All Chapters of The Blood Oath : Chapter 61
- Chapter 70
71 chapters
Chapter 62
The wind off the River Clyde carried the scent of late summer—salt, steel, and distant fog. Evelyn Mallory sat alone in a stone-walled briefing chamber below London’s Vauxhall Cross, the iconic MI6 headquarters. Her wrists rested uneasily on the polished wooden table. She wasn’t bound, but the presence of two agents flanking the door made it clear: she wasn’t free either.Across from her sat a man in a slate-gray suit with high cheekbones and unreadable eyes. He introduced himself only as "Director K." No surname. No rank insignia. He didn’t need one. His authority lived in the silence he carried between sentences.He slid a photo across the table. Kabri.Different face. New beard. But Evelyn’s throat tightened at the sight."You know this man as Saeed Al-Rai," Director K said. "But his former identity was Kabri Azzam. We believe he faked his death to evade Fred Mallory—your father."The last word hit harder than the rest.She had known Kabri was hiding something. Known, deep down, th
Chapter 63
It was the kind of morning that made Europe feel ancient. Grey skies pressed low over the rooftops of Liège, Belgium, as morning church bells peeled through a valley long forgotten by tourists and criminals alike. The city sat heavy with secrets, just the way Kabri liked it.He moved through the alleyways like a ghost, no longer Kabri Azzam, not fully Saeed Al-Rai. Just a phantom cloaked in ash and vengeance, guided by intelligence Yusuf had pulled from the broken remnants of Fred’s Belgium network. A single name stood out: Dominic Deveraux, Fred’s cousin.More than family—Dominic was Fred’s quartermaster. The man behind the cash routes, the arms logs, the offshore labyrinth that kept Fred’s empire humming even after multiple raids. And now, according to Yusuf, Dominic was in hiding in Liège.Kabri had come to finish the blood oath.Not to send a message. To silence a ghost.The hideout was buried beneath a derelict furniture warehouse near the Meuse River. It smelled of cedar and gun
Chapter 64
Amsterdam’s rain fell soft, like secrets. It washed the red lights and cobbled streets in a quiet, reflective sheen. Evelyn stood at the window of a bookstore café, her fingers tightening around a porcelain cup of black tea she hadn’t touched in twenty minutes. The fogged glass blurred the street outside, but not the storm behind her eyes.It had been two months since Kabri’s “death.” The explosion outside Tangier had left no remains, just ash and assumption. British Intelligence closed the file. Yusuf went dark. And Evelyn… Evelyn had unraveled.But grief, she had learned, had layers. Rage. Confusion. Love. Then obsession.She stirred the tea absentmindedly, remembering the envelope that arrived yesterday.No return address.No stamp.Just a single card, unmarked—except for a printed phrase on the back.“Forgive the fire. I never left the ashes.”No name. But she knew.Kabri.That night, Evelyn waited until the city slept. She took the tram to the east dockyard, where old freight con
Chapter 65
Rome was loud with bells, and yet Kabri moved like a ghost through its alleys.Tourists milled around the Vatican square under a burning August sun, snapping photos of history while oblivious to the secrets buried beneath it. Kabri—now “Tariq Noumani” to every authority—wore tailored Italian linen, a diplomatic lanyard, and sunglasses that hid more than his identity.He wasn’t here for faith.He was here for facts. Cold, ugly truths buried in the one archive most believed untouchable—the Vatican Apostolic Archive.And it was Jamil who had first found the thread.Two years earlier, in a rare quiet moment after a job in Munich, Jamil had shown Kabri a name scrawled on a bloodstained sheet of paper recovered from a safe house."Monsignor Alighieri. Vatican Office of Special Provisions. 1983–2001."Fred’s name had appeared three times in a declassified MI6 memo, linked to black-market weapons moved through religious cover networks in the '90s. Eastern Europe. Civil wars. Children's armies
Chapter 66
The storm rolled in like a warning.Dark clouds loomed over the Austrian sky, smearing the late afternoon light as Kabri arrived at the Ice Cellar beneath St. Rupert’s Church in Salzburg. This meeting had been set not by him, but by Evelyn. He hadn’t spoken to her directly since the Vatican file shattered the last illusions he held about Fred’s legacy. But her message had been clear. She’d uncovered something—something worth risking contact.And she sounded afraid.Kabri descended the spiral stone stairs that led into the cellar, cold breath trailing behind him. The place was ancient, even by European standards. Salt-encrusted walls whispered of medieval execution chambers and forgotten saints. Below him: silence.He entered the arched chamber.Empty.Except for a red scarf draped over a rusted wine rack.Evelyn’s scarf.He picked it up.Still warm.Kabri’s instincts flared. His hand slid behind his back, fingers brushing the cold steel of the pistol tucked under his coat.He wasn’t a
Chapter 67
The desert doesn’t forgive.Not the wind, not the dust, not the secrets buried in sand for centuries.Kabri stood at the edge of the plateau, the horizon bleeding fire as the Moroccan sun set over the Zagora dunes. Behind him: an armored 4x4 riddled with hidden weapons. Before him: silence—and the weight of a betrayal that could no longer be buried.Yusuf’s men had turned.Not all.But enough.They didn’t believe Kabri anymore. Or maybe they never had. Maybe Yusuf’s paranoia had taken root in their minds—spreading like infection, eating away at trust until all that remained was the smell of oil, steel, and war.It had started the day after Evelyn’s rescue.Whispers.Surveillance drones repositioned—without orders.Gear inventories altered.Weapons moved.Then the call came.From Tariq.Yusuf’s chief field enforcer.“Come alone. South base. The others want to speak freely… without Yusuf.”But Kabri knew better.It wasn’t a conversation.It was a test.And he was done taking those.He a
Chapter 68
Kabri didn’t expect a package.Not in the scorched town of Medenine, Tunisia.The note came folded inside a rust-colored envelope, unmarked. Delivered to his temporary safehouse by a boy no older than ten, who disappeared before Kabri could ask a question. The boy’s eyes had held no fear, just a weight too heavy for children—like he'd already carried the sins of older men.The handwriting inside the note was unmistakable.Meet me. Alone. Midnight. The Zaouia crypt. —YKabri didn’t trust the message. But he didn’t need to. He only needed the truth.The crypt stank of wet limestone and centuries of buried names. Deep below the old mosque, it was built to keep saints forgotten and secrets eternal.And there—half-shadowed in the flickering light of Kabri’s lantern—stood Yusuf.Older.Thinner.Paler.As though months of sleepless power games and splintered loyalties had leached the fire from his bones.He held no weapon.Only a thin leather-bound book clutched to his chest like scripture.
Chapter 69
The courtyard exploded into chaos.What began as a high-level diplomatic gala inside the Palais Hansen Kempinski had unraveled into gunfire and glass. Guests screamed, orchestra strings snapped mid-note, and black-suited men with earpieces dropped their champagne for sidearms.Kabri had seconds.One moment he was discussing a forged Vatican dossier with a Jordanian attaché, and the next—the skylights shattered above them.Bullets rained like nails through silk.The bodies fell fast.Kabri didn’t need to look. He knew the shots weren’t random. They were a message.Fred was no longer playing defense.Minutes earlier, behind the ballroom stage.Yusuf’s warning had come late, whispered through a comm-cracked earpiece:“Pull out. Now. Fred activated Plan Vulture. You’re boxed in.”Kabri didn’t ask what Plan Vulture was.He simply pivoted.Down the hall, past the chandeliers and velvet-draped portraits, through a maintenance door—and into the underbelly of old Vienna.He knew there was an e
Chapter 70
It was not the reunion either of them had imagined.No firelight. No whispers. No soft glances or trembling fingers reaching for forgiveness.Only stone, rusted chains, and silence broken by the constant drip of leaking pipes.Kabri opened his eyes slowly, his head pounding.The cell was small — barely wide enough for him to stretch out. Iron shackles bound his ankles, and one wrist had been looped to a metal ring embedded in the wall.He’d been drugged.Again.His body remembered the sensation: the numb crawl in his veins, the nausea, the half-dreams of fire and sea and Evelyn’s voice whispering his name like it was both a blessing and a curse.Evelyn.The thought pulled him upright.And then — as if summoned by pain itself — a soft cough echoed across the dark.He turned his head.The opposite side of the cell was veiled in shadow. But he saw the faint movement — a figure, sitting with her back against the wall, knees pulled to her chest, arms trembling.“Evelyn?” His voice cracked.
Chapter 71
The chains had just fallen away.The guard’s footsteps faded into the cold stone corridor.Kabri and Evelyn didn’t hesitate.Their bodies moved instinctively—silent, swift—as they slipped through the labyrinth of tunnels beneath the monastery.Each heartbeat thundered louder than the last. Every breath a stolen gift.The air was thick with dust and desperation, but freedom was within reach.Outside, the desert night embraced them.Stars flickered like silent witnesses to their flight.Kabri pulled Evelyn close, eyes scanning the darkness for pursuers.“We don’t have much time,” he whispered.She nodded, fingers trembling in his.“But we have now,” she breathed back.They ran—barefoot over cracked stones and dry scrub—until their legs could no longer carry them.Then, beneath an ancient olive tree, they collapsed.Their breaths mingled, heavy and raw.Kabri brushed a strand of hair from Evelyn’s face.Her eyes shone, reflecting moonlight and a thousand unspoken confessions.No words we