Page 28 of Ash Storm

The man oozed power and wealth.

He wore a simple white shirt and linen pants, and no jewelry except for a thick gold and diamond watch on his left wrist. It wasn’t so much what he was wearing, though Reka had the feeling the soft leather slippers on his feet alone cost more than she made in a month. It was more how he was wearing it, and the way he stood, as if everything around them belonged to him.

His hair was the kind of black that didn’t come from nature, his short, carefully groomed beard a more natural salt and pepper color. He had eyes the color of thick caramel.

He pierced Reka with a hard, intense stare, not saying anything for the longest time. Reka straightened to her full five-seven height—pointless, since he was still half a head taller, but it made her feel better. She wished she wasn’t half-naked.

“You are both as beautiful as I was told,” he said. Reka didn’t miss the fact that he spent much longer looking at Chloe. And she wanted to stand in front of her friend, to protect her from that hard, lecherous stare, but her legs refused to move. It was all she could do to stay standing.

Eventually, the man—Ahmet—turned back to Thick Mustache.

“You have a good eye, Yusuf.”

Thick Mustache visibly swelled with pride, his already barrel-like width puffing out further.

“Thank you, efendim.” He looked like he was about to weep with happiness. “If I pleased you, I am glad.”

Afsan walked over to a sideboard and opened a small drawer. “Your devotion deserves a reward,” he said. When he turned around, there was a small jeweled gun in his hand. Thick Mustache barely had a chance to blink before the shot was fired.

Reka stared as a small hole appeared in the middle of Thick Mustache’s forehead. He fell down heavily, like a fallen tree. A thin strip of blood poured out of the hole and dripped down the side of his face.

Chloe gasped.

The English man chuckled lightly.

Afsan lowered the gun and rang a little bell. Within a matter of seconds, two attendants ran in.

“Clean this up,” he said, in the same irritated tone of voice another man might use after dropping a cup of tea on a fine rug.

Inside her head, Reka started screaming.

She stepped closer to Chloe, whose slight frame shook like a leaf.

“Fool,” Afsan said. “I spent all day yesterday smoothing things out with the police, reassuring them I had nothing to do with this. Apparently, your red-headed friend was kicking up quite a fuss.” He sighed, looking behind them at the remaining man, who stood with his arms crossed across his thick chest. “It would have been lovely to have all three of you, though.”

“I reached out to several contacts, Ahmed,” the Englishman said.

The Englishman’s use of the man’s first name struck her.

They’re friends.

“There were people asking questions at the US embassy at first, but they stopped shortly after. I think our police did their job and convinced them to look elsewhere. Their inquiries should be headed towards Bucharest.”

Reka’s heart dropped.

No.

Please, no.

Nobody would find them in Bucharest.

“Excellent. That’s excellent,” Afsan said. “You think it’s safe to keep them, then?” Again, there was no inflection in his voice. It was as if he were discussing a horse or a dog, rather than a human being.

“Nobody knows they’re here, Ahmed. You might as well enjoy them.”

Afsan sighed, his attention turning back to the women. “I should kill the two of you.”

He reached out to touch Chloe’s hair. Reka tensed. Before she could move, the Englishman stepped forward and pulled her arms painfully behind her back.