Page 43 of Steel Vengeance
“No reason.” He cleared his throat. “When did he offer you the job?”
“A few weeks after that. We’d been seeing each other pretty regularly, and one evening he said he had an opportunity for me. At first, I wasn’t sure what he meant, but then he explained he worked for the U.S. government, and they were looking for someone with my skillset. He said he’d put in a good word if I was interested.”
Stitch gave her an intense look, as if he were trying to read her. “Were you?”
“Not really. I enjoyed my teaching job. I loved the kids.”
He frowned. “So why did you take it?”
She thought back to Matthew. How he’d told her how special she was, how unique. That her ability to read people was rare, and highly sought after. Speaking Urdu made her even more desirable. He’d flattered her—and she’d fallen for it.
“They offered me more than double what I was earning as a teacher,” she admitted.
The money had been an added bonus. But really, if she was honest with herself, it was because she’d wanted to see more of Matthew.
He nodded, as if that explained it.
“I was enrolled in a training program for ten months, and after that, I got my first assignment—this one.” She spread her hands. “And here I am.”
“You said you hadn’t spoken to Matthew?” There was something in his tone that irked her, put her on the defensive.
She bristled. “Not since I got here, but he told me not to contact him. The funny thing is, I didn’t see him much during my training either, I was so busy with the program, and he was away a lot. Sometimes I find it hard to remember what he looks like. Do you know what I mean?”
There was a silence, then she remembered his wife.
Crap.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean?—”
Shit, now she’d put her foot in it.
“I still see her face,” he said quietly. “Sometimes, I close my eyes and she’s there, smiling at me. Then other times—” He faded out.
“How long ago did… did it happen?” she asked softly.
“Fourteen months ago. I wasn’t there when they hit. I’d gone to the nearest town for medical supplies. I was heading back when I saw the smoke.”
Sloane winced. “God, that’s awful.”
“I rolled into the village, and it was gone. Leveled. Bullet holes everywhere. A local Taliban militia had torn through and wiped it out, then torched it.”
“Omari’s men?” she asked quietly.
He gave a sharp nod.
His jaw clenched, hands balled into fists, his whole body tensing like a coiled spring. The hatred was practically radiating off him.
“Omari was the local Taliban leader. The village sat right in the middle of a new drug route through the mountains. They wanted to use it as a checkpoint, but the elders refused. Our village was poor, but we were honest. No one wanted to be part of their drug trade.”
“And that’s why they attacked?” she asked.
“Yeah. Sent a message. My father-in-law was an elder. They took him out first. Only a few survived. We buried the dead up in the mountains.”
Sloane swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry.”
He didn’t respond for a moment, eyes staring off into the distance.
“I get why you want him dead,” she said softly. “I think I would too.” She was surprised by the antagonism she felt towards the Afghan, who up until now had been a nameless, faceless target. Now she hated him for what he’d done to the villagers, to Stitch’s wife, to him. He’d completely destroyed their lives. Nobody had the right to do that.