Chapter 15

Inside his spacious hotel suite, one of Walid’s guards handed a suit for dry cleaning to the hotel staff. It wasn’t until the staffer moved off and the guard kept the door open that Walid noticed him.

Looking like a Bollywood film star in his buffalo-leather racing jacket over a white V-neck, with his black beard trimmed tight against his sharp jawline, his brown eyes alight with mischief, Aamir strolled into the suite. And brought with him the sun.

Walid stood without even knowing he’d stood. He waited, still and dumbstruck.

Aamir rushed forward, the way a child rushes toward their favorite toy. He embraced Walid with big, welcoming arms. Warm. Sincere. With the subtle scent of sandalwood.

Oh, he’d forgotten. He’d forgotten the smell of him, the look of him, the feel of him. Perfect Aamir.

Walid’s heart, an organ he had not realized had been plodding along with a listing beat, fitted together, healed, and found its true pace. Ah. His brother’s arms.

For a moment, he regretted his choices, hated with a bitterness that coated his tongue that they could not be together at all times. And he hated the assassin. The reason he would have only two weeks with his brother, and not their usual month. Just a precaution, but an annoying one.

Aamir stepped back, brought two bejeweled hands to his brother’s biceps, and clapped them twice against his arms. “Look at you, Walid! A man of excellent taste who has taken the world for his own.”

Walid smiled despite the bitter thorn that had lodged in his throat. He felt like such a man, full of excellent taste, only when Aamir used those words and smiled at him. He felt love only when his brother bestowed love on him.

Walid swallowed his emotions. “It is good to see you, Aamir. Now we are as we should be.”

Aamir’s dazzling smile, like pearls pulled right from the soft lining of an oyster, widened. “We are better. See here, I have brought you a guest.”

He pointed back at someone who’d entered. Walid had not noticed the woman or Aamir’s security guards standing behind her.

What was a woman doing here? He frowned. He’d thought to have time with his brother, time to catch up. Who was this creature? She was covered from head to toe in the traditional veil and abaya.

Walid instantly disliked her. “Who is this? Why is she here?”

Aamir tsked. “Is this any way to treat our business associate?”

Walid cleared his throat. Business associate? A woman? Here?

Annoyance flashed in his chest. He straightened. Aamir always kept him on his toes. He acknowledged the woman with a tilt of his chin but did not reach out to shake her hand. She was not western. Would not accept such a greeting. And, honestly, he was grateful. He had no desire to touch her even for a moment.

“Walid, this is Fidda.”

Walid doubted her name was Fidda, but she obviously did not wish to share her real name. “Welcome, Fidda.”

Though Walid had put the exact amount of disrespect and disbelief on her name as he felt, the woman nodded back as if honored.

“Fidda is from Syria, the wife of an ISIS commander. She will serve as our go-between.”

Go-between. Why was there even a need for this meeting? This was a connection he had no desire or need to be involved with. A dirty woman with a dirtier mind. “From Syria? So you sell your own people? How typically female.”

Aamir laughed. “True, dear Brother, but she is selling them to us.”

The woman, Fidda, shook her head. “Not all are Syrian. And those who are, are infidels. At least this way their lives serve a higher cause. And these women will go to North America and Europe. Places where their sins will be as meaningless as a speck of mud in dirty bathwater. I am doing them a favor.”

Walid didn’t really care what her reasons were. He’d seen women like this his whole life. Piranha. “Why is she here?”

“She is here to discuss the transportation of a truckload of product across the border. It is good for both of us to know all aspects of the operation. Even if you will not be involved at this end.”

The last was meant to be an admonishment. Walid shook his head. He knew his brother better than that. The transport of the girls had always been the plan. Meeting Fidda, bringing her here to their hotel, had not.

Did he not see that this woman was trying to gain something? Did his brother not see how her eyes swept the room, assessed what they had, assessed them and their capabilities? To allow a befouled creature such as this into the sanctity of their suite made Walid’s stomach turn. “Again, Brother, why is she really here?”

Aamir waved his hand as if he were a magician’s assistant revealing the obvious. “She has brought us a sample product. See, they are not all dark haired. And she speaks English.”

Walid took a step back, noticing the girl half-hiding by the woman’s side. She had blond hair and almost comically wide, blue eyes. Aamir was out of his mind.

“What is this?”

Aamir smiled, wicked and clever. “This, dear Brother, is my wife.”