Page 6 of Scars of Fate

Three armed soldiers walked inside.

The tallest looked around the room as though he were inspecting livestock.

Then his eyes landed on me.

“You.”

I slowly stood.

“What?”

He smiled.

There wasn’t an ounce of kindness in it.

“You write stories.”

“I tell the truth.”

His smile disappeared.

“Truth gets people killed.”

“It also saves them.”

One of the younger guards muttered something in Farsi.

The older man laughed before stepping closer.

“So brave.”

I refused to move.

Refused to lower my eyes.

I’d interviewed dictators.

Drug lords.

Terrorists.

Warlords.

Fear only encouraged men like him.

“You think America will come.”

“I know innocent people matter.”

“They don’t.”

He moved close enough for me to smell the cigarette smoke clinging to his uniform.

“No one knows you’re here.”

I looked him straight in the eyes.

“They’ll come.”