She couldn’t see him through the blur in her eyes.
“I had my intelligence officers dig deeper,” Tariq said. “SSRR is more than just private military contracting, they perform targeted assassinations.”
“We go after terrorists,” Max pointed out.
“My uncle?” Tariq scoffed. “We’re at war. This is politically motivated.”
“You bombed Riyadh.”
“And how many bombs have the Saudis dropped on us?” Tariq said. “I do not support Nasir’s way of tit for tat, but they leave him little choice. He is our leader. If he does not respond, he’ll be considered weak. The Saudi alliance agrees with the peace talks on one hand, while trying to stab us in the back with the other. The people you work for just destroyed negotiations for a united Yemen. Congratulations, gentlemen.”
“What will happen to the aid?”
“It will push through,” Tariq said with conviction. “Do you want to go home?”
“Back to the U.S.?” For some reason her eyes were drawn to Kade’s and he gave her a brief nod.
“No.”
“Yara.” Kade’s voice dripped with disapproval.
She glared at him. “You don’t get any say.”
“The fuck I don’t,” he growled.
“You and your band of mercenaries have ten minutes to pack up your shit,” she gritted through her teeth. “Leave this compound.”
“Sorry, Ms. Emerson, but you signed a contract,” Max said.
“Shut the fuck up, Max,” Kade snapped.
“I know exactly what you guys think of me.” Yara jutted her chin out mulishly. “You think I’m a dim-witted socialite who only has money and the name of her father behind all this.” She stuck two thumbs at herself. “Don’t think this airhead doesn’t know that conspiracy to kill another person in another country is against the law.”
Max’s face darkened, but she couldn’t miss the flicker of admiration on Kade’s face. Ugh! She couldn’t separate him from who he represented, so Yara went on. “Go ahead, try and sue me for breach of contract and I’ll use my team of lawyers to make sure you and your entire gang of bloodthirsty contract killers get locked up for the rest of your lives.”
“Let me take you back to the U.S., Tink,” Kade said softly.
“Don’t,” Yara pushed out, her voice choking. “You don’t get to call me that again. Whatever you think could’ve happened between us, it was all based on a lie.”
“That’s not true—”
“Leave!”
“Listen—”
“I think the lady told you to leave,” a man said beside them.
Her tunnel vision of the situation slowly lifted and she noticed the big man who came in with Tariq. He was dressed in a black shirt and fatigue cargos. Longish dark hair peeking out under the navy bandana covering his head. A thick beard covered most of his face.
“Stay out of this,” Kade warned the man softly.
“Or what?” Bandana Man was slightly shorter than Kade but was about twenty pounds heftier.
Kade backed away, reached behind his back and drew his gun, pointing it at Tariq’s bodyguard. “Or this.”
“Goddammit, Spear!” Max yelled.
“Go ahead, shoot an unarmed man,” Bandana Man taunted.
Kade’s face grew remote. Yara stepped between them and he immediately lowered his weapon. “Dammit, Tink,” Kade whispered, the cold façade melting into frustrated helplessness and she ached to touch him, but, instead, stilled herself.
“I’m staying.”
“Then, sign Stryker’s contract,” Tariq said with a resigned sigh.
“Who’s Stryker?”
Bandana Man grinned. “That’s me. I already emailed you the contract for your approval.”
“You fucking asshole.” Kade took a menacing step toward Stryker.
“I believe that title belongs to you,” Stryker said. “ERAF is terminating your contract effective immediately. Would you prefer her safety be dependent on Tariq’s soldiers?” He turned to Tariq. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Her friend raised his hands in a dismissive gesture.
Yara looked at a grim Tariq, and then at cock-assure Stryker, before locking eyes with a stony-faced Kade.
She chose to face Stryker. “I don’t trust the likes of you, but people—children—are dying with each second we delay. So, before you betray me like these guys”—she thumbed behind her at Kade—“think about that. Put that on your conscience before you sell your soul to the highest bidder.”
Stryker tipped his chin in a slight nod.
Yara let her eyes wander around the room at Max, Declan, Warren, and the rest of Kade’s men. “I know they took your weapons,” she told Stryker. “If you take the garbage out of here before I come back out of my room, consider your contract signed.” Glancing at Tariq, she said, “I need a few minutes to myself.”
“Go ahead. I have this, sunshine.”
Tears welled at the corner of her eyes but she refused to break again. Not in front of Kade, not in front of her ERAF staff who’d observed the whole fiasco with interest.
Her cheeks burned as she passed them, feeling like a joke with each step she took. A scuffle broke out behind her, but she didn’t look back, and even as Kade called her name, her feet only hastened to get away from him.
When she got to her room, she stared around it, wanting to find something to throw out the window, but there was nothing. And she didn’t want violence to be her outlet, because violence was the root of all this.
Her heart felt shredded, her insides mangled in an eviscerated mess of fury and pain. How could someone who she’d only known a few days wreck her this much?
Because she thought she recognized a man who could balance her. He pissed her off in the beginning and, yet, she’d never felt more alive. A man with mercurial moods who she wanted to understand, for whom she’d made excuses and for which she paid. Dearly.
Never again.
She hated him, wanted to lash out at him for making her feel so cheap and used. It wasn’t enough he tainted their humanitarian mission, made it a vessel for their amoral business, he fucked her over, not only in body, but in her trust as well.
Her eyes widened as another thought crossed her mind. No wonder Kade was adamant for her not to see Denton’s pictures of the general. It was him. General Boustari. The man Kade worked for. He didn’t want her to find out his lies if she dug deeper.
When Yara excused herself to escape from everyone she had fully intended to fling herself on the bed and cry her eyes out. But that wouldn’t help the people who depended on that aid. She owed it to them, and to ERAF and its donors, to fulfill the objectives of the mission. She could learn from this deception and come out stronger.
Kade’s whispered words haunted her.
No matter what happens, have faith in me, Tink.
15
Life goes on.
Their humanitarian delegation arrived in the city of Taiz three days before. It was a scenic trip through the highlands, featuring rocky outcroppings interspersed with green shrubbery and trees. Yara wondered how such breathtaking beauty existed in the backdrop of war. The town was controlled by the Saudi coalition, but the rebels controlled the borders surrounding it. In a show of support for the various humanitarian aid pouring into the city, both factions agreed to cooperate and put aside their differences as the peace talks were ongoing.
She met Tariq’s uncle, Nasir Haddad, on the night of their arrival. He looked nothing like Tariq. They shared the same lean build, but he had sharper, more sinister planes to his face that reminded her of raiding Persian Immortals. But maybe she was looking at him through the filter of what Denton had shown her—the manipulative dictator of his people.
Nasir welcomed her briefly with a nod and tight smile. Told her to make herself at home in yet another UN compound similar to the one in Aden.
She forced her pleasantries as she choked down the lashing words that wanted to burst from
her lips. She worried that the ERAF aid workers would get kicked out if she criticized their host, but an inner part of her mocked her cowardice, taunted that she was indeed just a pretty face. Self-doubt made her question Denton’s confidence in her by sending her those damning images, thinking she could make a difference.
After meeting with the aid workers, Nasir summoned Tariq to a meeting, probably to discuss the peace talks, and she never saw him again.
Their compound was former Yemeni barracks before the civil war. It provided temporary refuge from more than the elements. It was a refuge from war’s human toll.
The aid distribution center was situated between the border of Saudi-coalition-controlled Taiz and the rebel-stronghold of Ibb. The day they arrived, they visited the site to talk to the UN workers and other NGOs already on the ground while Tariq accompanied their aid trucks to the joint distribution warehouse. Their cargo consisted of food as well as non-food items like soap, disinfectant, and jerrycans to carry water.
Guards were everywhere, carrying AK-47s with bullets strapped across their body. Not particularly unexpected since this was the same scene in Darfur. Stryker told her it was to prevent looting, but Yara knew it was to discourage the bigger threat of AQAP showing up and stealing the aid donations or, worse, kidnapping aid workers for ransom.
Yara got along with Stryker okay. After what had happened with Kade, she was wary about getting too personal with a bodyguard. She hated to think Kade was right when he said he didn’t need to be her friend, that, to effectively protect her, their relationship had to remain impersonal. Despite Stryker’s cockiness and bluster during their first meeting, her new protector was content to remain close and in the background.
The days kept her busy. The nights were hard. Her thoughts drifted to Kade, dissecting his betrayal in her mind, her heart, desperate to find his reasons. At least he had the decency not to have sex with her knowing he was deceiving her. Still, it didn’t make her feel any better.
“Who pissed on your cereal?” Jill’s voice startled her, and she looked up to see the other woman lowering a plate of lentils on the table.
Yara was, indeed, scowling at her bowl of Wheaties. After three days of lentils or eggs, she craved the taste of cereal and milk, although she wondered if she was craving comfort for something else.
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Jill put on her nutritionist hat as she stared at Yara’s bowl with disapproval.
“Didn’t they call this the breakfast of champions?” Yara pointed out.
Derrick walked into the kitchen area and grabbed a protein bar from the basket sitting on the counter. She smiled inwardly when Jill turned her glare on the water engineer.
“I cooked all this food and no one is eating?” Jill grumbled. “Leo did the same thing this morning. Grabbed a bar and took off for the camp.”
“He left already?” Yara asked.
“He received a text from his UN counterpart for a consult.”
“Oh,” Yara’s eyes followed Derrick who was heading out the door. “And where are you off to?”
“Tariq needs me for a project.”
Jill plopped down on her chair, shaking her head as she started spooning the lentils on her plate.
“I’m sure Stryker and his men will eat what’s leftover,” Yara offered helpfully. She looked around. “Where is Stryker?”
“Having a briefing with his men. They’re out in the courtyard.”
Yara dug into her now soggy cereal and spooned it into her mouth. Kade looked so hot and in command when he gathered all his men around him. Ah! She needed to stop thinking about him.
“I’m fine,” Yara spoke to her Wheaties when she felt the other woman’s eyes on her.
Shovel cereal.
Chew.
Repeat.
“I know you’re fine,” Jill replied.
Shovel cereal.
Chew.
Repeat.
“Men are assholes,” Yara burst out, lowering her spoon. Apparently rage won out this time as her internal conflict of the “Kade situation,” as she called it, simmered over.
“Men are assholes,” Jill agreed.
“Sorry.” Yara puffed a self-derisive laugh. “I needed to get that out.”
The other woman’s eyes gleamed with understanding and emboldened Yara to unload the grievances in her chest.
“I mean, am I really that stupid that I actually let him sweet-talk me?”
Jill chuckled. “Darlin’, I’ve known sweet and there’s nothing sweet about Kade Spear. He’s all male surrounded by an air of danger. He’s irresistible and a hazard to the uninitiated.”
“Uninitiated?”
“I’ve been in humanitarian aid for the past eight years.” Jill averted her eyes and dipped the flatbread into the lentil stew before lifting it to her mouth and chewing slowly. Then she raised her gaze and stared at a spot on the wall, eyes nostalgic with a tad of bittersweet. “This life can get lonely when you flit from place to place. It’s difficult to form attachments. When you’re new, bright-eyed and idealistic—”
“This is not my first rodeo,” Yara cut in indignantly.
Jill smiled, staring at her. “Agreed, but how long do you usually stay?”
This time, it was Yara who looked away, her cheeks burning. She and a group of ERAF executives would stay for three days, the most was five.
“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, it takes a while for you to realize the relationships you form here don’t last.” There was the kindest look on Jill’s face and Yara wished a trapdoor would open beneath her and swallow her up. “You have to prepare yourself for heartache.”
Yara gave a pfft sound. “It’s not like that. Kade and I … we’ve only known each other for a few days. My anger at him, at SSRR, was because they used us to get to Nasir.” She knew she was lying. Of course, she was hurt. She might not love Kade, but she felt something between them. It was there, the butterflies, the anticipation, the promise of something more.
With his very public betrayal, she’d become naked walking carnage.
Every raw, living nerve exposed.
“It’s not uncommon for mercenaries to use foreign aid missions as cover.”
“I know that!” Yara grabbed her spoon and swiped at her cereal angrily. “Just couldn’t comprehend their plan. Assassinate Tariq’s uncle? I would never forgive myself if that happened.”
“Hey.” Jill reached out and rested a hand on her arm. “It’s not your fault. It’s just how the world works over here.”
“How do you stand it? Living this life for so long?”
Jill let go of her arm and continued eating. “I’m a misfit,” she declared, almost primly, and proud of it.
“What?”
“You know what they say … in Africa, or I guess in places like Yemen where the aid industry congregates, there are three types of people. The mercenaries, the missionaries, and the misfits. Some add medics and madmen. The five Ms of aid culture. I’m a misfit.”
“You’re not,” Yara said, but acknowledged it was an empty statement because she hardly knew Jill at all.
“I am,” the other woman said. “Don’t you think most aid workers are nuts to want to go into war zones?”
Yara laughed. “I see your point, but there are people who really have an altruistic spirit.”
“Of course, there are.” Jill smiled.
“There are also the adrenaline junkies,” Yara quipped.
Both women chuckled.
The door opened and Yara turned, expecting to see Stryker. Her bodyguard appeared and so did a familiar figure.
“Uncle Jeff!”
“Sorry about SSRR.”
Jeff had apologized repeatedly from the compound all the way to the UN campsite. She also repeatedly told him it wasn’t his fault. As soon as he heard about the security change and why, the ERAF CEO made arrangements to fly to Yemen.
“You should’ve told me you were coming.” Yara gripped the handle
bar as the Land Cruiser narrowly missed a pothole after they passed the UN checkpoint into the camp. Another vehicle carrying Stryker’s men followed behind.
“Sorry,” Stryker muttered from the front. Jill was sitting beside him.
“You would have talked me out of it,” Jeff said.
“Well, of course. Your health comes first.” She scrutinized his face. There were weary lines from travel and his face seemed redder. “What did your doctor say?”
“No stress.” Jeff quirked his mouth wryly.
Yara gave a long-suffering sigh and eyed him with fond censure. “Jill will make sure you eat right. Right, Jill?”
“Yes. I’m already thinking of what to cook tonight. I think a round of low-salt vegetarian dishes would be good.” The nutritionist glanced back at them and shot Yara a wink.
Jeff groaned. Stryker grumbled.
When her bodyguard parked the SUV, Jill jumped down and sprinted straight for the health tent where several internally displaced people (IDP) were seeking medical attention. Yara stepped off with Jeff and walked over to the UN registration center. With the newly implemented biometric registration, there was a digital footprint following each aid item into the hands of each recipient, thereby improving accountability.
Jeff approached a family, bent over, and talked to a toddler. Having spent almost twenty years running aid in Africa, he had picked up several languages and become fluent in them. The little boy smiled up at Jeff. He conversed with the family, and the look of relief, of hope on their faces, brought a smile to Yara’s own face.
“You okay to be here?” she asked.
“Yep, I’ll assist with registration.”
“I’ll see if Leo needs help.”
She walked over to the health tent where a mother and three children were being examined by Leo.
A boy and a girl hid behind their mother who was undernourished herself as evidenced by the jutting cheekbones and sunken eyes. The boy and the girl appeared to be under the age of five, but with their severely starved state, they could be older. But it was the toddler who almost moved Yara to tears. Sounds started at the back of her throat and she took a deep breath.
The Princess And The Mercenary Page 11