Page 101

Gilded walls. Canopied bed. And a tall man pacing restlessly across a silk carpet.

A smaller man sat on a low stool, needle and thread in his hand, a tuxedo jacket draped over his lap.

Uncle Shit. And the Freedo

m Fighter valet.

Uncle Shit snapped out what sounded like an insult. Dec looked at Alex, who’d studied languages and was fluent in several. Alex rolled his eyes, mimicked a needle going through cloth, and pointed to his watch.

Dec understood.

Uncle Shit was pissed off at how long the valet was taking to sew on a button.

The smaller man looked up and spoke. No translation needed. He was offering an apology—at least he was pretending to offer one.

Uncle Shit scowled. He swung towards the smaller man and said something, his tone imperious and insulting.

Dec used the opportunity to make his move.

The dictator heard him, spun around, opened his mouth—

Dec jammed the butt of his rifle into the man’s belly.

The guy grunted and doubled over. Dec caught him, jerked him upright, balled up his fist and punched him in the face. Once. Twice. And again…

“Dude,” Chay said quietly, “you have good reason to kill him—except I don’t think the idea was to give the people of Qaram damaged goods. But, hey, you want this to go down a different way? No sweat. We’ll all be cool with it. Your call.”

Chay’s words got through Dec’s rage. They had a deal with the Freedom Fighters and he would honor it.

He moved back. Blanked his mind to the fury inside him.

“Yeah. Okay. Maguire. Secure the son of a bitch.”

Aidan slapped duct tape over Cyrus’s mouth. Danny yanked his hands behind his back and zip-tied them together.

The smaller man stood up. He walked up to what was soon to become the former ruler of Qaram, rose on his toes and spat full in his face.

“Your highness,” he said in perfect English. “Your jacket is ready.”

He dropped the jacket to the floor.

Dec grinned and patted the valet on the shoulder. “Good job,” he said. “Is anyone else here?”

The valet shook his head. “Only me.”

“Will you be okay?”

The valet pulled a SIG-SAUER that seemed almost as big as he was from under his jacket and pointed it at the dictator’s head.

“I will be fine.”

“I can see that,” Dec said.

“Do not concern yourself with us, Lieutenant. We have planned for our liberation since the death of our true king. News of Cyrus’s plans for war and for an alliance with the terrorist Amjad served only to make us move more quickly.”

“The other guards?”

The valet grinned. “They love vodka. The terrorist’s men as well. Many are already sleeping like babies.” The valet’s grin disappeared. “Before the night ends, they will all sleep forever.”