Page 19

Azrael

The clubhouse lights were dimmed low, casting long shadows across the worn leather furniture and scarred wooden tables. My brothers and I sat in various states of attention, some nursing beers, others with hands clenched into fists, but all of them were focused on the woman sitting across from us. Mazida Quadir, her hijab pulled tight around her face as if to shield herself from the very memories she was about to share, took a deep breath that seemed to rattle through her entire body. Her dark eyes, rimmed with the remnants of fading bruises, met mine for the briefest moment before she began her story.

“Thank you for seeing me,” she said, her accented voice barely above a whisper. “I would not have come, but Zara insisted. She said… she said you needed to know it was worth the cost.”

Charming, our president, nodded. “Your daughter’s family now. That makes you family too.”

A ghost of a smile touched her lips before fading. Her fingers twisted the fabric of her long skirt. These clothes hung on her frame as if borrowed, emphasizing the weight she’d lost. Someone had gone to her place early this morning to pack a few of her things. Zara had thought it might make her mom feel more at ease.

“I’d been home for an hour,” she began. “Someone knocked on the door. When I peered out, I could only see the back of a man in a suit. I thought perhaps he was lost, or at the wrong address.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. Watching her was like watching a wounded animal, unsure whether to flee or fight.

“The man worked for my brother, Balal. Before I could run, two more men pushed their way inside.” Her voice grew hollow as she continued. “They told me Balal had been searching for me for years. That he had never forgotten the shame I brought to my family by marrying an American.”

“But the bed… it looked like you’d been dragged from it, and a vase had been knocked over,” I said.

Her brow furrowed. “I didn’t do those things.”

Well, that answered one question. Someone had gone back to her place. But I still didn’t know why.

Mazida’s hands trembled as she reached for the glass of water in front of her. I noticed Gator shift in his seat, his gaze never leaving her face. There was something in his expression beyond the typical protective instinct we all felt toward club family -- something more personal, more intense. It made me wonder what they’d talked about while she’d been at his house overnight.

“They drugged me,” she continued after taking a sip. “When I woke, I was in a small room. My brother was there.” Her voice caught on the word “brother,” as if the familial connection made the betrayal that much more painful. “He told me I belonged to him now, that I would return to Tel Aviv and be properly married to a man of his choosing.”

I felt my jaw tighten, memories of my own mother’s bruised face surfacing unbidden. She’d endured similar controlling bullshit from men who claimed to have her best interests at heart. The parallel wasn’t lost on me.

“Balal was… very angry when I refused,” Mazida said, her hand unconsciously rising to her face, fingers lightly tracing a bruise on her cheekbone. “He said I was still his responsibility. That no matter how long I had been gone, my life was not my own.”

Gator leaned forward, his face creased with concern. “Did he hurt you bad?” he asked, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it.

Mazida’s gaze darted to him, then away. “Yes,” she whispered. “When he realized I would not cooperate, he…” She paused, swallowing hard. “He beat me. Said he would beat the American out of me. That I had forgotten who I was, what I was.”

The room had gone completely still. Even the usual background noises of the clubhouse -- the hum of the refrigerator, the distant sound of bikes in the compound -- seemed to have fallen silent. In that moment, there was only Mazida’s voice and the collective rage building among my brothers.

“After, when I was still conscious, he told me about Carter.” Her voice cracked. Carter Colton -- Zara’s father. “Balal said Carter’s death was not an accident. That he had arranged it, made it look like a heart attack, but it had taken him years to find us again afterward. I hadn’t been able to stay in the home I’d shared with my husband. It was too painful.”

“Son of a bitch,” someone muttered behind me.

I watched Gator’s knuckles go white as he gripped the arms of his chair. The man had always had a soft spot for mothers -- something about his own upbringing he rarely discussed. But seeing Mazida’s pain seemed to be cutting him deeper than expected.

“They kept me in that room for what felt like days,” she continued. “Different men would come in. They would hurt me when I refused to comply with their demands. They wanted information about Zara, about my life here. They…” She closed her eyes briefly. “They tried to break me.”

I felt a familiar darkness rising within me, the kind that had gotten me my road name. The name I’d earned for the cold, calculating rage that took over when someone hurt those who couldn’t protect themselves.

Her brother and his men had seen her as weak, as nothing more than property to be controlled. They’d made a fatal error. They hadn’t realized she’d had people who would come for her. Of course, Mazida herself hadn’t known it.

“Even though you saved me, brought me home, my brother… Balal is still out there. He will not stop. He told me… he told me he wants Zara too. Says she belongs in Tel Aviv, living under proper supervision. That he will not allow his niece to marry an American like her mother did.” Her voice hardened. “I will die before I let him near my daughter.”

I glanced around the room, reading the faces of my brothers. There was no question about what would happen next. This was exactly the kind of situation that bound us together -- protecting our own from outside threats.

“My brother… he has powerful friends. In Israel and here.”

I watched as Gator’s eyes narrowed, his gaze never leaving Mazida’s face. He seemed to be studying every mark, every flinch, cataloging the damage done to her. I wondered if perhaps he’d finally found a woman who would hold his attention. Of course, that didn’t mean Mazida would be interested.

“I should not have come here,” Mazida said suddenly, misreading our silence. “I do not want to bring trouble to your door.”

“We understand,” I said firmly. The words fell from my lips without thought, driven by the memories of my mother’s suffering.

I felt a familiar weight settle in my chest -- not just anger or the desire for vengeance, but something deeper. In that moment of heavy silence, I made a silent vow. Balal Quadir would never touch Mazida again. Not while I still drew breath. Some men deserved to die, and from the sound of it, Balal had earned his death many times over.

I stood up before I’d even realized I was moving, my chair scraping harshly against the wooden floor. “I will protect you both.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with promise and the weight of my own history. They all focused on me, but I kept my gaze fixed on Mazida, her face a mirror of my mother’s from decades past.

Mazida looked up at me, surprise flickering across her bruised features. She hadn’t expected such immediate resolve, such certainty. But she didn’t know what I knew -- that the ghosts of our pasts have a way of returning, demanding justice.

“Azrael’s right,” Charming said. “This isn’t up for debate. You already know he and your daughter are together. Which makes you his mother-in-law, or close enough. Your problems are our problems.”

Around the room, heads nodded in agreement. Ripper knocked back the rest of his whiskey, setting the glass down with purpose. Magnus leaned forward, his usual relaxed posture replaced by something more predatory. But it was Gator’s reaction that caught my attention. Yeah, that fucker was already invested in Mazida. I only hoped he knew what the hell he was doing.

“My brother has resources,” Mazida said softly. “He has connections with a powerful crime family in Tel Aviv. I don’t want to put you in danger.”

I remained standing, feeling the familiar cold focus settle over me. “With all due respect, ma’am, we have our own connections.”

A subtle change rippled through the room -- shoulders straightened, jaws tightened. This was what we lived for. Not just the brotherhood or the freedom of the road, but these moments when we could use our strength to shield those who needed it.

“Tell us about your brother,” Charming prompted. “Everything you know about his operations, his people, how he thinks.”

“I can tell you what I know from before and what I observed while I was with him recently… before he gave me to another organization as part of a deal.”

As Mazida began speaking again, filling in details about Balal’s criminal connections and methods, my mind drifted. I wondered what she thought about me and Zara being together. I wasn’t the type of man most mothers wanted their daughters to date, much less live with.

“He will send more men,” Mazida was saying, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of her hijab. “He told me he would never stop looking, that I would always belong to him. But I belong to no one. Not anymore.”

“Damn straight,” Gator murmured, speaking for the first time since Mazida had begun her story. There was admiration in his tone. Recognition of her strength.

Charming leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “We need to decide how to handle this. Defensive is good, but it won’t solve the problem.”

“We need to send a message,” Magnus suggested, his voice calm but his gaze cold.

“What about drawing him out?” I suggested, the plan forming as I spoke. “If Balal is as obsessed with controlling his sister as it sounds, he won’t stop. He’ll send more men or come himself eventually. We can use that.”

The room fell silent as everyone considered this approach. I could see the calculations happening behind each man’s eyes -- weighing risks, considering angles.

“It’s too dangerous,” Mazida protested. “I won’t be bait for my brother.”

“Not you,” I clarified. “Information. Controlled leaks about your whereabouts, your routine. We create opportunities that aren’t really there.”

Charming nodded slowly. “Could work. We’d need to be careful though. Make sure Mazida and Zara are actually somewhere completely different.”

“My house,” Gator said suddenly. “Mazida can keep staying with me. I’ve got the space, and no one would think to look there.”

I studied him closely, trying to read the motivation behind his offer. Gator was a private man -- his home was his sanctuary. Offering it up wasn’t something he did lightly. One night had been strange enough, but this was entirely different.

“You sure about that?” Charming asked, clearly thinking the same thing.

Gator nodded, his attention still on Mazida. “Absolutely. Place has good sightlines. Easy to secure.” He finally looked away from her to address Charming directly. “Plus, I’ve got nothing else going on. Can keep an eye on things 24/7.”

It made sense from a tactical perspective, but there was more to it than that. I’d seen that look before -- men who recognized something in a woman that called to them. Not just attraction, but a deeper pull.

“I don’t want to impose,” Mazida said softly.

“You wouldn’t be,” Gator replied, his voice gentler than I’d ever heard it. “It would be my honor to help.”

The room fell silent again, but this time the silence held a different quality -- like we were all witnessing something unexpected unfold between these two damaged souls.

Charming cleared his throat. “All right, that’s settled then. Gator’s place for Mazida. And Zara will obviously be with Azrael.”

“And Balal?” Magnus asked, bringing us back to the original problem.

I felt my expression harden. “Like I said, we draw him out. Make him think he’s got a chance at grabbing Mazida again. But when he makes his move…” I let the sentence hang unfinished.

“We end the threat permanently,” Charming finished for me, his voice matter-of-fact.

Mazida’s head snapped up, her dark eyes wide. “You mean kill him.”

It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Yes.”

I expected protest, hesitation at least. He was her brother, after all. Blood. But Mazida’s expression shifted, hardened in a way that reminded me again of my mother in her rare moments of defiance.

“He killed my husband,” she said quietly. “Threatened my daughter. And he will never stop. If this is what must be done, then let it be done.”

The weight of her permission settled over us like a blessing and a burden both. This wasn’t just club business anymore. It was justice.

“We’ll need intel,” Ripper said, breaking the heavy moment. “Shade can dig into your brother’s movements, track when he might come stateside.”

As the room broke into tactical discussions, I watched Gator move to sit closer to Mazida. He didn’t touch her, didn’t crowd her space, but positioned himself like a shield between her and the door. It was subtle, probably unconscious on his part, but it spoke volumes.

“You okay with all this?” I asked, dropping into the empty seat beside her.

Mazida considered the question, her hands folded tightly in her lap. “I left my home country to escape men who thought they owned me. I’d fallen in love, got married. Then my husband brought me to this country. We built a life here, raised my daughter to be strong and independent.” She looked up at me, old pain and new determination stamped on her features. “I will not let my brother take that away. Not after everything it cost me to build it.”

I nodded, understanding completely. Some choices weren’t really choices at all, but necessities.

“Your mother,” she said suddenly, her perception catching me off guard. “She suffered similarly, didn’t she? I see it in your eyes when you look at me.”

The question hit me like a physical blow. I rarely spoke of my mother, had buried those memories deep. But Mazida had seen through me with the perception of someone who recognized a fellow survivor.

“Yes,” I admitted, my voice rough. “My mother was gang-raped. Ended up pregnant with me. Her family threw her out since she was no longer of use to them as a bargaining chip.”

“And she didn’t survive it,” Mazida guessed quietly.

“She did, but… Cancer eventually took her from me.”

Mazida reached out tentatively, her hand hovering near mine before gently touching my knuckles. “Then I am doubly grateful for your protection. You’re fighting old battles as well as new ones.”

Her insight was uncomfortable but accurate. I’d joined the Devils’ Boneyard seeking brotherhood but had found purpose in our code -- protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves, standing against men like those who had hurt my mother. Like Balal.

“We won’t fail,” I promised her, and myself.

Across the room, Charming called us back to order, laying out the beginnings of a plan. As everyone focused on his words, I caught Gator’s eye. A silent message passed between us -- an understanding, brother to brother. Whatever his reasons, whatever drew him to Mazida, I knew he would protect her with his life if necessary. And I would do the same for both women.

* * *

The clubhouse had mostly emptied out after our meeting with Mazida. Charming had taken her to Gator’s place personally, with three brothers riding escort. I found myself drawn to the back corner of the building where a soft blue glow spilled from beneath a partially closed door. Without knocking, I pushed it open to find Shade hunched over his laptop, the light from the screen reflecting off his glasses. His fingers moved across the keyboard with practiced efficiency, lines of code scrolling past faster than I could track them.

“You got anything yet?” I asked, dropping into the chair beside him.

Shade didn’t look up, still focused on the screen. “Depends on what you mean by ‘anything.’” His voice was low, slightly raspy from too many cigarettes and not enough sleep. “Got plenty of somethings. Just trying to figure out which somethings matter.”

The room he’d claimed as his workspace was a study in organized chaos. Three monitors of varying sizes were arranged in a semicircle on the desk, each displaying different information. Hard drives and various electronic components I couldn’t name were stacked on shelves along the wall. The air smelled of coffee and the faint ozone scent of overheated electronics.

I leaned back in my chair, giving him space to work. Shade didn’t like being rushed or crowded, especially when he was digging through digital rabbit holes.

“Balal Quadir,” he said finally, pushing his glasses up with one finger. “Interesting character. Officially, he runs an import/export business specializing in Middle Eastern textiles and art. Unofficially…” He clicked something, and one of the side monitors filled with images -- surveillance photos, news clippings, police reports.

“As you already know, unofficially, he’s connected to the biggest crime syndicate in Tel Aviv,” Shade continued. “Not just connected -- embedded. Married the oldest daughter fifteen years ago. Since then, he’s been their primary connection to a network of antiquities smuggling that stretches across the Middle East. In addition, he’s known to also trade in young girls from time to time, selling them off as brides to wealthy clients.”

I studied the photos, trying to get a sense of the man. Balal Quadir looked nothing like his sister. Where Mazida had a softness to her features despite her strength, Balal’s face was all hard angles and cold calculation. In most of the photos, he wore expensive suits and a perpetual scowl.

“Interpol has a file on him,” Shade said, pulling up another window. “Never enough evidence to charge him with anything major, but he’s been questioned in connection with everything from art theft to human trafficking.”

“If that fucker comes over here and tries that shit, he’ll find out why people fear me.”

Shade nodded, his fingers never stopping their movement across the keyboard.

“What about his reach?” I asked. “Mazida said he has connections here in the States.”

“Working on that,” Shade muttered, switching to another program. “There’s definitely movement. His company has a satellite office in New York. Shipments coming in monthly through there and through Miami.”

“Legit shipments?”

A humorless smile flickered across Shade’s face. “On paper, sure. But there’s a pattern to the customs inspections -- or rather, to the lack of them. Someone’s being paid off.”

I wasn’t surprised. Money opened doors, especially in ports where underpaid officials handled thousands of containers daily.

“Here’s where it gets interesting,” Shade said, pulling up an email chain. The text was in Hebrew, but he scrolled to a translation he’d already prepared. “This was sent right before Mazida was grabbed.”

I leaned closer, reading the translated message:

Target confirmed at location. Proceeding as discussed. Local assets in place to assist with extraction and transport. Will confirm when package is secure .

“Local assets,” I said, the implications immediately clear. “He’s got people here. Not just in New York or Miami.”

“Exactly.” Shade clicked through several more screens, pulling up what looked like bank records. “Found these transfers to a shell company based in Phoenix. Five payments over the last six months, each for exactly $25,000. Same for Colorado Springs, and again in Panama City.”

“Retainer payments,” I guessed. “Setting up the grab.”

Shade nodded. “And this is where it gets complicated. The shell company -- Desert Sun Security Consulting -- it’s owned by this man.” He pulled up a driver’s license photo of a hard-faced man in his fifties. “James Mercer. Former military, former FBI, now supposedly running a private security firm.”

My stomach tightened. “Law enforcement connections.”

“Not just any connections,” Shade said, his voice dropping even lower. “Mercer still consults for the Bureau occasionally. Has friends in Homeland Security. If he’s working with Balal…”

“Then Balal has eyes and ears in places we can’t touch,” I finished.

The implications hit me hard. This wasn’t just about protecting Mazida from her brother’s direct attacks. We were potentially going up against people with badges, with the authority to make our lives hell -- or worse.

“There’s more,” Shade said, bringing up another document. “These are flight records. Balal Quadir entered the U.S. through JFK about three hours after you got back to the U.S.”

“He’s here?” I straightened in my chair. “In New York?”

“Was in New York,” Shade corrected. “There’s a private jet registered to one of his shell companies that flew from New York to Northwest Florida yesterday morning. No passenger manifest filed, but…”

“But it’s him,” I said with certainty. “He’s not trusting this to his men anymore. He’s coming for her himself.”

Shade nodded, finally looking away from the screen. “And he’s bringing friends. Customs records show four men entered with him. Listed as business associates. All Israeli citizens with military backgrounds.”

I stood up, pacing the small room as I processed this information. Balal was less than an hour’s drive away, with trained muscle and potential law enforcement connections. The situation had just gotten significantly more dangerous.

“We need to move Mazida,” I said. “Gator’s place isn’t secure enough.”

“It’s going to have to work,” Shade said. “There’s nowhere to move her, and we can’t be sure he hasn’t already connected her to our club. He may have eyes on this place.”

“What about the Mercer connection?” I asked. “If he’s got FBI ties, he might be able to track club movements.”

Shade’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “That’s the other thing. Found some chatter on encrypted channels. Not enough to get specifics, but enough to know they’re looking at known associates of Zara. I have a feeling Balal suspects his niece sent someone after her mother.”

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered. I leaned against the wall, thinking through our options. “Keep digging into Mercer. Find out everything -- his habits, his weaknesses, anyone he’s close to that might be leverage. Do we know why they didn’t try to take Zara when they grabbed Mazida?”

“No. Only thing I can figure is they weren’t sure where she was at the time, or she was in a place that was too crowded or secure for them to grab her.” He paused. “And Balal?”

“Track his movements. I want to know where he’s staying, who he’s meeting with. If he’s in town, there’ll be a trail.”

“On it.” Shade paused, glancing up at me over his glasses. “This is bigger than we thought, Azrael. I mean, we knew they had connections, but this is… It’s insane everything they have access to.”

I met his gaze steadily. “We have connections too.”

I turned to leave, needing to report these findings to Charming. Balal Quadir had made a critical error in coming here personally. He thought he was the hunter, but he’d just put himself within our reach.

And unlike his sister, he wouldn’t be escaping.