Page 63 of Steel Vengeance
He shook his head, cringing at the memory.
Idiot.
Passengers started trickling out into the Arrivals hall. The flight from Washington D.C. had landed. The crowd thickened, and then he saw Blade, grinning at him with his rucksack slung over one shoulder.
They bro-hugged, clapping each other on the back.
“Good to see you, man,” Stitch said.
“You too,” Blade replied.
“How was the flight?”
“Don’t know. Slept through most of it.”
Stitch laughed. Blade hadn’t changed.
“Pat figured I could use some backup, huh?” Stitch asked. Joe’s dad treated them all like sons after losing his own. He used to be a SEAL commander, but now he ran Blackthorn Security, a private outfit comprised of ex-special ops guys and SEALs. They handled everything from kidnapping and ransom to hostage rescue and black ops for the government and from what he’d heard, they were getting quite the reputation.
“Yeah, you know how he is. Sent me to help you track down this CIA handler, Jeremy Vale.”
Stitch nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got a lead. We’ll check it out tonight. How’s Lilly?” Blade’s wife, a military software designer, was smart and beautiful, and Stitch was pleased they’d finally gotten together.
“She’s pissed I’m here. Too close to Afghanistan for her liking.”
Blade had nearly died in Afghanistan last year, rescuing Lilly from the Taliban. He’d gotten her out, but not before being captured himself. Stitch had tracked him down and helped him escape.
“We won’t be crossing the border,” Stitch assured him. “Vale is here in Islamabad.”
“Glad to hear it. So… how’s Soraya?”
Stitch froze. He’d forgotten Blade didn’t know. No one outside of Afghanistan did. After the attack, he’d gone dark for six months, totally off-grid. When he finally resurfaced, he was too focused on tracking Omari to tell anyone.
“What’s wrong?” Blade picked up on his expression. “Something happen?”
Only Blade—and now Sloane—could read him like that.
“Yeah,” Stitch muttered. “Something happened. Not long after you left.”
Blade stopped walking and turned to face him. “Tell me.”
So Stitch did. He told him about the attack, the fire, and how he’d carried Soraya’s bullet-riddled body out of their burning house.
Blade didn’t interrupt, just listened.
“They shot her,” Stitch hissed. “The bastards broke in and mowed her down, just like they did her father and the other elders. Then they torched the village.”
“Jesus, man. I’m so sorry.” Blade stared at him, shocked. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Stitch shook his head.
He’d been lost in his grief, barely surviving. That wasn’t something you just shared, not even with your brothers in the unit.
“Is this why you’re after Omari? He’s responsible?”
Blade was always quick to connect the dots.
“Yeah, he’s one of them,” Stitch said. “Omari’s running the cartel. His men attacked the village because the elders wouldn’t sanction their smuggling route. Through Omari, I found Rasul Ghani. He’s a lower-level drug lord, keeps the poppy farmers on a tight leash. He met with Omari in Peshawar.”