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Asher hissed, and there was no way he could sling his arm around Harry’s shoulder, no way he could walk. “I’m going to carry you,” Harry said, scooping him up bridal style.
Asher was listless, helpless. “Knew you’d find me.”
The four-wheel drive was closest, so Harry went to it first. Keys were in the ignition. Harry would’ve normally grumbled about how these idiots made it all too easy, but this time he was grateful. He helped Asher into the front passenger side and drove them toward the old riverbed-trench and stopped, opening his door.
“Harry?” Asher mumbled, alarmed.
“Just getting the duffle bag,” he replied.
He found it and was soon back behind the wheel.
“Harry? The USB...”
“I found it. I’ve got it.”
Asher sagged, his breaths short and sharp.
Harry got them back out onto the road, took out his phone, and called Four. He answered on the first ring. “Tell me you have him?”
“I do.”
“Oh, thank God.” It sounded like Four might have cried with relief. He sucked back a shaky breath. “Let me speak to him.”
“He’s in pretty bad shape,” Harry said, trying to keep an eye on the road and on Asher at the same time. He was still drooling blood, and God, his face... Harry spoke into the phone, more urgent this time. “I need you to get us out of Oman. Tonight. Now. I don’t care how or where it takes us.”
Asher moaned, his voice barely a murmur. “Harry?”
Harry shot him a look. “Yes, baby, I’m right here.”
Asher held out his hand blindly. Harry took it, and Asher squeezed, holding tight, his hand shaking a little.
“Harry,” Four said. “I want you to head toward the Muscat seaport. Follow the signs to Highway 1. I need to make some calls, and I will phone you back in ten minutes.” There was a beat of silence. “And Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
