Chapter 21

Tariq bolted from the gallery, his heart hammering a rhythm of pure anxiety. The information he'd just received curdled in his gut—Rana wasn't at a business meeting. She was at Al-Nujoom Club. The name alone carried a stench of predatory deals and underground influence that she was never meant to touch. He reached the curb, his eyes scanning the street for any yellow cab that could get him across the city before the worst happened. Behind him, Sara Jaber stood frozen on the steps, her mouth slightly agape as she watched the man who had just dominated the gallery floor flee like a man possessed. A roar of a high-performance engine drowned out the street noise. A flashy red Al-Aseel Coupe drifted toward the curb, its tires screeching as it pinned Tariq against the sidewalk. The gull-wing door hissed open, revealing Lina Quinn behind the wheel. She adjusted her sunglasses, her gaze sweeping over Tariq's frantic state. "Where are you rushing off to?" Lina asked, her voice tinged with a sharp curiosity. Tariq didn't wait for an invitation. He lunged into the passenger seat, the leather creaking under his weight. "To Al-Nujoom Club!" Lina's eyebrows shot up, but she didn't question the command. She slammed the car into gear. From the shadows of the gallery entrance, Jawad Al-Hashemi watched the red blur streak away. A slow, poisonous smile spread across his face. He pulled out his phone, his eyes narrowing with a mix of pleasure and arrogance. Seeing Tariq climb into a car with Mazen Al-Ghamdi's most trusted confidante confirmed every suspicion he had nurtured. To him, this wasn't a rescue mission; it was the indisputable evidence of an affair that would ruin Rana's husband once and for all. The Al-Aseel Coupe lived up to its reputation. Lina drove with a cold, surgical precision, weaving through the dense traffic of Al-Wadi like a blade through silk. In less than five minutes, the neon-lit facade of Al-Nujoom Club loomed ahead. The club was a fortress of glass and steel, the crown jewel of Malik Barakat's underground empire. Lina braked hard at the entrance. Tariq was out of the door before the engine had fully died. He sprinted toward the main doors, his focus narrowing down to the single goal of finding Rana. Two muscular men stepped into his path, their suits strained by the bulk of their shoulders. One of them, a bouncer with a jagged scar running through his eyebrow, planted a heavy hand on Tariq's chest, shoving him back. "Where are you from?" the bouncer barked, his face twisting into a fierce, arrogant sneer. "Can't you see that we're on break? Who are you to rush in? Beat it!" Tariq didn't stumble. He stood his ground, his eyes turning to chips of ice. The desperation for Rana's safety had burned away his usual restraint, leaving only a cold, vibrating authority. "Make way!" Tariq ordered. The bouncer's face flushed a deep, angry crimson. He stepped closer, looming over Tariq with a predatory grin. "F*ck! You're pretty cocky, aren't you? Asking me to make way?" He raised a fist, the knuckles cracking in the quiet of the afternoon. "Do you have any idea where you are, kid?" "That's enough!" The voice was like a whip crack. Lina Quinn stepped into the light, her heels clicking rhythmically on the pavement. She didn't look at the bouncers; she looked through them. Her expression was one of pure, sudden fury. "Who allowed you to speak to Tariq Murad that way?" The bouncer's hand froze mid-air. He blinked, his gaze shifting from Tariq's plain clothes to the woman standing behind him. The recognition hit him like a physical blow. In the underground world of Al-Wadi, everyone knew Lina Quinn. She was the shadow of Mazen Al-Ghamdi, a man even their boss, Malik Barakat, handled with extreme caution. The bouncer's aggression evaporated instantly, replaced by a pathetic, meek slouch. "Lina Quinn... why are you here?" Lina didn't offer an explanation. She let out a sharp, dismissive hmph and stepped past them, her shoulder brushing the bouncer as if he were nothing more than a piece of unwanted furniture. The two muscular men fell back, their heads bowed in silent submission. They didn't dare utter another word as Tariq and Lina swept through the gold-trimmed doors. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of expensive tobacco and the low, thrumming bass of the club's sound system. Tariq's gaze scanned the dim interior, his jaw tight. Somewhere in the labyrinth of private VIP rooms and velvet-curtained booths, Rana was being held, and the silence of the club felt like a countdown he couldn't stop. He moved deeper into the shadows of the hall, his shadow lengthening against the polished floor. ════════════════════════════════════════