Page 8 of Rescuing You

Was it Waleed?

Or Hasan?

With her grandparents dead, there was nobody to rein in Baba’s brother.

Baba would never have chosen Waleed for her, not knowing how much she disliked the man.

Hasan was behind that.

Her uncle was a powerful man. Powerful because he was ruthless and uncompromising. And unaffected by things he deemed irrelevant, like family ties. Like love and affection. Like forgiveness and mercy.

He claimed to be a devout Muslim. But Hasan didn’t worship anything or anyone but himself. He wasn’t devout. He was devoid…of humanity.

Had Hasan sent those men after her? Or had her father done that?

Leila slumped onto the bed, which she’d hardly crawled out of during her first couple of days here, nursing her wounds and praying Mama or Yasamin would come. But they never did. Her mother and sister either didn’t know she was there or were being prevented from visiting. Or perhaps they weren’t on the property at all. She hadn’t seen them. Perhaps the man who’d kidnapped her had lied.

If they knew she was there, would they help her escape?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Leila hadn’t seen or spoken to either of them in over a decade. When she’d left, she’d believed she’d never see them again. Running had been the hardest decision she’d ever made, but the right decision for her. She’d always bucked under Baba’s rule, but after she became a believer, it became harder and harder to keep her opinions to herself. It felt like it was only a matter of time before she gave her newfound faith away.

She hadn’t wanted to find out what Baba—or his brother—would do if they discovered the truth.

Yasamin had understood.

Leila hadn’t told Mama her plan to leave the country. She hadn’t said goodbye. Her mother had needed to be shocked that she’d escaped. If Baba—or Hasan—had believed Mama had known, she’d have paid dearly for keeping the secret.

And Leila wasn’t sure she’d have kept it.

She longed for Mama or Yasamin to visit, even though seeing them now would make leaving again torture.

Assuming she could find a way out.

She thought of Michael, the sweet, kind, handsome man she’d been dating. He was gentle, tall and strong, but he was no warrior. Even if he wanted to come to her rescue, how would he ever find her?

Aside from Michael and her coworkers, Leila had one true friend in Munich. Sophia was different from Leila in so many ways—an American Christian who worked at an art gallery, she was artistic and educated and connected.

And funny and generous. They’d met at church and become fast friends. Even with all her connections, Sophia wouldn’t have any idea how to find her, and if she did, how could she possibly help?

Leila had to face it. Nobody was coming for her. She had to escape on her own.

But first, she’d have to get out of this room.

Late that night, Leila watched the men in the courtyard, who were visible only because of the light spilling out of the first-floor windows.

Her bruises and sprains were healing, injuries she’d earned fighting the men who’d snatched her off the street. She was hungry but stronger than she had been.

She wouldn’t look at the food she’d brushed into the corner after Baba left her. She wouldn’t stoop to that, no matter how her stomach growled.

Unlike their home in Baghdad, this house didn’t have glass or screens in the windows, just shutters that opened to let in the breeze.

The day had been sweltering, but the evening air was cool. Cooler, anyway. She’d forgotten how hot the world could be.

And how quiet. She missed the bustle of Munich, the locals and tourists, the cars and buses. It was an orderly city, tidy and clean, so different from Baghdad. Leila was accustomed to city life. She was accustomed to noises and lights and people.

All that felt eons away from this black and silent world.