“Sit down,” Hassan says.

I sit.

He studies my face for a long minute. I study him back. Hassan was always intense. He had to be. I always thought it was because he was taking a chance with me. Saving my life put him in danger. Put his family in danger.

I pick up my glass and drain it. It’s good. I need this.

“Three months,” Hassan answers my earlier question and keeps his eyes on me as I do the math.

Relief floods through me. If she’s three months old, it means she was conceived after I left.

Hope isn’t mine.

“But I know you disrespected me with my daughter in my own house.”

At that, I look at the ground and it takes me a moment before I can look at him. “I’m sorry.” I am. He’s right. He took me in, saved my life, and I fucked his daughter right here on this kitchen table.

He nods. An acknowledgment. Nothing more.

“How did you know about the blast? You said you’d heard it, but Malik would have made sure no one was around for miles.” How hadn’t I asked this question before?

“I knew because I was told.”

I’m surprised by his response, his honesty. “Told?”

He nods again. Drinks. Pours another.

“Tell me about your history with Malik,” he says.

“He used to be the commander of my battalion. Special ops. US military. His name was Maliki Remi. Commander Maliki Remi. When I first met him, he was a sort of mentor to me. Helped me when I needed help. Gave me purpose. Distraction from my own troubles. I’ve told you about my family.”

“Go on.”

“There was an informant in our ranks though. A small group of us were tasked with finding the traitor. Commander Remi led that operation himself.” Hassan fades from my vision as I travel back in time to that night, hearing myself retell the story as if it isn’t me speaking at all.

“I was there that night. I’d found evidence on one of our men. A friend of mine. Robert Hastings. Commander Remi wanted to question him alone. I knew it would get ugly. We’d been questioning him for two days and he hadn’t cracked. But it wasn’t protocol that he be in there alone, and it didn’t sit right with me. Not when the screams started.”

I blink, my eyes warm. Hassan comes back into view.

“If I hadn’t gone in there, he would have gotten away with it. He must not have heard me over Hastings’ screams, but I heard him. Heard what he said as he touched the cattle prod to an open wound. I just stood there at first. Like a fucking idiot. Hastings was naked. Bleeding. Covered in bruises. He’d pissed himself. Remi had left him to stand in his own piss.”

I rub my mouth with my hand, my chin. My vision is blurring again. I take the bottle of whiskey and drink three long swallows directly from it.

“I understood what was happening too late. Too late to save my friend. And Remi just stood over him with a look of indifference. This man who had been loyal to him—with whom I’d seen him laugh—Remi killed him. Slowly. Painfully. If I hadn’t been so shocked, I may have killed the commander that night.” I look at Hassan. “I thought I did, but the bullet obviously didn’t hit its mark. Something hit me on the back of the head and when I woke up two weeks later at a military hospital, they said I was lucky to have survived the attack. That Commander Remi and Hastings had been killed by assassins. I was so confused, I didn’t understand. Both Remi and Hastings were decorated as heroes postmortem. And when I asked questions about what I’d seen, I was shut down. It made no sense, and I knew something was wrong. I got it, that something was being covered up. And I was a coward because I remembered Hastings’ body, what it looked like, and I just shut the fuck up.”

I rub my face again, shake my head, then meet Hassan’s eyes.

“They kept you down. Drugged,” Hassan injects.

I didn’t have to ask how he knew. It would be the same source who told him about the blast. Told him to keep me alive. And I already knew who that was, didn’t I?

“I guess I didn’t kill him that night though, because he’s alive. I saw him the night of the blast. Maliki Remi. A.K.A. Malik the Butcher.”

“My half-brother.”

I stop.

I’m staring at Hassan, the man who saved my life. The gentle man who saved my fucking life. And as much as I expected Malik or one of his men was his contact, this revelation, it floors me.

“What did you just say?”

“Malik…Maliki Remi, he’s my half-brother.”

I’m on him before I can think. Off my chair, the sound of it crashing to the floor behind me background noise as I wrap a hand around Hassan’s throat, taking him down.

“What did you just fucking say?”

He’s choking, his eyes are bulging, red. I shake him.

“What did you fucking say?”

But he doesn’t answer. Instead, I hear the cocking of a pistol and feel its cold barrel at my throat. He had a gun on him all along.

It takes me a minute, but I loosen my hold, release him. He uncocks the gun and sits up, rubbing his throat. He’s not aiming the pistol at me anymore, but he is watching me.

Hassan holds out his free hand, palm up.

I reach down and help him up. He straightens his chair and sets the gun on the table between us, then pours himself a healthy glass of whiskey. He doesn’t speak until he’s drained it.

“He’s my blood. It doesn’t mean he has my loyalty.”

I sit. Drink. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“You didn’t remember before.”

“Why did you save my life? How did you know about the blast?” I’m thinking. “How did you know Eve had survived? You tell me you’re not loyal to him, but everything points to the opposite.”

“Getting information and being loyal are two different things. He told me about the blast. Told me to get you out. Keep you alive. Told me some months later about the El-Amin girl. He knew you had a weakness for her, so he used her. You saved her life because of it.”

“Why? Why did he want me alive?”

Hassan shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“And Ace?” I realize in that moment that my contact is my enemy’s nephew.

Hassan ages about twenty years before my eyes. “His loyalties are…different.”

“Fuck. I can’t fucking believe this. He knows exactly where we are, doesn’t he?”

“Malik? He hasn’t been in touch with me in months. Does Ace know where you are?”

“No. He knows we’re in Beirut, that’s all. He’s setting up a meeting with me with Beos, the man who—”

Hassan’s eyebrows knit together. “Beos is dead. He turned up dead several months ago, his body half decomposed.”

“Ace set me up. He’s been playing me all along.” I stand. “I need to fix this. And I need to know Eve will be safe with you when I go.”

“You can’t leave her here.”

“I can’t take her with me. She’s dead the second Malik has me.”

“Sit down, Zach.”

“I don’t have time to sit.”

“There’s more you should know.”

I feel my forehead crease. How much more can there be?

He stands up and walks to me, standing inches from me. “You’re not going to hurt my son. You can kill that son of a bitch Malik, but you’re not touching my son.”

“And you’re going to stop me?”

“He wasn’t always loyal to Malik. He hated him for a long time. But my half-brother has a way of charming people. Of making people do what he wants. I mean, take me for example.” Hassan shakes his head, looking away as if disgusted with himself. He sits. “I did his bidding with you, didn’t I? Saving your life? I’m a doctor. It’s my oath. But I told you about the girl when Malik wanted me to. He knew you’d go after her. It’s what he wanted, was banking on. I knew it would set Malik’s plan in motion.”

“What plan?”

“There’s a reason he hasn’t killed her. A reason apart from baiting you. That was…secondary.”

“Enlighten me, but make it fast.” Because I want to wrap my hands around Ace’s throat and squeeze until blood pours from his eyes.

“Her brother.”

“Her brother?” I assumed Armen died. Assumed they were all dead.

I realize something then. Hope’s eyes. When she’d opened them, they’d looked almost familiar.

They’re the same color as Eve’s. As her brother’s.

“Armen El-Amin is the father of Julia’s baby.” It’s like he’s reading my mind. “Which, to Malik’s twisted mind, makes him family. He doesn’t hurt family. Well, mostly.”

Now I’m confused. I drop into the chair. “Her brother is alive?”

“And loyal to Malik, still. You see what’s happened to my family?”

I look up at Hassan. His eyes are red with unshed tears.

But I don’t care about his family. Not anymore. That comment he made about family and Malik’s twisted mind, well, I have a feeling that illness runs in their entire fucking family.

“What about the others? Rafi and Seth?”

“I know Malik was using them as leverage before. Forcing Armen’s loyalty with a promise of keeping them alive. But I don’t know if they are. Where they are. Nothing.”

The sound of a door has us both looking toward the stairs. But Hassan only shakes his head and turns back to me. “She knows all of this.” He’s talking about Julia. I know. “Maybe more.”

“What about Julia? Is she with Armen?”

He nods. “Thing is, I think he loves her, but he’s Malik’s soldier. His right-hand man. And Ace his left. But Armen, since the baby…he’s different. Just trust me and keep the girl hidden if you want to keep her alive.”

“What do you mean Ace is his left-hand man?”

“I mean Armen and Ace are mortal enemies. The only reason they’re both alive is because Malik forbids the killing of either one. He likes having this control. It’s a game to him. Everything is a fucking game to him. He’s sick. Mentally ill.”

“Why did he keep me alive?”

He shrugs. “Like I said, he likes playing games.”