.

There was something missing in me. Something that kept me tethered to the real world. I kept losing that attachment to the every-day and seeing the kids would reaffirm why I was doing all of this. Mac and cheese with chopped up hot dogs with them was better than haute cuisine in the best restaurants with anyone else. I needed to see Ashley, Danny, and Sophie. I needed to feel their hugs and to know that they were real.

The best parts of me were slipping away and I needed the kids so damned much.

I should have been back in California, flirting with some jocks, avoiding keggers and getting my degree. Instead, I was in the middle of Iran after having brained someone that looked like an extra from Disney's "Aladdin on Ice". He'd grabbed my ass. So what? After everything that I'd done with and for Sergio, some creeper playing grab-ass wasn't a big deal. Not to me. For Yusuf? It was clearly a big deal.

There was a look in his eyes that was both terrifying and exhilarating. He was always so pent-up, so tightly wound, but when he saw the creep something became unhinged behind his eyes, and it was for me. Not for the job, but for me, for Ellie. He killed at least one man and maybe a second because someone copped a feel. I sat next to him in the car as he drove and a mix of emotions ran through me. I was nauseated by my actions, I was scared to death that we were being followed and I was consumed with thoughts of Yusuf losing control again, this time with me under him.

His right hand was resting on the area between our seats where we kept the snacks and water bottles. I reached over and ran my fingertips over his wrist and hand. He began to pull away and then stopped. Turning the hand over, he gently squeezed mine, and turned it down again. I left my hand on his as we drove from danger.

—

The Hitman

—

Ayd Farooqi, the man who created me, lectured me endlessly on how stimulants were a weakness. Imbibing in drugs was for lesser men. We were professionals. If we began leaning on anything outside of ourselves, what would we do when it wasn't available? I thought of him as I was in my tenth hour of driving and finished consuming my fifth Mexican Coca-Cola. I sat on the floor at his feet soaking up his wisdom as a child, never considering that he always had a cup of chai or phitti hui at hand.

From dawn to dusk he consumed caffeine and would lecture me about stimulants. Another item on his list of what hitmen do and do not do. I'd had enough of hypocrites. I'd had enough of my father-in-law and enough of Ayd. My lists and my codes were going to be my own. More importantly, driving through Iran while wondering how many more men I'd have to kill to keep Ellie safe, I decided that I was going to have to find my own way to keep my son safe.

I wasn't going to depend on the generosity of Naeem when it came to Jibril. He was my son's grandfather, but he used his own daughter as a chain to keep me linked to him and the only thing he mourned at her death was the loss of a tool.

The next time we stopped to urinate, I splashed some water on my face from one of our bottles and tried to wipe the exhaustion from my eyes. When she came back from doing her business behind an outcropping, I spoke to Ellie. She walked towards me, moon behind her framing her beauty. I was at a loss.

"Are you okay? Would you like me to drive for a while? You look... I don't know."

Shaking myself from my reverie, I spoke up. "No, no I'm fine. When we get to the border, you need to become a Canadian. There can be no references to Russia. At all. None."

"Okay." She touched her cheek. "Why are you staring? Did I get something on my face?"

I turned back towards the vehicle. My voice was harsher than I intended. "I'm not staring. Stop wasting time."

We couldn't see much as we drove. To our left was a series of hills that grew in size the farther they were from the road. To our right were extended communities every few miles. Each was walled and a few hundred meters long. Rounded clay and terra cotta buildings that abutted one another housed families that worked the sporadic irrigated farms. Three trucks to every car passed us in the opposite direction of this two-lane highway and we traveled on, silence resonating in the vehicle.

We were soon at the border. We passed a checkpoint in Iran without problem and I sighed with relief. I'd been concerned that we would have an ambush waiting for us. A few hundred yards ahead was the checkpoint run by the Afghanis. Not overly original, their currency was called afghanis. I had a stack of afghani notes in denominations of 500 ready and passed them and our ID's to the guard.

He raised an eyebrow, scanned the ID's and spoke in broken Urdu. "Returning home?"

"Yes, brother."

"Travel safely."

"Thank you."

Both Ellie and I relaxed as we made our way into Afghanistan, Iran at our backs.

It was late, we'd been driving almost non-stop for 12 hours and my side was causing me pain. When I could, I'd have to get some tape to bind my side. I was fairly sure that I had a fractured rib. We stopped at the first town we came to and filled the car and two cans at a petrol station. It was attached to a home and the owner had been asleep, but he was happy for the business and good-natured about being wakened by the bell. After we purchased more water and food, I used my broken Pashto to ask if he knew of a hostel where we could stay for the night.

He spoke glowingly of a man who had married his cousin. They lived just outside of town and she was supposedly an excellent cook. He was sure they would take us in for the night and treat us well for a very reasonable fee. He clearly saw me as a mark, but I didn't care. He could overcharge me all he'd like as long as I was able to get some rest.

After I gave the cousin way too much money, I asked about extra food and wide strips of cloth. He spoke to his wife faster than I could follow, but she soon returned with the cloth and he promised that we would leave with plenty of food in the morning. They fed us, showed us their small home, set up fresh linens and spent the evening in their barn while Ellie and I took their bedroom. After praying, I returned to the bedroom.

"I, uh, I could use your assistance."

She was sitting on the bed wearing a light blue nightgown. It was opaque and yet somehow appeared diaphanous. The room was poorly lit but her pale skin and the blonde hair were clear in my eyes.

"Sure. What can I do?"

I paused. This was incredibly awkward and wouldn't be possible under other circumstances, but we were alone and technically married.

"I need to wrap my sides. I may have fractured a rib."

She was quiet for a moment and looked concerned. "This morning? With those men?"

"Yes."

"And... And you drove all this way without saying a word?"

"Yes. It wasn't so bad."

"How... Yes, it was bad, Yusuf. You were hurt, for me. I... Take off your shirt and give me the cloth."

I sat next to her and she used the basin of drinking water to dampen the shirt she pulled from her bag. Gently, ever so gently, she cleaned my side and back where the bruising was. I almost flinched from her touch, but not from pain. There was an intimacy and a frisson that stole my breath. She slowly wrapped the first strip around me, tied it and tucked the loose ends in under the material. Grabbing another, she repeated the process and then again and again. When she was done, she kissed my shoulder and I could feel her shudder. I stood slowly.

"I... Thank you, Ellie. I have kept my promise to not be a jerk, while you have been kind. It... Thank you."

I again took the floor while she took the bed.

—

The Drug Mule

—

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to him breathe. Every once in a while he would shift and move and there would be a slight grunt of discomfort or pain. I winced every time I heard it. My fingertips ran over my skin, pretending it was his, remember how he felt; hard but yielding and patient. Yusuf had no idea what it took for me to stop when I kissed his lean, muscled shoulder. I wanted to continue, but wasn't sure what he was feeling. As he labored trying to rest, I regretted my hesitation.

What good did hesitation do us? If he'd hesitated for a single moment in the market, he would have been dead. I would have been dead. Dead, or dying, or taken from the market kicking and screaming to God knows where.

I couldn't afford to be consumed by "what-ifs." They were another step into the world where I was losing pieces of myself, where I didn't belong. I needed something real. I needed Ashley and Danny and Sophie, I needed California, I needed it all to stop.

Halfway around the world, I didn't have any of that. What I had was a man taking staggered breaths, a man who had been wounded because of me. For me.

And he was real enough.

There was no hesitation as I slipped out from the bed and across the room to Yusuf. I just needed to be close to him. I needed to feel something real against me, the presence and comfort of a person.

At least, that's what I told myself.

He was laying on his side on top of the bedroll, a thin blanket covering the lower half of his body. A light sheen of sweat covered his forehead. Though his eyes were closed, I knew better than to think he was asleep. The staggered breath was one clue; the other was that I knew he was far too observant to sneak up on.

Silently, I lowered my body next to his, lifted the thin blanket, and tucked myself against him.

"You should be sleeping." The words were a tickled breath against my shoulder.

"So should you."

He didn't touch me, just let me settle myself against his body. With no bedrolls between us, I could feel every tense muscle, every degree of radiating heat from his skin searing through my nightgown. His shoulder bumped mine awkwardly, his arm stiff against the side of his body until I reached back and took his wrist.

There was the slightest tug of resistance before he let me bring the arm around me. I guided it across my ribs, brought my hand over the back of his, and pressed it to my breast.

"No."

But he didn't move his hand.

Well, he did move his hand. He cupped it, embracing my breast through the thin fabric of the nightgown, and I knew he could feel my nipple hardening against his palm.

"Why not?" I whispered.

"This is a job."

"You married me."

"You are not—"

"I'm your wife."

His hand tightened on my breast. I didn't know if he could feel how fast my heart was pounding, but I could feel how hard he was getting. In the absence of the bulky material of the bedrolls, this time I knew for certain what was pressing against my ass.

I shifted my hips, pushing myself against the prodding hardness behind me, and he squeezed his hand again.

"You don't know what you're asking."

"You do."

"Are you testing me?"

"Are you actually complaining that I want you to fuck me?"

Faster than should have been possible for a man with a fractured rib, he grabbed my shoulder, pushed me onto my back, and brought himself over me. A puff of exhaled surprise was forced from my lungs as dark, dangerous eyes met mine.

There was a quiet moment as he stared down at me, jaw clenched, expression undefinable.

"Do you—"

I reached up, pulled his face down to mine, and kissed him.

For half a racing heartbeat, he seemed surprised. For a moment that lasted no longer than a drop of rain in a puddle, I had control. In less time than it took to blink, he had recovered, and a tempestuous, aching growl rumbled deep in his throat.

He didn't kiss me back; he seized my lips, crushing them beneath his, a bruising force of conflicted desire breaking through as he commanded my mouth. One strong arm held his body over mine. The other snaked up my side, returning to my breast, gripping it hard enough that I whimpered against his mouth. He used his knee to part my legs further, pushing the bulging hardness against the dripping center of my body. Again I cried out, his mouth muffling the sound of lust that surged through me.

He pulled back as I whimpered and I gasped, heat rushing through my body.

"So you do want to fuck."

"I do not fuck," he hissed, and caught my lips again.

"This isn't exactly what I'd call making love," I murmured against his mouth.

He responded by biting my bottom lip and grinding his hips against me again.

"If you want to make love, you should tell me to stop now."

I responded by nipping at his lip. He groaned, a sound that made me pulse with a raging need, and pulled away.

"What—"

But before I could even ask, he had pulled me to my feet.

I braced myself, expecting him to shove me across the room and onto the bed, but he didn't. Instead, he grabbed my head, pulling me in for another bruising kiss, and used his body to guide me back to the bed.

I stumbled as the backs of my thighs hit the mattress, but he caught me by the waist before I tipped backward. His mouth still demanded mine, his tongue insistent to be allowed admittance to my mouth. I granted it access as he worked the nightgown up over my thighs. Moments later, the sound of threads snapping in the hem reached my ears as he tore it over my head, and I was naked.

He pulled away from my mouth long enough to look at me. I tried to make sense of the expression on his face. It wasn't appreciation or longing; it wasn't lust or hunger. It was somehow darker than those things, somehow deeper, and when his eyes met mine again, I nearly shivered.

"Lie down," he ordered.

I sat on the bed and scooted back, watching as he undressed and revealed a body of hard, unflinching muscle. There would be no overpowering him, not by me. The moment he joined me on that bed, I would be at his complete mercy, and he had not promised me kindness.

I had never wanted someone more in my life.

He climbed onto the bed, kneeling beside me.

"You are not lying down."

I brought my hand to his neck and kissed him again. He responded patiently, letting me explore his mouth, allowing me to run my fingers along his shoulders and arms and down his chest. Then he was in control again, parting my thighs and guiding me to my back as he nestled between them.

He was so hard, and I knew he could feel how wet I was. He slid against me, his cock bumping against my pussy. He must have known how much I wanted him to push it inside me, but instead he pulled back from my lips and buried his face against my breasts.

He chose to use his power over me to explore, to bite at my nipples and circle his tongue around them. Large hands gripped my waist and my hips, fingers trailing down to my slit and tracing along my folds. He dipped the tip of his finger into my pussy, not enough to quench the gnawing need that drove every nerve in my body wild. I squirmed beneath him, panting, gasping, begging in all but words for more.

He had promised me patience, and patience is what he had. Every inch of my body was fondled with a firm grip, fingers prodding and stroking along my skin. His cock was hard, sticky fluid dripping from the tip as he probed and nudged, denying himself for whatever asinine reason he had to deny himself pleasure.

"Please, Yusuf," I finally begged.

"Ahmad."

"What?"

He looked up from my breasts. There was a strange vulnerability hiding in his golden eyes.