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The man’s face darkens, his eyes blazing. “You dare speak to me like that?”

She doesn’t get a chance to backtrack.

He raises the gun to her head—and pulls the trigger.

Nineteen

Mick

Do. Not. Panic.

Brooke is alive. You just saw her. Samantha is too.

For now.

The words circle like vultures in my skull, slamming again and again as I watch in horror. The woman Adena confirmed as Mona drops in a heap, blood spattering the table and laptop.

Samantha doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak. Just stands there—motionless.

“Mona forgot who she was dealing with,” Caleb mutters. “Muslim extremist with a superiority complex? No way he’d take orders from an infidel woman.”

My heart hammers. Sweat beads down my face, and my T-shirt sticks to my back. The room is coiled tight with readiness. The van is packed. We’ve rehearsed the plan four times.

I know my position. I know what’s expected. But the adrenaline’s making me pace.

Delilah ran facial recognition from the photo Adena sent—confirmed it. The man in the room is Amer El-Maati.

A name that shouldn’t be real. A ghost. If he’s here—really here—this isn’t just about Brooke and Samantha anymore. It’s bigger. Much bigger.

Now, he leans over Mona’s laptop, calm as anything, retrieving the money he must’ve paid her—wiping her out like it’s just another transaction.

Behind us, Adena groans. “Delilah opened the file. She and Zack read some of it. It’s bad. Really bad.”

As much as I want to know what’s on that memory card, I can’t take my eyes off the screen. Samantha is still upright. Barely.

“We have to get in there,” I grind out. “He’s going to kill her too.”

Caleb lifts a hand—calm. Infuriating. “Not yet. Move too soon and they shoot Samantha and Brooke.”

“What’s on the file?” Jake asks.

I barely listen, eyes locked on Samantha, trying to gauge how much longer she can hold it together.

But what she says next punches the air from my lungs.

“You should have killed her earlier. We could have saved a lot of time.”

What the?—?

His expression darkens. He slaps her—hard—driving her into the wall.

“Where is it?” he snarls.

Too much, too fast. My head spins. How much more can she take?

“No wonder they want it,” Adena mutters. “The damage they could do with that amount of info would be catastrophic.”

I whip around, confused.