Edge of Courage (Edge Security Series Book 5) (19 page)

Sarah spoke with nasal tones, pretending to be the brutal Dahab. She was about Sarah’s height and so was a good choice to imitate. “The girls in the one room. They’re all sick. Come and help me.”

“But why do you need all of us?” the woman in the front asked.

Sarah let impatience color her voice, just as Dahab would, even as her palms sweated. “Just come and help.” She slid her knives into her hands, holding the blades against her inner forearm.

She pointed them to the room that held Besma and the other girls. They walked in and started murmuring. The girls all lay perfectly still under their blankets as Sarah had instructed earlier.

“They’re just sleeping,” one woman said.

Sarah struck the woman a hard blow to the head with the hilt of her knife. She dropped with a thud to the floor. She felled the next before she’d even turned at the sound. The third woman managed a short scream before Sarah knocked her out too.

Luckily, the house was used to screams.

“Let’s go,” she said.

The girls all sprang to their feet and each moved to one of the women, stripping off their veils,
hijabs,
and
abayas
.

“Are they dead?” asked the youngest girl with the frizzy hair.

“No,” Sarah said.

The girl bared her teeth at the unconscious woman before her. “Too bad.”

Sarah guarded the door while the girls changed and then proceeded to strip the women to their undergarments. They would be less likely to raise the alarm if they had to travel out in their underthings. They would throw the clothes in the room with the dead woman.

“Follow me,” she told them. “I will do the talking. And no matter what, do not panic and do not run.”

They all nodded, their faces earnest and hopeful.

Fuck. This could go horribly wrong. “Put your veils on now, and make sure the brigade headbands are in place.”

The girls crept to the door behind her. She put her hands on her hips and her voice whipped over them. “Walk like you’re one of them. You are not escaping; you belong here. You are members of the Brigade. Act like it.”

They stood a little straighter.

Time was slipping away. Sarah nodded at them. “You can do this. Follow me.”

She strode down the hallway, giving them something to follow. The last girl shut and locked the door behind her. They went down the back stairs. The soldier who’d been looking for his friend stood in the kitchen. Sarah stopped. One of the girls backed into her with a gasp.

“Excuse me, sister,” he said. “I’m waiting for my friend. We’ve been called for duty. I sent another sister up there to get him.”

He didn’t know that it was her he’d sent earlier because of the full-face veil. Sarah changed her voice to the rolling sounds of a northern Iraqi woman. “She is waiting outside of his door. I’m sure it won’t be long.”

“I will go interrupt him. We need to go.” He went to move past her but she held up a hand.

“I’m sorry, but we are moving some of the
sabaya
. It’s always easier if they don’t see any men. Why do you need him so urgently?”

The soldier frowned at her and then looked her up and down as if he could pierce her veil with his sight. “What was your name?”

“Dahab,” she said without hesitation.

He moved past her. “I’m going to check on my friend,” he said. “Wait here.” Sarah needed to stop him.

Someone came in the front door. She glanced down the hall. Two more soldiers. Her heart leapt and her hesitation cost her. The soldier now stood on the bottom step, with the girls between her and him. She’d have to throw her knife and then she’d have another body on her hands. If the two new soldiers came to the kitchen first, then everything would be for naught.

As soon as the soldier was out of sight up the stairs, she ushered the girls to the back door. Sweat trickled down her back. She forced her breathing to slow.

“Remember to stay calm,” she whispered to them. “Don’t look back, no matter what. You are members of the brigade. We are allowed to walk in groups without a
mahram
.”

They went into the back garden. The girls trailed her. She spoke to the guard, keeping her voice even as she told him they were meeting their driver out front. He opened the gate for them and they quietly left. In the narrow alley, Sarah saw the tea cart, but decided against putting any of the girls inside it.

What she didn’t see was Dylan.

S
arah led
the way to the alley entrance cautiously. Even though they all wore the headbands of the al-Khansa, the girls didn’t walk tall enough, or confident enough. She left the tea cart behind.

Her palms were sweating and she fought to control her breathing and pulse. Where the hell was Dylan?

She kept walking slowly to the street. The girls started to mumble behind her.

“Where are we going?” Besma said, tugging on Sarah’s sleeve.

“My partner is here.”

“Where?”

Yes, where was Dylan? Her stomach twisted. “He’s coming,” she said, putting all the confidence she could into her words, while still slowing her steps. Her mind raced with ideas about where he’d gone, what they could do while they waited for him. It wouldn’t be long before the girls were discovered missing.

Dylan would come. She realized she trusted him implicitly to be here. And he would. She would have to tell him that she was learning to trust him finally.

She wondered whether he’d care.

Then Dylan was there. Crossing the street from a grocery store. Their eyes met across the street and he nodded. He only lifted a single eyebrow when he looked beyond her to the four veiled figures behind her.

“Take off the brigade’s headbands,” she told the girls. “We have a
mahram
now and need to blend into the crowd.”

Dylan hit their sidewalk just as they did. “Gathered a few more, eh?”

“I had to bring them.” They walked with the crowd away from the
sabaya
house, but not fast enough for her liking.

“Letting your emotions affect your judgement?” Dylan asked.

“No.”

“Easy, Sarah. It would take a heartless person to leave them behind. They— Shit.”

Dylan stared straight ahead.

“What?” Sarah said. Then she saw the group of men that people cleared the sidewalk for. A group of
hisbah
strode toward them. The men had long beards, and wore turbans and black
dishdashas
to their ankles. They spoke with one another but their gazes roamed the street around them. An air of power surrounded them: not physical or protective power, but a corrupt, slithering kind of power that didn’t bode well for anyone standing in their way.

“It’s okay.” Sarah’s heart beat too hard. “We just need to be calm.”

Sarah and the girls followed Dylan down the sidewalk in the direction of the truck and right into the path of the
hisbah
. The men slowed. Dylan didn’t stop walking, so Sarah kept the girls moving and studied the men. About ten paces away.

She sucked in a silent gasp. Hisham was one of them. His full beard emphasized his thick lips. His dark gaze roamed over Sarah and the girls, who instinctively huddled behind her and Dylan.

Maybe he wouldn’t notice Dylan.

D
ylan led
the girls down the sidewalk. Sarah walked at his side, or at least he assumed it was her, because of her height and walk. Damn, he hated these fucking capes and veils the women had to wear.

Dylan kept his gaze slightly lowered. He’d have preferred to cross the street, but with five women trailing him, any movement in the open would lead to scrutiny. At least on the sidewalk there were others who might take some of the attention off him.

They were ten paces away. His muscles tensed. He felt the gaze of one of the men, but he kept his own gaze forward, ignoring the pull to look.

One of them stopped and spoke Russian. “Dalkhan?” He knew that voice and his muscles tensed for a fight. He needed to get these girls to safety.

Sarah went still beside him.

Fuck. Maybe he could talk his way out of this.

“
As-salamu alaykum
, Hisham,” he said.

“
Wa-alaikum salaam
, brother,” Hisham replied. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be training?”

Sarah looked back at the
sabaya
house. That made him curse silently again. If she was nervous about what was going on in the house, then they hadn’t had a clean exit. His heart pounded. They needed to leave now.

“My wife and her sisters needed—”

“You did not go to training because your wife needed something?” His voice sounded incredulous and Dylan wanted to split the man’s lip.

“No,” Dylan said slowly. “I asked for time off—”

“Our new recruits don’t get time off.”

The man wasn’t letting him speak or explain. A small crowd had started to gather around them. The leader gave a glance around and then straightened to his full height. Shit. The man was going into a full-on power trip.

“Why do you have so many women with you?” Hisham then said something in Arabic.

“He repeated the question to the crowd,” Sarah murmured in Russian. “He’s looking for a show.” Her head turned again to the house.

What had happened in there to make her so worried?

“My wife,” Dylan said. “And her sisters.”

“Do they all live with you?”

“No, some live with my in-laws.”

“So you are just a nice husband to use his day off, which we don’t give our new recruits, to take the women shopping.”

“I’m just trying to keep my new wife happy.”

Hisham nodded and smiled. “It is Allah’s wish for us to keep our women happy, is it not?”

Dylan nodded and relaxed fractionally. He’d connected with the man. Finally. They might just get out of this.

The door to the
sabaya
house banged open and a soldier rushed out. “Murder! A
sabaya
killed a fighter,” he yelled. The front guards rushed inside.

Hisham’s eyes widened as he watched the soldiers. “Wait here,” he barked out in Russian to Dylan. He signaled one of his cronies and they strode to the front gate. The other three blocked their path on the sidewalk.

Not that they posed much of a physical threat to Dylan, but he wasn’t sure of the shape of the girls behind him. Could they run?

Sarah herded the girls closer to Dylan. She murmured in Arabic to them. She stepped away, and a sense of alarm went through him. He tried to grab her arm, but she twisted away, almost as if she expected it.

“What are you doing?” he said quietly, urgency straining his voice. He tried to go after her but the girls and the
hisbah
blocked him.

“Something that needs to be done. Get the girls out,” she said in Russian.

His gut twisted with an ugly premonition. “Sarah, whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it. Together, we can—”

She moved away from them, striding down the sidewalk. The three
hisbah
growled in Arabic and followed her.

She turned back to face them and took off her veil, exposing her bronzed skin and dark eyes to the sunshine.

The
hisbah
gasped and then began shouting at her.

Her gaze held Dylan’s for a moment, a proud woman, courage shining through her eyes.

Hisham came back from the brothel’s entrance and grabbed her by one arm, shaking her while he shouted. Other men, passersby and gawkers, stopped and shouted at her as well. She stood passively. Hisham then raised his hand to strike her.

Anger blazed through Dylan and he moved toward her. She shook her head.

Go,
she mouthed to him.
Run!

Hisham slapped her face. Dylan tensed, waiting for her to defend herself and ready to jump in. But she didn’t fight back. The man slapped her again. Dylan’s fists clenched. Damn her. She didn’t fight back. She didn’t try to get away.

The four girls crowded around him, tugging on his sleeves, urging him away. Away from Sarah.

There were no
hisbah
around them; Sarah had created the perfect distraction, but he couldn’t go. He couldn’t leave her. Not like this.

Both men and women from the street now surged around Sarah and her uncovered face. Dylan kept eye contact with her for as long as he could.

Fight back, Sarah!

But she wasn’t. There had to be another way than her sacrifice. If she changed her mind and lifted even a finger to defend herself, then he’d rip apart the crowd to get to her. He would kill them all if he had to.

Save them!
She might have shouted it or just mouthed the words, but her eyes demanded he do this. That he save the girls. If he fought for her, then her sacrifice would be in vain.

She turned her head, breaking eye contact with him, and huddled in on herself. She pulled her veil up to finally cover her face, shielding it from the angry mob. But the crowd still swarmed her, pushing and shoving, screeching insults.

The
hisbah
controlled them, barely. They focused completely on Sarah and the surrounding crowd. Dylan and the girls had been forgotten. The leader had a grip on Sarah’s arm. There would be no escape for her right now. But at least they were no longer beating her.

A car of soldiers, horn blaring, drove up the street. The girls’ voices held panicked notes. It was time to leave. He had to get them out.

“Stay alive, Sarah,” he whispered. “I’m coming for you.” And then he led the girls away.

S
arah fought
the clawing panic as enraged faces surrounded her: men screaming about her loose morals and covered women yelling just as loud, anger vibrating their voices.

Dylan had left with the girls.

She was alone. He’d left her.

Because she’d ordered him to go, she told herself. She’d yelled it at him in Russian, her words lost in the frenzy of voices. She’d known the
hisbah
wouldn’t let them go. Dylan wouldn’t have survived an encounter if he’d been taken. They’d have accused him of being a nonbeliever and killed him. She needed Dylan and the girls to be safe and had done the only thing she could think of to create a distraction.

Hands plucked at her
abaya
, tugged at her
hijab
. If she lost her headscarf, the crowd would go insane. She could feel the murderous intent of it swirling around her like a hungry wolf ready to rip and claw into her. She tried to cover her face with the veil, but the crowd wasn’t happy. Hands grabbed her arm and the veil slipped. Fingers pulled at her clothing, almost as if they wanted her to lose more of it, so the circling anger could swell again and be fed with her death.

She held on to her veils and ducked away from a reaching hand, only to be confronted by a man. Spit flew from his lips as he screamed at her for being a whore.

Her cheek throbbed where Hisham had slapped her twice. She breathed short and fast, trying to get air. Too many people surrounded her, pinching her, yelling and screaming.

She was losing it. She had to hold on.

Someone shoved her and she stumbled. A hand pushed down on her shoulder, wanting her to go to the ground.

No! If she fell they’d kick her again and again, until she never rose. She stayed upright—barely. More people pushed her and she moved with the crowd. She had to think, to stop them.

She hung her head and fumbled with her face veil. She had to cover her face. People ripped at her arms, trying to tear the veil away. She had to get the veil on before the crowd went over the edge.

A viselike grip caught her one arm. Hisham. He yanked her to him through the crowd.

“Put on your veil now,” he hissed at her. “Or I won’t be able to stop them from killing you.”

“Why? So you can kill me later?” She tugged her arm, but he didn’t release her. She pulled her veil up over her face, leaving her eyes exposed. She couldn’t fix the face veil with only one arm. Covering up as if she wore a
niqab
was the best she could do.

She kept her eyes off the people surrounding them and her head tilted down. The crowd’s surging momentum against her slowed.

The four other
hisbah
started yelling for everyone to disperse.

“Where is your husband?” Hisham demanded, shaking her arm. “Why did he leave?”

Sarah didn’t say anything, letting him shake her. She focused on breathing, on drawing air deep into her lungs and slowing her heartbeat.

Had she bought Dylan enough time to get the girls out? There was no sign of them anymore.

The people who only moments ago had been yelling at her now all hung outside the stone walls of the
sabaya
house, trying to glimpse beyond the gate. Men yelled from inside and a few women wailed.

Grim satisfaction thrummed through her. They must have discovered the bodies. She wished she’d been able to kill more than one soldier.

Hisham dragged her to the front gate and handed her off to a guard. Hope sparked inside her. She could take care of one guard. He only held her by one arm. But he brought her inside past more soldiers who all milled around, angry and looking to strike at something. She kept her face down, not wanting to give them a target, pretending to be docile.

The soldiers milling around spoke of a murder-suicide. A
sabaya
had gotten hold of a knife and killed a soldier and then herself. Others couldn’t believe a woman had killed the soldier and insisted another man must have gotten into the house.

They barely spoke of the missing girls. They were unimportant to the men, who focused on their dead friend and how the al-Khansa had let a
sabaya
have a knife.

The women of the brigade who’d been stripped hadn’t made an appearance yet. She smiled. Maybe they still hadn’t found any veils to wear.

It was only moments later that Hisham charged down the stairs and strode to her. “What do you know of this? Did your husband kill the soldier up there? Did he steal
sabaya
from us? Where is he?”

Sarah didn’t say anything and didn’t look up from the floor, going over her cover story in her mind. She knew nothing. She was just a simple woman who’d lost her veil. Nothing more. She repeated that out loud.

She sensed the blow just before it struck and was able to turn her head enough to take a bit of the power from it. But it still stunned her for a moment, while pain seared her face.

Hisham’s backhand made her ears ring and split her lip. The metallic taste of her own blood filled her mouth. Bastard had been wearing a ring.

She wanted to spit out the blood, but she was a simple woman who’d lost her veil. “I know nothing,” she repeated.