"She wasn't alone," Sayed muttered. "No one warned us."
"No one knew, you fucking idiot. You should have withdrawn when you saw she was with armed men. We'd get her at another spot."
"That's not what you told us to do," Sayed said sullenly."You told us to capture her."
"You didn't fucking do that, did you?" Behaid clasped his hands to his head, as if he'd tear out his long gray-streaked hair. "Who was she with? Did you manage to notice that?"
"I told you. Not Arabs. Not Kurds."
"I don't give a fuck who it's not! I want to know who it is!"
"They didn't announce their nationalities before they started shooting." Sayed finally had enough breath to shout back.
"The Americans advertise their arrogance on their shoulders. Did you see their flag, you imbecile?" Behaid could not control his shouting. He'd been waiting here, salivating over the rape to come. Once again, he'd been deprived of his prey.
He strode over to Ahmed, who was lying on the ground, his face contorted with pain. Behaid pushed his bloody hand away, and punched the wound. "Man up," he yelled. "We don't tolerate pussies in Daesh."
Ahmed rolled over, groaning. Behaid kicked him. "If Allah were happy with you, he would have given you good news to bring to me.
"And you—" He turned on Sayed. "What the fuck use are you? I thought you wanted some pussy?"
"It's not over yet," Sayed snarled. "I'll have her soon enough, and she'll pay for whoring around with those infidels."
The one man who hadn't spoken yet squatted on his haunches, as cool as Behaid was hot with temper. Cutthroat. His long gray mustache framed his cruel mouth and his gray beard was straggly. He'd proven his strength and courage many times.
He was second in command, although no one was dumb enough to mention that to him, least of all Behaid. Cutthroat was a good soldier for Allah. He'd come by his nickname in the worst way possible, but with a result he liked—everyone feared him. "You're too hasty, Behaid," he said now. "Sayed is right. We'll get her. But only if you calm down and think about what we'll do next."
Behaid sucked on the dregs of the cigarette. Drag in. Blow out. Over and over. Killing himself, what the fuck.
"Remember," Cutthroat added, "we agreed she's probably that Brit who was coming out here to help organize the whore house."
Behaid fingered the Kalashnikov he had slung over her shoulder. "If we don't get her before we reach Sinjar, she'll undoubtedly find us once we get there. She was given an address and a phone number."
"Remember, they had to move the girls out Sinjar," Cutthroat said. "The address won't be any good."
"We have her phone number. She's just a stupid woman. She'll contact us." Behaid smiled. "She won't be happy to know she's expected to put out."
Cutthroat shrugged. "It's not our job to make her happy."
"Right." Behaid crushed the butt of his cigarette under his boot. "Okay. You're right. We need a plan." He looked at Sayed. "Describe to me these infidels. Who the fuck are they?"
Sayed took a deep breath, as if to shore up his confidence. "They weren't wearing uniforms," he said. "So no flags."
Behaid grunted. "There aren't any Americans left in this part of the world," he said. "They turned tail and left."
Sayed shrugged, as if to say he didn't care what nationality they were. An enemy was an enemy. That was the old tribal rule. "Ahmed is right. They were well-trained military troops and not from the Middle East. That's all we know."
"How many did you kill?"
For the first time, Sayed's eyes shifted off to the side. "I'm not sure."
"Fuck." Behaid spat. "The woman was definitely with them?"
"Yes. I'm positive it was her."
"So these infidels are enjoying her and I'm not?" Behaid was screaming again and pacing back and forth on the stony ground.
Cutthroat stood up. "Look, we need to have a plan. I suggest we start with doctoring Ahmed here before he meets his maker. We'll need all the men we can gather, now that Sinjar's been overrun with those fucking Kurds."
Behaid growled wordlessly.
"Don't worry about the bitch," Cutthroat continued. "We'll catch up to her and teach her what she needs to learn." He grinned evilly. "I'm looking forward to it, and I have something else for you to look forward to as well. If you're interested."
"Of course I'm interested," Behaid snapped.
Cutthroat grinned. "I hear some of our boys have captured a virgin in Sinjar. A Yazidi, so she's fair game." He licked his lips. "A young one."
Behaid stopped pacing and pointed his newly lit cigarette at Cutthroat. "You positive?"
Cutthroat showed his teeth again in a parody of a smile. "They're holding her for us."
Chapter Fourteen
An hour after the attack, Declan was as steamed as he'd been when they left the ambush site. If Laila hadn't interfered with their op the night before last, they would have completed their mission right then and there, and they'd be off this damn bit of hell. But, thanks to her, their op had been scrubbed and worse than that, they'd been spotted and their anonymity blown. Not that the hajjis knew specifically who they were. But they certainly knew that some form of military posse was roaming here in the Sinjar mountains were they wouldn't be up to any good from an ISIS point of view.
Dec and his fellow warriors didn't have to be walking around with shoulder badges showing the stars and stripes for the jihadis to know they weren't on the same side.
The sun was directly overhead and Dec knew they'd have to stop soon. Although the heat was not as bad as it would have been during the summer, the sun was brutal. There would not likely be any rain at all while they were here in these mountains and that meant clouds were also scarce. There were no trees to provide shade. In addition to all that, they needed to conserve their water, as they would be unlikely to find any on their route. For all these reasons, a halt during the day was useful.
It simply wasn't smart to wear out their energy in the heat of the day. The mountains had stepped down to low-lying stone walls that bordered a scrubby plateau. Dec had been scanning the stone ridges on the right side of the long plateau, looking for even an overhang that might provide a bit of shade when he spotted an opening in the cragged wall that showed darker than the gray walls they'd been following.
Yes. It was an opening, not quite deep enough to be called a cave, but certainly tall enough and deep enough to provide shelter from the sun. He stopped with a sigh of relief. Laila hadn't uttered a word of complaint and he couldn't see much of her beneath the burka. But the strain around her eyes told its own tale. She was exhausted.
He had to remember that no civilian could maintain the pace of trained special forces. "We'll stop here," he announced.
"We didn't get all the jihadis," Zack said. "They could be on our trail."
"Agreed," Dec said. "But we haven't been re-supplied, and I don't want to use up our strength or our water reserves traveling in the heat of the day if we don't have to."
"The bit of shade is perfect," Greg said. He nodded subtly at Laila. Dec bobbed his head in agreement. Laila hadn't uttered a word of complaint, but she was done up.
She'd collapsed face down on the ground when Dec had announced the stop and now she lay there like a huge carrion bird. The burka had to be hot as hell, but at least it kept her from being burned by the relentless sun.
"It's my turn for guard duty," Dec said, "but could you cover me for five minutes, Greg, while I help Laila?"
Dec dropped his backpack, opened it, and pulled out a bottle of water. He tapped Laila on the shoulder. "Sit up. You need water."
"Thanks," she mumbled. "I have water."
The three other men immediately began pulling out their provisions for lunch, teasing each other with their usual rude comments and jokes.
Zack opened one of their MRE packets. "This shit tastes like something your old lady cooked way back when you were married, Harp."
"And that was five years ago," Geek added. "The e
xtra time hasn't improved it any."
Harp took a long swig of water. "Wish I could argue with you. But that bitch couldn't cook for shit and neither can whoever made this swill."
Greg hefted his MRE. "This is fuel, boys, not food. Wrap your feeble minds around that idea and just suck it down the hatch."
"Only one food group in my world," Harp said. "Tasty. So Geek is right for once. This ain't food."
Laila simply sat on the ground, barely within the shelter of the opening.
"Sit up," Dec repeated to her. "You can rest after lunch."
Slowly, she rolled over, placed one hand on the ground, and used that arm as leverage to push herself to a seated position.
"I have supplies, Dec."
"How much water? You had only four liters when we searched you."
"I have three left," she said quietly.
"Drink." He forced the water bottle into her hand. He watched her drain it, then squatted down to reach in his backpack again. This time he pulled out his bedroll.
"Take this. The rocks will be hard."
"I can't use your equipment," she said, stifling a yawn. "I'll be fine with my niqab."
"It's my turn to stand guard so I won't be using my equipment."
She eyed him. He almost smiled. There was a flaw in his logic. He'd be on guard for two hours, and then he'd be using his bedroll with her. But she was too tired to figure it out.
She dragged it to one side of the overhang, and Dec stepped out to relieve Greg.
* * *
He had two damn hours with nothing to do but watch the unchanging landscape. And he knew that his time would be spent trying to unravel the puzzle that Laila represented.
She intrigued him with her layers of mystery. The first surprise was discovering that she was Muslim. Without the presence of the burka, he never would have suspected that. Of course, the fact that she spoke perfect British English contributed to the oddness. Objectively speaking, he knew there were British Muslim women. But he'd personally never known any.
The few, fully-garbed Muslim women he'd come in contact with had never said a word to him. So he'd been trained that silence was the only response he'd get from a burka-clad woman.
Then there was the incongruity in Laila's behavior versus the behavior he'd seen from Arab Muslim women. The Arab women didn't even look at him. Laila, with her fathomless dark eyes had no problem holding his gaze, again, something that was probably due to her British upbringing. She didn't have the complete obsequiousness of the Arab-raised Muslim women.
The second surprise from Laila was that she was more resourceful than he expected. He'd made an error leaving her alone when they first captured her. Not only had she made a run for her freedom, but she'd also worked to remove the cuffs. He hadn't expected either of those two actions because he'd never seen a show of resistance from any Muslim woman. He supposed there must be others out there who would actively fight a potential enemy, but he hadn't come across them.
The third mystery was his own stupid attraction to her. He considered himself a level-headed man with a full dose of common sense. No woman could be less available to him than a fully-veiled Muslim woman. His libido should not have even taken notice of such a completely unattainable female. It was pointless to think about slowly stripping off that all-encompassing burka, to wonder how soft her skin was, how round her breasts, how sweet the opening between her legs.
He forced his mind away from the red-lace camisole. What layers of sensuality did Laila harbor? What had caused her to hide that sexy piece of lingerie under the ugliest clothes known to mankind?
His mind knew that he would never know the answers to these secrets, but some errant part of his psyche insisted on wondering.
And, yes, hoping.
Of course, the biggest mystery of all was what she was doing here in this deserted landscape. He and his fellow warriors, hardened and well-trained, ventured into this kind of harsh environment only as a group. How had she managed, on foot and alone? What goal could motivate her to make such a desperate quest? He could not imagine it.
When Zack got up after two hours to relieve him, Declan lay down next to Laila, savoring the brief respite from the sun. She made a soft, wordless sound, but didn't stir and he didn't disturb her.
He certainly needed the two hours of sleep.
But when his internal clock awoke him two hours later, she was lying on top of him. Not pressed up against his side, like she had been last night, but fully on top of him, draped over him like a sleeping cat, boneless and soft.
He was anything but boneless and soft.
He had to wake her before the other men awoke. "Laila," he whispered.
She didn't move.
"Wake up," he urged her.
She snuggled closer to him and he breathed in her scent, his body hardening further. He knew he should simply slide her off his body, but he couldn't make himself do it. Her curves caressed his hardness, calming him and inflaming him both at the same time.
He needed her to move herself, which he knew she would do as soon as he got her attention.
"Laila," he murmured, "I know why women are really from Venus."
Laila swam into consciousness, exhaustion trying to pull her back down into sleep, but another type of awareness urging her to face reality.
She was lying on top of a man. A wide-shouldered, hard-bodied, big man. And not just any man.
Declan.
She knew him by his scent, that dusty, sweaty, gun oil-tinged smell that signaled him to her as clearly as the sight of him did. She tried to suck in a deep breath, but it was impossible when his gaze was on her, and his body was hard and pressed against her so she could feel every bone, every muscle, and—
She forced her mind away from the reality of his erection. Nothing could be done about it. She didn't want anything to be done about it. Well, at least not under these circumstances.
"What?" she managed. "Why are you talking about Venus?" The look in his eyes was preventing her from breathing, but she would faint if she couldn't take a breath. They couldn't even be thinking about sex here in the Sinjar mountains, on the run from their enemies, and in the company of other men.
Dec wrapped his big hands around her head. "I wanted to get your attention," he said. "You need to wake up so we can get moving."
She couldn't imagine how she'd ended up lying on top of him, but she wanted just one more minute of the pleasure. One minute to feel oddly secure. One minute to grab some joy out of the misery of this trek. If talking won her the minute, so be it.
"Tell me what you meant about Venus," she insisted. She treasured the feel of his chest rising and falling beneath her breasts.
"Venus is the hottest planet in our solar system," he murmured into her ear. "And the right woman is the hottest thing a man will ever have in his life." His hands traveled down her back to cup her butt. "You feel really good lying on top of me like this."
She stared at his lips, that were a mere breath away from hers. How had she managed to put herself in this position? His erection pulsed between her legs and she had to call on all her reserves of control not to rub herself against it. If they hadn't been fully clothed, she had no doubt he'd be inside her right now. She had to move–damn, her movement ended up being a push of her hips against his, causing him to groan softly.
"Sorry," she whispered. "But this is not a good idea." She forced herself to roll off him.
He grunted. "That's the other thing about Venus. She's a perverse planet, spinning backwards relative to all the others."
"One of us has to have some sense." She nodded to the other side of the little cave, where Harp and Geek were beginning to stir.
"Damn." Dec sat up and dropped his head into his hands. "How'd you get on top of me anyway? I'm a light sleeper, especially when we're on a mission."
"I'm sorry, okay?" Why was he glaring at her? "This is a confined sleeping area, and it just happened."
He scowled. "Do you have a boyfriend? A h
usband? Are you used to sleeping with a man?"
"What kind of question is that? It's none of your business." She sat up, alarmed. She couldn't begin to know how to answer that question. She was pretty sure that veiled Muslim women who were in fact unmarried, as she was, should not have any kind of sexual experience. So if he ever found out that she—She cut off that train of thought. It was ridiculous. How would he ever discover what her sexual experience, of lack thereof, was?
"Stop teasing me," he ordered as he stood up.
She gasped. He was blaming her? When his eyes were so hot every time he looked at her that they started little fires wherever they landed on her. When his body had been hard and straining under hers just moments ago?
She stood up and stepped closer so she could hiss up at him. "I think your head is even bigger than your—" Damn, why could she not get that stupid organ of his out of her mind?
He gave her a strained smile. "My what?"
"Get over yourself," she snapped. She turned around with a whirl of her niqab and flounced out of the shade.
He got up and followed her. "We'll be moving out in five minutes. Have some water." He held out a bottle.
"I'll get mine." She eyed her backpack, a few paces away near where she'd been sleeping.
Declan rolled his eyes.
She had to clasp her hands together to prevent herself from reaching for the clear bottle. She could see the fluid sloshing a bit at the top due to the motion of his hands, and she could almost taste that life-giving sensation of cool, pure water. But the men were carrying their supplies, just as she was. She couldn't mooch off them continuously. She shook her head. "I'll manage."
"Don't be a fool. You don't have enough water. Dehydration will sap your strength more than you think."
She sighed. She might as well admit it. None of these men were stupid. "That's my biggest problem," she said. "I hadn't expected the mountains to be as uninhabited as they are. A five day supply of water would have been thirty pounds of weight. I couldn't handle that."
"Lord preserve me from women and fools," Dec muttered. "Take the damn water. We're getting a resupply today."
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