Wounded by Jasinda Wilder

Author:Jasinda Wilder [Wilder, Jasinda]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, Contemporary, Adult, cookie429, Kat, Extratorrents
Publisher: Jasinda Wilder
Published: 2012-12-16T00:00:00+00:00

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Masjid is tall and thin and dark. He reminds me of a knife. His posture is rigid, his face narrow, his prominent, hooked nose and pointed chin lending to the sharpness of his features. He has pockmarks in his skin around his forehead and on his right cheek. His eyes are small and nearly black, glittering with intelligence and malice. He does not wear a keffiyeh, normally. His beard is thick and shot through with gray. When he comes to me, he is reserved and business-like, not rough or violent, but not kind, either. I think for Masjid, sex is merely a tactic to help him focus, so he does not become distracted when working.

He is ghost-like, appearing seemingly at will, out of thin air. I am standing outside the mosque, waiting for him. I glance down the street in one direction, and when I look back the other way, he is there, a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his loose khaki pants.

“What is it, Sabah? I am busy.” His voice is quiet and laced with latent threat.

One does not idly waste Masjid’s time. I am not truly afraid of much, but I am terrified of Masjid. He has never shown anything but professional detachment, yet still, I somehow intrinsically understand that he could and would kill me without so much as blinking, if I were to anger him.

“I apologize, Masjid, but I have a problem, and I am hoping you will help me.”

“I am not a djinn, Sabah, that you can summon me to solve your problems.” His eyes narrow and his hand fidgets in his pocket.

I swallow my nerves and try not to let my fear show. “I know. I would not have called you if I had any other choice. I know you are busy.”

He examines me with his hard, dark eyes. “Very well. I will see what I can do to help you. But this is business, yes? I will expect…payment.”

“Of course.” I allow myself three deep breaths to calm my hammering heart, and then move toward my home, gesturing for Masjid to follow.

I show him Ahmed’s corpse, cooling and stiffening in the shower, still oozing thick, dark blood. Masjid examines the body with the ease of one used to such gruesome sights. He takes a pen from his pocket and probes the knife wounds at his throat, stomach, and chest.

He stands up and stares down at me. “You did not kill this man. Whoever did this knew his business.” I say nothing, do nothing. I only wait. “Ahmed was a pig. No one will mourn his passing, although his absence will be noted.”

“Yes,” I say. “I need him gone. Please. I cannot afford the questions.”

Masjid glances back at the body, then wipes the end of his pen on his shirt before pocketing it once again. “My gut tells me you are involved in something I do not want anything to do with. But I will help you.” He pauses, eyeing me thoughtfully.

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