Parveen Aziza Escapes

"Will he be a good father?"

"That was my number one criterion. I was worried about Sam, but he took to him right away. Young Beauford is a bit circumspect, but he'll come around."

"I'm very happy for you, Amber. Did he give you a ring?"

"I carry it in my wallet. It's got a diamond in it, I don't want to get it lost or stolen."

"This is the life you deserve, Amber. You can put the awful past with me to rest."

She did not respond and there was silence in the cab for the next several miles. We crossed the New York line before she spoke again.

"The last four years, with your periodic visits, have been the happiest of my life."

"You can't be serious."

"Why must you be so hard on yourself, Jack? Sam even asked me, 'If you marry Trace, does that mean I'll never see Jack again?' He idolizes you, Jack. He found all your business successes online, showed them to me."

"Only because his father is a deadbeat, hasn't paid you a penny in child support."

"I told Sam about you, Jack. Everything that Farah told me. Your military service, your battle wounds, your medals. When the time comes, I'll tell young Beauford."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Why?"

"Much better for them to idolize the man who's going to be your husband and bring them up. He's the real hero, he should be their role model. The sooner they forget me, the better."

"It's not just military service, Amber," I said before she could reply.

Then, over Jack's objections, I told her my story. (See my stories Parveen Aziza, and Zainab the Mother.)

* * * *

We spent the night in a motel in Buffalo. Amber knew the road and picked a little-known one. She got Chinese takeout, and we ate it out of the containers in the cheap room. Amber and I used forks, Jack used chopsticks.

After we ate, she made Jack take off his jacket and shirt and despite his complaints, threw them in the trash.

"That's a perfectly good jacket," he said.

"It's got a bullet hole with blood in it. We passed a Cabela's just a mile back on the road, I'll take a rideshare and get you a new shirt and jacket."

"I don't have any money to pay you," said Jack.

"Jack, Jack," she said, her voice soothing. "Over the last four years, you've put hundreds of thousands of dollars of business my way. And introduced me to freight managers at some of the best companies. My income has increased over fivefold after I met you."

"You've earned every penny."

She left him bare-chested and returned in an hour with an Overland leather jacket and plaid shirt.

"These are expensive," he complained.

"Don't you worry, mister," she said with an impish smile. "I'm going to make you pay for them."

She stripped the rest of his clothes off without replying and ran her fingers over his muscular chest and his well-defined six-pack. Then she shepherded him into the bathroom. She took off the dressing on his bullet wound and bathed him in the shower, getting rather wet in the process.

She stripped herself and got under the spray with him. His hands moved over her small, athletic body, kneading her small breasts, and playing with her vulva.

They emerged from the shower, and I went in. By the time I came out clean and wearing a towel, she had rebandaged his wound, but they were both still naked.

"Your body's taken severe punishment," she asked, her tone serious. She led him to the wide bed and made him lie down in the middle of it "Are you strong enough to pay for the clothes I bought you?"

"As long as you don't ask me to move my right arm."

"Just lie down and use your tongue," she said giggling.

"I'm already using it to talk," he said. "And you're engaged to be married."

"Has that ever stopped you before?"

"Touché," he said.

She straddled his face and slowly lowered her pussy. When she got close enough, his tongue came out and speared her clit. She gasped and arched her back. His good left hand came to join his tongue in manipulating the folds of her pussy and her clit. She moaned and ground her pussy into his face, rotating her hips. He pushed two fingers into her and began to thrust in time with her rotations.

"Omigod, omigod, omigod!" she said over and over, her voice rising.

Jack's member was erect and grew harder as her hip contortions increased. I could hear him slurping industriously. I clambered onto the bed and caressed his cock with my hands. Then I straddled his prone body, facing Amber. I positioned his cockhead on my pussy lips and lowered myself gradually, letting my weight drive his enormous shaft into me. I cried out when I was fully impaled on him.

Amber reached forward, put her fingers in my hair, and pulled my face to her. She kissed me on the lips, her tongue darting in my mouth and stabbing mine. We kept kissing as we worked our hips on Jack, reveling in his masculinity, and giving him the essence of our femaleness.

Amber began to cum first, her loud cries reaching a crescendo. She bucked so hard on his face that I worried she would stifle him. She was still quivering when she finally stopped. She rolled off Jack saying, "You've made me so tender, another touch of your tongue, and I'll explode!"

Still on her knees, offered me her small breasts. I suckled on them, amazed at how long and hard they became, especially on her small aureoles.

"Nip on me," she whispered. "Use your teeth."

I complied and she gasped. She kissed my breasts in turn, using her tongue on my nipples to make them even harder. With her ministrations added to Jack's cock so deep within me, I couldn't last long and began to cum. Then, as had become my norm with Jack, came again as I was winding down from my first orgasm. My contractions were much stronger the second time, and he exploded, gushing in me again. The warmth and volume of his discharge filled me and gave me the illusion of floating. I leaned forward on his chest, careful to keep my hands away from his gunshot wound.

We slept together, cuddling each other under the blankets. They put me in the middle, Jack on the right to protect his wounded shoulder, and Amber on the left. The tension of the day told on all of us.

Jack had a nightmare in the middle of the night and woke us both with his shouts. Amber shushed me, whispering, "Don't wake him!"

"Luke! Luke!" he shouted. "Get down! Get down! Incoming!" He began to sob. "Why you, buddy? It should've been me! You're the one who deserves to live!"

Amber put her arms around him. She rocked him with a doting expression on her face and his voice moderated.

"Yes, I'm hit, sir ... just a scratch, sir ... no need for a medic ... just need ammo ..." He kept going with unintelligible mumbles for a bit longer and then was quiet.

In the morning, I asked Amber if I should mention it to him, and she shook her head.

* * * *

Jack called Farah from the road on the way to Schenectady. She was waiting at Amber's discharge destination with a car. Amber did the paperwork for her delivery and the four of us went to a diner for coffee. Jack's phone rang while we were there. It was Jo Ellen. Jack kept the video to himself, but we could all hear her.

"Merkulov has contacted Walid al Sura, they've allied now. They've contacted your father-in-law, St. James, and he's given them all the information he has on you. They all want you dead, Jack, but Merkulov wants the girl. He wants al Sura's terrorist minions to be careful, make sure they don't harm her."

"Any news on who I should be looking out for?"

"Al Sura terrorist front has dispatched four shooters to New York. Oh, and here's something interesting. St. James has blocked you from using all Foncault Group corporate assets -- except for one. He's left your condo on the Upper East Side of Manhattan untouched. All your old passwords should work on it. I think that's the baited trap -- the hitmen will probably stake it out and hope you walk into it."

"I love my father-in-law," he said.

"I hope someone kills St. James," said Farah with feeling.

"I'm going to disappear for a bit," said Jack. "Farah, can you take Parveen Aziza to Amy's beach house? Let her lie low there for a few weeks till all this dies down. Then I hope you can get her settled somewhere innocuous under her new alias."

"I have a job for her in Minneapolis," said Farah. "It's a trainee position in corporate liaison. Her language skills will be a great asset. She can start there next month." She turned to me and continued. "Amy and I will stay in touch with you, Sofia -- you should get used to that name. We'll visit you regularly, make sure you're doing okay, making friends."

"Thank you," said Jack. "You're all angels."

* * * *

At Jack's insistence, we left him at a truck stop on the New York Thruway. He said he would hitch a ride, stay out of sight, and promised to contact us. He refused to take money from Amber and Farah, saying he would 'manage'.

"Typical Jack," said Farah to me as she drove me down the Thruway to New York. "He gives everyone everything he has but won't take anything from anyone."

"What will he do?"

"I worry about him all the time," she said. "I stay up nights. But if he played it safe, didn't take all these insane risks, he wouldn't be the Jack I love."

"The Jack we all love," I said. "I realize I've only known him for a few days, and you've known him for years -- but when I'm in his arms, I just melt."

She reached over and ran her fingers through my hair.

"You're just a girl," she said. "Nineteen. But you understand love like a woman."

Farah drove me to Amy McAdams' palatial beach house in Sea Girt, New Jersey. Amy was waiting for us with dinner. We sat down to eat at the dining table with a view of the beach and ocean.

"Jack has had no recorded contact with Amy for years," said Farah. "So the Russians and the Arabs shouldn't be able to make the connection from Jack to her. You should be safe here."

"How long should I stay here?" I asked.

"I'll keep in touch with Jo Ellen. When she says the heat is off, we can move you to Minneapolis."

"I have to work in the City," said Amy. "I'll drive in from here and come back every evening to be with you. I am afraid it will be a bit like house arrest. You can go out on the beach, but don't wander around in town, we can't take the chance that someone sees you."

"Jo Ellen said she was sending Zainab Habiba's casket here," I said.

"I received it. I have it stored at a local funeral home."

* * * *

It was a luxurious house but as Amy said, it was still like house arrest, living in a gilded cage. But I had little experience of freedom, so it didn't bother me too much. Except for my time wandering in the desert with Zainab Habiba, I had spent my life cooped up, first by my father, then my husband, and finally by Sergei and his men.

As the days passed, I found my breasts becoming tender and swollen. My nipples were sore. I was spotting my panties and felt more tired than normal. I wondered if it was all my imagination.

Two weeks went by, and my symptoms got worse, so I asked Amy about them. She immediately took me to one of the bathrooms and gave me a pregnancy test kit. I peed in the cup and dipped the sticks in it -- the result was unambiguous. I was pregnant!

"I hope it is Jack's," I said to her.

"Could it be anyone else's?"

"Well, Sergei had sex with me regularly. It could be his. But he was always very cautious with birth control. Whereas with Jack --"

"Yes," said Amy. "I know."

"Can I test for paternity? I don't want to have Sergei's child."

"Yes, you can. But you'll need to wait another month."

* * * *

The month crawled by, and Amy came home one evening with Farah.

"I've arranged a DNA paternity test for you," Farah said.

Amy drove the three of us to the clinic. It was about a half-hour drive from the beach house. They drew my blood and Farah gave them a DNA sample from Jack. I was tense during the wait. The technician finally came out.

"It's a match," she said. "The DNA sample you provided is the father. I hope that is what you want to hear."

I gave a whoop and said, "Yes! Yes! I am so happy!"

Amy bought a cake on the way home to celebrate. I was not as thrilled as they expected and when Amy asked me why, I said, "It doesn't feel like a celebration without Jack here. I miss him."

"I understand," said Farah.

* * * *

The next morning, I called Jo Ellen just after Amy left for work and asked her about Jack.

"He's back in New York City," she said. "I've tracked him. It's crazy for him to be here. The four al Sura terrorists are still in the city and Merkulov has sent in a new team of hitmen, led by Maksim Prokorov. They're using all their sophisticated resources to find him. He can't stay out of their sights for long."

"Maksim! He's Sergei's --"

"Yes, we know. He's a dangerous guy. Ex-military, well trained, ruthless." She paused. "I do have some good news for you, though. Merkulov has asked Prokorov to come back to Moscow immediately after doing the hit on Jack. That means he's losing interest in you. He must have found a new girl."

I hung up with Jo Ellen and called Jack's burner phone. It kept ringing, then went to voicemail, but the metallic voice simply said, 'The user of this phone has a voicemailbox that has not been set up yet.'

I called repeatedly for several hours. Finally, about noon, it was picked up, and I heard Jack's voice.

"Parveen Aziza," he said. His voice sounded strained, and he was breathing hard. Jack was superbly fit, and this was completely out of character.

"Are you okay, Jack? You sound like you're in pain. What has happened?"

"Everything is okay." He sounded worse as he continued to speak, and I grew more concerned. "Things should be normalized by tomorrow, two days at the most. Then you can go to Minneapolis and start your new life."

"Maksim is in New York, Jack! Sergei wants him to kill you! And Walid al Sura has sent terrorists to do the same thing. They're working together and your father-in-law is helping them."

"I know, Jo Ellen told me."

"Where are you, Jack? Please tell me! I must see you."

"No, no, you can't do that. Much too dangerous."

He hung up.

I immediately called back, and it went to voicemail again. But I knew a thing or two about phones.

I pulled up my call log, tapped Jack's number, and activated a location protocol Sergei had given me. He thought of me as a harmless girl who was always under his thumb, so he gave me the expensive protocol as a toy to play with.

The protocol showed me the location of Jack's phone and tracked its movements. It was in a street in Manhattan's Upper East Side -- and it had not moved for several hours. Maybe that means he will be there for some time, I thought.

I rummaged through the kitchen and then through Amy's bedroom. After almost an hour of searching, I found an envelope full of bills in her bureau. I counted out the money -- it was several hundred dollars.

I pulled on one of the designer jackets Jack had bought me and called a rideshare. When it arrived, I asked the driver if he would take cash. He nodded quite happily, and I gave him the address from my location protocol.

It was past three in the afternoon by the time we finally got there. I alighted and followed the protocol's directions to the flashing dot indicating the location of Jack's phone. I had to turn off 3rd Avenue into 76th Street and then into an alley lined with trash dumpsters. It dead-ended in a brick wall -- and there was Jack.

He was lying on the ground with his back propped up on the brick wall, legs out in front of him. He wore the Overland leather jacket Amber had bought him, a black turtleneck, black jeans, and a pair of Bally dress shoes. His good left hand was holding his belly. His eyes were closed.

I ran to him and put my arms around him. He opened his eyes and was instantly alert, but I could see he was in great pain.

"What are you doing here, Parveen Aziza?" he rasped. "I told you to stay away!"

I lovingly pulled his hand away from his belly and drew away his jacket. His lower left belly was a mass of blood.

"We must get you to a hospital!" I cried.

"No hospital," he said, his voice beginning to slur.

"What happened?"

"Four of them, ... Walid al Sura's ... men ... drew them into my old condo ... got them all ..." He grimaced and tried to chuckle, but it came out as a guttural rattle. "You're safe ... but the last one gave me this ... parting present ... I've been trying to stanch the bleeding ... ... just need to rest up and heal ..."

"I've got to get you to a doctor!" I put my arms around him and began to sob. "We must save you, Jack."

"I'll be fine, Parveen Aziza ... Merkulov doesn't want you anymore, I've finished the al Sura team and they won't risk another one for a while. By then you'll be safe in your new identity but only if you have no contact with me."

"I don't care about risk! I must be with you, Jack! I have our baby!" I put his hand on my belly. "There is life in there -- the life we created together with our love. You must be a father to our child!"

"Our child will grow up in your safe new life," he said softly. He managed to reach up and wipe some of the tears off my face. "Don't cry, Parveen Aziza. I've had a full life, much more than I deserve." His eyes grew hazy, and I squeezed his hand desperately. When he spoke again, he began to ramble incoherently. "So many women ... so many debts unpaid ... I owe so much I cannot pay ... I'm sorry for what I did to you, Parveen Aziza and Zainab Habiba ... Bethany ... Judith ... Trixie Ann ... Ayesha Banu ... Vigdis ... Casey ... Leyla ... Isabelle ... Louise ... Nikki ... Ryder ... Amy ... Farah, dear Farah ... so many others... sorry, so very sorry ..."

Then his eyes slowly focused again. He coughed and regained lucidity. He moved his right hand onto his left wrist and unfastened his watch.

"Take this, it's my father's Rolex from the 1950s. It's all I have. Give it to Farah, tell her to sell it, and use the money to keep making support payments as long as possible ..."

As he spoke, he grew hoarse and tailed off.

My phone rang, I looked at the face and saw an unfamiliar number. I swiped it open, thinking it might be Jo Ellen calling from another phone. I saw Maksim's face on the video -- and he was smiling.

"I owe you a big thank you, Parveen Aziza. Without you, I would never have found Jack. He's a crafty sonofabitch."

"What do you mean?" I asked wildly.

"We have a tracker in your phone, milyaya." He used the Russian term for 'sweetie'. "Once I saw your phone enter Manhattan, I followed you on my mapping software. You've given me an exact fix. I have you in my telescopic sights."

"What ...!?"

I moment later there was a splat -- it sounded like a squash, or a pumpkin being smashed -- and Jack let out a loud groan accompanied by a curse. I looked down and saw his right knee was a bloody, pulpy mess.

"Fuck! That hurts!" he wheezed.

"Sergei told me to kneecap you, Jack," Maksim's voice came through clearly -- my line to him was still open. "Then smash your shoulder and elbows. A bullet in each joint. Then let you bleed to death. He's not happy with you. And neither am I."

I threw myself on Jack's body.

"No! No!" I shouted. "Shoot me, Maksim! But leave him alone!"

"Sergei's lost interest in you, Parveen Aziza. Just get out of my way, you're free to go."

"No!"

There was another 'whump!' and Jack's healing right shoulder was hit by the high-velocity rifle shot. He bit back his cry, but I could see the pain playing in his eyes, see how much he was suffering.

"This is the end for me, Parveen Aziza," he whispered. "Leave me. Take care of our baby, bring the child up with a good young man. Never mention my name." He coughed again. "Bury me in the hills with Zainab Habiba, someplace pretty. I wish I could have saved her."