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  If?

  Steve’s whole operation began as a dare. He was a bodybuilder with military friends. My step-grandfather saw the writing on the wall before the United States blew up. He gambled on there being disgruntled soldiers wanting something better than participating in the various militia cropping up. The dare paid off big time for him and Mama Sibley. Anyone aligning themselves with Winters Special Op Enterprises is damned fortunate.

  “Is Tru still at the compound?”

  “She is. I’d talk to her ASAP. I’m relocating her to a safe house tomorrow.”

  Pushing to my feet, I say, “I’ll do it now.” I walk to the door, but remember what I was supposed to ask. “Can you and Mama Sibley, like, keep Viyan overnight?”

  Steve gives me a crisp nod. “Sibley has already arranged it. Have fun.”

  “Oh, I plan on it.”

  After I speak to Tru.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Riza exists to keep our country safe—that’s what we were told. It allows us to sleep in peace each night. That’s wrong people. With Riza in control, we’re anything but safe.”

  —from “Reflections on Riza” by Lt. Asher Nicholas Jones

  Zared and Tru are staying in one of the rooms at the back of the house. She’s on the balcony. I join her outside.

  “What do you want, Asher? Or Aza? Or whoever you are this week?” she says flatly.

  “Like, that’s fair.” Actually, I expected much worse from her. “I’m still Asher.”

  “Whatever. Did you want something?”

  I know this borders on the limits of common decency, but I don’t see another option. “I wouldn’t ask this, but I need your help. Did Taaliba tell you anything about the Helix?”

  Tru purses her lips and walks over to the stucco wall surrounding the balcony. “So you came to pick my brains.”

  “So to speak.”

  “Why should I tell you anything, Asher? You weren’t up front with us.”

  And there it is. Zared and Tru deserve each other. They’re like pit bulls when they get a hold of an idea.

  “Fine. Ask me whatever you want. I have, like, nothing else to hide,” I lie. There’s plenty of demons in my shadows, waiting to see the light of day.

  Tru folds her arms over her chest. “This place belongs to you or your grandparents?”

  “My grandparents. I live in the guesthouse with my wife and daughter.”

  “I met your wife…Rihana, right?”

  “Yes. We met before I joined Riza.”

  Leaning her hip against the wall, Tru says, “What I don’t understand is why you hid all of this? Why give us a phony name? Is anything about you for real?”

  All questions with a myriad of answers—depending on what truth you seek. “You know that Zared works for the Alliance, right?”

  “Yeah. So does Ko. I guess that makes you an operative too?”

  I nod. “And you discovered the Network thanks to Leon Sieben.”

  “Two warring factions within the same organization?”

  “Correct. What do you know of a group called the Resistance?”

  She shakes her head slowly. “Another disgruntled bunch of citizens?”

  “Pretty much. They joined forces with the Network. Rihana was, like, part of the Resistance. Problem is nobody walks away from it. She had to go into hiding along with her extended family…my family.”

  Tru glances down at the terracotta tile floor. “I understand secrecy, but keeping it from us…from me… I thought we were friends.”

  “We’re still friends, Tru. If anything happened to my family… I just couldn’t chance it.”

  “Fine.” She pushes off the wall. “What do you want from me?”

  Holding a hand to my chest, I say a silent prayer of thanks. “The notebook, Tru. Where is it?”

  She hits me with a menacing look and starts to walk away. “I can’t help you with that.”

  I grasp her arm. “Intel says you can. If my step-grandfather’s organization knows you have it, how long before the bad guys figure it out?”

  Tru’s gaze drops to my grip and I let go. “I’ll think about it. Give me some time. I want to get settled—”

  “Like, I don’t have time, Sweetheart.”

  Tru flinches at my use of the code name Mark Carter gave her. I should have known better. I’m sure it brought back some unpleasant memories for her.

  Ignoring her response, I continue, “I’m sorry to press you, but my back is up against the wall.”

  A flicker of irritation shines in her dark eyes. “Whoever is pressing you tell them to back off. I can’t help you right now.”

  My heart sinks. If I’ve learned one thing in Riza, it’s to ease up during an interrogation. People talk more when they think you’re on their side. “It’s fine. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  Walking back into the room, Tru calls out. “I’ll let you know before the week is up. It’s the best I can do.”

  A smile spreads across my face as I step into the hall. Time to go find my wife.

  —

  Every one of my footfalls is like a gavel pounding right along with my heart. Part of me is anxious. Rihana and I haven’t had sex in well over a year. The last time I spoke to her was a guilty confession.

  I knocked on her dorm room door. Ko only cracked it, giving me a glimpse of her.

  “You, like, alone?”

  “It’s late, Asher. What do you want?”

  “You.”

  I’d been pursuing the young recruit for months. Although Ko’s ambition and feistiness turned off most men, it drew me to her like a flame. My showing up at her doorstep after curfew was my flirting with danger. And loneliness. I was so fucking lonely. At the time, I was guilty of wanting a life I wasn’t allowed to have.

  The door yawned open, and she stepped to one side. After I entered the room, everything happened in a blur. Never one to waste a minute, Ko quickly shrugged out of her uniform and I followed suit.

  The young cadet was beautiful with small, perfect breasts and slim hips. So innocent. My dick hardened while my conscience beat the shit out of me reminding me of my obligations—my vows.

  “I want you, too,” she whispered. Shamelessly, she rubbed her naked body against me.

  My fingers yearned to touch her. I wanted to taste her, but something wouldn’t let me move.

  Ko noticed my hesitation. “What’s wrong?”

  “I-I can’t do this. It’s, like, wrong.”

  Overwhelming guilt crushed my soul and made me limp. Talk about embarrassing. At least Ko wasn’t judgmental. I slept on a spare bed in her room that night.

  I left early in the morning, thinking the halls would be empty. Instead, I ran into the commanding officer, and she ordered me to her office.

  “Lieutenant Jones, can you clarify things for me?” Bartlett leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers together. “I remember meeting your fiancée. A married man cheating with a cadet?”

  “It’s not what you think, ma’am. We never married,” I lied. “Things didn’t work out between us.”

  “Sorry to hear that, Jones. With that said, though, we do not condone dalliances between cadets and officers. Remember your rank.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  As soon as I left CO Bartlett’s office, I called Rihana.

  “Aza, you said nothing happened.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Custom liberates your guilt.”

  Yes, the Muslim tradition allowed me to have more than one wife, but my heart only wanted Rihana. She forgave me, and I swallowed my guilt. But the memories haunt me. How could I fuck up so goddamned bad?

  Somehow I make it across the covered walkway between the two wings of the house. The first thing I notice when I enter the guesthouse is Viyan’s toys—a colorful array of stuffed animals and other items—scattered on the floor. I make my way over the minefield and stop outside our bedroom.

  Before I can open the door, it swings wide. Rihana
stands there in a scanty top so sheer I can see her nipples and full breasts. A thin strap slips off her golden shoulder. My dick stiffens as I drink her in. My gaze stops at a pair of snug shorts. I lick my dry lips.

  “Aza, what kept you?” Her voice is like silk, stroking and teasing me.

  Swallowing hard, I say, “Had to speak to Tru.” My lust-filled brain quickly loses the ability to focus. “Viyan?”

  Rihana edges closer, rubbing against me. “With your grandmother.”

  It’s been so fucking long… I need a shower…

  Later. She can join you.

  Pulling Rihana into my arms, she welcomes me with an open-mouth kiss. My tongue caresses hers while my hands explore her body. Too many damned clothes. I break away long enough to yank my shirt over my head. Rihana’s unzipping my pants and freeing my throbbing cock. She steps out of her shorts and underwear, and I out my briefs and pants, and then she’s back in my arms.

  This isn’t the time for making love. There’ll be time later—much later—for going slow. I haven’t been inside this woman in over a year, not since the last months of her pregnancy. Backing her into the wall, Rihana wraps her legs around my waist. Her gaze locks onto mine, and she bites her glossy, lower lip. Heat meets heat as my body trembles with hunger.

  Pressing Rihana into the wall, my cock teases her folds and I coat myself with her wetness before thrusting deep. I growl and say, “I’ve missed you.”

  Joined as one, our bodies move together. It doesn’t take long before her pussy tightens, and she’s screaming, “A-za!”

  Her shuddering body coaxes my own release. Wrapping my arms around her, I ride out the wave.

  —

  Hours later, thoroughly sated, I embrace her delectable body and breathe. It’s like I’ve been reborn. Shit, I’ve missed this. Just holding her after sex. My eyelids are heavy, but Rihana wants to talk.

  “Aza, we need to discuss this,” she urges.

  “In the morning, baby.” I pull her closer and wrap my body around hers. “I just want to hold you and sleep.”

  “You promise we’ll talk then?”

  “Whatever you want.” Hell, I would promise to build her a kingdom just for the chance to sleep with her in my arms. My eyes flutter closed.

  —

  The street is full of people, just standing and jeering. My brother’s team is patrolling the area. Wait! Something’s wrong. One of our neighbor’s is driving the truck, and Shiloh’s broken body is on the ground.

  Noooo…

  It’s not just my brother. My parents…my first girlfriend and her family…my niece and nephew…even Rihana and Viyan lay in the street. So much blood…

  “Wake up, Aza!”

  It’s so fucking cold. Why am I so cold?

  “Aza!”

  Who’s voice is that? I don’t—

  Clarity reaches me, and I bolt straight up. Sweat covers my chest and face.

  “Aza, the nightmare?” It’s Rihana. She’s been down this road before.

  Drawing my legs up, I rest my elbows on my knees and drag a hand through my hair. “Yeah.”

  She flips on the lamp beside the bed. “When did they come back?”

  Honestly, I had no idea. The deeper this mission became, the lines between sanity and irrational thought blurred. For a while, I was taking sleeping pills trying to get a decent night’s sleep.

  “Aza.”

  “I don’t know,” I snap.

  Rihana’s always been patient with me. She knows exactly what’s going on and what the solution is, but I can’t do anything until the mission is over. Instead of feeding my anger, she strokes my back. “Let’s get you into a shower. I’ll make you a cup of tea, and we’ll talk.”

  I nod and slide out of bed. What’s the likelihood she might slide a little bourbon in that cup?

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I am here to tell you that our people have strayed from our true path. We have been following a false prophet. A messenger determined to destroy and punish its followers.”

  —from the Honorable M. Raman Bashur,

  Kurdish political & religious thinker

  Minutes later, I stumble into the living room. My body’s clean, but my spirit is far from it. Falling apart in front of my wife isn’t something I planned to do. Screaming my fool head off from a nightmare is childish and not so manly. I’m better than that. I want to be better than that.

  Rihana lit the fireplace, and she’s sitting on the sofa. Two steaming mugs are on the coffee table. “Aza, come sit with me.” She pats the cushion. “We should talk.”

  Reluctantly, I honor her request and reach for the cup of tea. “Do you honestly think this is going to, like, help me sleep?”

  “It might. Chamomile has always helped me.”

  Unwilling to tell my wife that a mere herb can’t erase years of guilt and anger—I tried that route and it didn’t work—I take a sip and wait for the questioning to begin. It’s not that she’s judgmental—never has been. I just don’t want to rehash it with her, or anyone else for that matter.

  After a few minutes, Rihana asks, “Are you having the same nightmare?”

  “Yeah, but it’s gotten worse, much worse.” Raking a hand over my face, I try to forget the gory images and the very real sense of loss. Every time I experience one of these damned dreams, I feel all the emotions I had years ago. When I wake up, I’m shaking and just want to beat the shit out of someone. Then sadness takes over. Before Rihana, I drowned it in alcohol. Smoked a joint to forget. Those are no longer options for me.

  She massages my shoulder. “How?”

  “Now it includes you and Viyan.”

  Rihana shakes her head. “After the war, my father used to suffer terrible dreams. He’d wake the house up with his screaming. Finally, my mother convinced him to seek help. He tried going to mosque and speaking to the imam, but that wasn’t enough. Thankfully, Papa took the advice and went to see a doctor. He was told that it was survivor’s remorse. Maybe it’s time for you to talk to a professional.”

  Pursing my lips, I shake my head slowly. I’ve heard that line from Mama Sibley more than once. I’m sorry, but the concept of survivor’s remorse makes no sense to me. When my family first died, I thought I should have died that night. I wondered why I was spared, but those ideas vanished quickly. They were replaced with my desire to kill the motherfuckers who stole my family and my childhood from me. That’s not fucking remorse. More like a need for vengeance fueling me.

  “Aza?”

  “I’m fine, Rihana.” Setting my cup down, I change the subject. “Like, what’s going on between you and Bashur? Sibley said he’s been hanging around you.”

  Rihana’s posture slumps, and she averts her eyes. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Bullshit! My understanding is that he’s ready to, like, fill my shoes around here. What has he done?” I study my wife for a moment looking for any clues. She pulls in her arms and legs and curls up into the corner of the sofa. “Have you done—”

  Her head whips around, and anger flashes in her eyes. “No! Raman is as old as my uncle’s. I would never consider lying with him.” She pushes off the sofa.

  “Like, where are you going?”

  “To bed. We are done here if you think I would cheat on you. I honor our vows.” She storms out of the room.

  I should go after her, apologize, but her words sting too badly. Instead, I grab my discarded shirt from earlier and go to the door. When I open it, a man with wild carrot-orange hair straightens up and faces me. As chilly as it is outside, he wears only a long-sleeved thermal shirt and camouflage pants. His clothes fit tight revealing his muscular frame.

  “At ease,” I say. “You are?”

  “Folks call me Red.” A slight Irish accent slips through his words.

  “You’re former IRA?”

  He nods. “I’ve been out for years. Still have ‘em.”

  That little detail might explain why Steve hired him, but it doesn’t matte
r to me. “Keep a close eye on the lady. She doesn’t leave without my escort, and, like, no one else goes in there. Got it?”

  “Aye.”

  Now to find some comfort.

  —

  Opening the door to the main house, I go straight to the kitchen and the fridge. The first thing I see is a six-pack of beer. I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in years, didn’t even drink at my wedding. It’s not that I’m an alcoholic, far from it. When I drank, I made a lot of dumb-ass mistakes, so I chose to leave it alone. I do miss is the bliss found at the bottom of a bottle—it always helped me get to sleep.

  Passing out isn’t the same thing as falling asleep.

  I grab a longneck and twist off the cap before I change my mind. The dark lager is ice cold and like drinking ambrosia. It’s a medium-bodied brew with a very rich flavor. I nearly suck down half the bottle before I put it down.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” Steve says from behind me.

  His voice makes my chest tighten. Suddenly, the contraband leaves a bad taste. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I slowly face my step-grandfather. He’s wearing sweatpants and a sleeveless T-shirt. His muscles glisten with sweat. I’m speechless.

  Steve points at the bottle. “Should you be drinking that?”

  “Cut me some damned slack, man. I haven’t had a drink in, like, years.”

  “With good reason, Asher.” My step-grandfather leans over the counter. “Religious restraints… Or have you forgotten that you’re not supposed to drink alcohol.”

  Shit!

  I push the bottle across the island. Damn rules. They get bent and broken all the time. In my case, I keep twisting them to suit my demands. Problem is, I’m losing myself. No. Correction. I am lost. Pieces of me snap off like kindling. I no longer resemble the person my family hoped for or the man my wife fell in love with.

  What’s worse? I don’t even like this version of me. I need to gather up the remnants and rebuild. Again. Am I strong enough? Do I want it bad enough? Questions I don’t know how to answer.

  “Drink your damned brew,” he says and slides the bottle back over. “You need to get some help, son.”