12
“God damn it!” Chris watched the slap send Azadah flying.
He bolted up off his chair and would have knocked the laptop to the floor if Conway hadn’t grabbed it.
Chris yanked out his sidearm and looked around, but there was no one to shoot. She wasn’t here. That goddamn bastard guard—who was going to die slowly, painfully, and begging for mercy from a god he’d never see because he’d roast in hell even if Chris had to escort him there personally—wasn’t here either.
“Look.”
He did. And all he saw were four dirty walls, too much gear, and no Azadah.
“Look,” Conway repeated and tapped the screen.
Chris knew he was being a fool. He slammed his sidearm back in its holster and was now looking over Conway’s shoulder.
Slowly, painfully, Azadah was gathering up the shopping items that had
