You Only Love Twice (Masters and Mercenaries #8)(117)

They would be on the run and because the CIA wouldn’t acknowledge their presence in the country, they would be on their own. They would split up, and she was a little worried she might not see her brother again.

“Jesse would want you to be safe. Maybe you should go to Loa Mali with Kamdar’s people and wait for us there.”

The king had already agreed to give them sanctuary. Of course, he’d actually clapped his hands and pronounced the whole thing a party, but it was really sanctuary. But Ten wasn’t getting rid of her until they absolutely had to break up the team. “Jesse can’t always get what he wants. I’m not leaving this country without him. So we better get ready.”

“Hey, Hutch has something and I was talking to Kamdar about the exit plan. We’ve got everything ready, but he thinks we need to move soon. I agree. The Agency knows where we are. They’ll send someone soon,” Erin said from the doorway. Her eyes lit up. “Oh, he’s so f*cked up. Did you break his nose? Can I break some of his fingers?”

Albertson moaned and started crying.

“How did you get past Eve?” Ten asked with a shake of his head.

“Didn’t have to,” Erin replied. “Got past Kai. He likes a little psycho in his chicks, if you know what I mean. And I’m serious. Hutch caught the chopper on a couple of cameras. He’s almost certain it was headed for the beach.”

Then that was where they were going.



Jesse let his head fall forward as they took him out of the shackles and began to drag him across the floor. Blood soaked his back. He wasn’t sure how long they’d gone on. Twenty lashes? Fifty? He’d lost count, lost all sense of time. He was fairly certain they’d left him hanging by the shackles for a while.

He thought they would drop him onto the cot, but they kept going. He forced his head up, his heart threatening to pound through his rib cage. Where were they taking him?

He was certain they hadn’t left Dubai. He could still hear the ocean and he’d heard someone talking about the conference. They were still close, and if they were close then Phoebe and Si would be looking for him. They would have a chance, but if he got moved to another country… It had taken them months to find him before, and the Caliph would be smarter this time.

No. Al Fareed. His name was Hani al Fareed and Jesse wasn’t going to give him that power anymore. Like f*cking Voldemort.

Phoebe would be proud of him.

Power. There was power in knowledge, in intelligence. He was supposed to do that. Gather intelligence. He’d forgotten it the first time. He’d given in to pain and despair, but he was more than just a grunt. He looked down at the floor. Polished marble. Expensive. He was in a residence. There were closed doors to his left and a half wall to his right. Upstairs. At least two floors. He would have to look out that window to figure out how far up he was.

They walked past a guard who stood by the stairwell, an AK-47 over his shoulder. He was lazy, leaning against the wall and not paying a lick of attention to anything but his phone. Jesse’s bodyguards muttered about it under their breaths, complaining that the guards here in Dubai were slacking.

He could use that.

“You need to get this one cleaned up and ready for transport. The boss will be in here soon. We’re leaving for the airport after his speech at the conference, so you need to keep this shit calm for the next few hours,” the larger of the two men said, this time in English.

He was dragged into a much bigger room, this one painted white. Antiseptic hit his nostrils and he had another shitty moment.

There had been a doctor. How could he have forgotten? There was always a trip to the “clinic” after the sessions. Couldn’t have the dog dying, now could they? The Cal…al Fareed would join him and the f*cker would talk.

So much damn talking. Jesse was pretty sure he preferred the whip to having to listen to that f*cker talk about how screwed up Western society was.

“Ah, Mr. Murdoch. Lovely to see you again.” The doctor was a skinny fellow with a receding hairline. He spoke English with a British accent, but Jesse thought he remembered hearing the man was from Pakistan. “It’s been a while since I had a subject. Our Caliph has been playing by the rules since he lost you. Put him on the bed. Facedown. I need to clean those wounds.”

Jesse groaned as they shoved him onto the medical bed. It was taller than a normal cot and twice as uncomfortable. His body ached, but he knew what was coming would be so much worse.

Could he do it? Could he run if he had the chance? He wouldn’t let them kill him. He had far too much to live for. This wasn’t some insane suicide mission. He would take the pain if he had to, endure the humiliation, but if he had a shot, he would take that, too.

The doctor seemed to be preparing some sort of tray, likely filled with shit that would make him howl. “I was surprised you would even place yourself on the same continent as the Caliph. You seemed a bit smarter of a lad.”

Jesse groaned and pretended to try to move his head. He let it fall back down, a conscious show of weakness. Let them think he couldn’t move, but already he felt adrenaline starting to pump through his system. He’d heard the door close, but not the snick of a lock. He was alone with the doctor.

“And you’ve lost some of your will.” The doctor clucked like a sad mother hen as he brought the tray over. Jesse could see it sitting almost within grasp of his left hand. There were a few bottles on it, some bandages, and what looked like tape. He caught the gleam of something metal. Scissors for the tape. And naturally there was a hypodermic needle. Narcotics. They loved their narcotics. He couldn’t let them inject him. He would be helpless when they came, unable to signal to his team.