The Freedom Broker (Thea Paris #1)(54)

“You’d better work hard. But let’s face it: I’ll always be older, wiser, and tougher than you.”

“Yeah, eleven months’ worth. I can never catch up,” Rif said.

Nikos stumbled down the path toward the pool, a crystal tumbler in his hand filled to the brim with bourbon—and from the look in his eyes, it wasn’t his first.

“What are you two conspiring about?” He laughed, but it was forced. Her brother and Rif were an incendiary mix. Rif tensed beside her.

Aegis ran to greet Nikos, and her brother gave him an enthusiastic head-scratch.

“We’re just chilling before the party. Have the guests started arriving?” she asked.

“I think they’re all marching in now—in West Point fashion. Can’t believe we’re hosting a party to celebrate Soldier Boy joining the drone factory for American imperialist aggression.” Nikos downed a large gulp of bourbon, swaying where he stood.

“They teach you those big words at Harvard?” Rif asked.

Nikos stepped closer to Rif. “And then some. Should I speak in plainer language so you can understand?”

“Down, boys.” She should be giving Aegis that command, not these two young men.

Rif stood. He was an inch or two taller than Nikos.

Aegis paced by the pool, sensitive to the tension. Thea’s palms dampened. Trouble was brewing, and she didn’t want a fight to ruin Rif’s special day.

“Prepare yourself for a life of simple pleasures, because that’s all you’ll be able to afford.” Nikos’s eyes narrowed.

“I’d rather be a patriot than a man who’s only loyal to money.”

“Better to make money the old-fashioned way than watch it being flushed down the toilet of the military-industrial complex. Oops, am I talking too highbrow again?”

“You call inheriting the old-fashioned way to make money? Your father made money the old-fashioned way, starting with a mop in his hand and working his way up. The only effort you’ve made is to keep that silver spoon firmly clamped in your mouth.”

Not good. She should intercede, but each man would feel she was siding with the other.

Nikos’s voice lowered. “If you like being told when to eat, sleep, dress, and shit, the military is the perfect place for you. You’ll be taking orders, just like your father, for the rest of your life.”

Rif straightened his shoulders. “And you’ll be leeching off your dad’s millions for the rest of yours.”

“Don’t push your luck. The help can always be replaced,” Nikos said.

“You really want to do this?” Rif’s tone was measured, controlled.

Oh, God, it was like watching a traffic accident. She wanted to do something, but she was frozen.

“You don’t intimidate me, G.I. Joe.” Nikos tossed his bourbon toward Rif’s face, but Rif sidestepped, the liquid splashing onto the deck.

“Last chance to back off,” Rif said.

Her brother drew the heavy crystal tumbler back and hurled the glass. Rif ducked. The glass sailed by him and hit Thea squarely in the face, shattering.

A large shard carved into her cheek.

Stars. Sharp pain. A scream. Hers. She reeled from the blow. Blood streamed down the right side of her face.

Rif grabbed a towel and pressed it against her cheek. “Are you okay?”

“See what you’ve done now?” Nikos glared at him.

Papa and Hakan sprinted out of the house at her scream. Aegis nuzzled close, licking Thea as if to comfort her. Rif drove her to the emergency room, and twenty-two stitches later, they’d missed the entire party. Papa blamed Nikos, but she couldn’t. Not entirely. The night her brother had been kidnapped, she hadn’t done anything to help. Life gave you the same lessons in different forms until you owned them. Well, she got it now. Take charge, and don’t freeze.

She’d had a black eye and a permanent scar on her face. She could’ve tried plastic surgery, but the doctors weren’t optimistic. So she bore it proudly, the scar serving as a daily reminder always to be brave, no matter what the cost.

And never to recoil from conflict.

“Look, look!” Brianna’s voice cut through her memories. “I see something.”

Another mirage? Movement in the distance caught Thea’s attention. Dust kicking up on the horizon. She kept searching the endless desert. A caravan of vehicles was barreling toward them.

In this country filled with despots and warlords, she just hoped these arrivals were friendly.





Chapter Thirty-Six



Thirty minutes later, the distant haze on the horizon blossomed into a billowing cloud of reddish brown. Thea strained to identify five Toyota Land Cruisers racing toward them. Brianna was elated, her energy resurging. Peter’s face relaxed.

In contrast, tightness settled into Rif’s jaw. A similar trepidation hovered in Thea’s mind. They were in the middle of a war-torn country—the last thing they needed was to be “rescued” by guerrillas or other hostiles.

The caravan finally reached the crash site, and the Land Cruisers parked one behind the other. Men wearing desert fatigues exited the vehicles, brandishing AK-47s. One of the soldiers opened the rear door of the third truck. A huge man climbed out, dwarfing the others with height and shoulders that could span the equator.