Chapter 23

Nadia Vaughn adjusted her dress, her eyes narrowing as she felt the oppressive weight of the aura emanating from the man standing beside Lina Quinn. Tariq Murad didn't speak, but his stillness was like the eye of a storm, heavy and suffocating. For a fleeting second, Nadia's breath hitched, a primal instinct telling her to step back. Then, the silence of the club's gilded hallway snapped her back to reality. This was her domain. She curled her lip, masking her momentary lapse with a sharp, mocking laugh. She turned her gaze to Lina Quinn, ignoring Tariq as if he were a piece of furniture that had dared to grow tall. "Lina Quinn, this brat of yours is just arrogant on a whole new level," Nadia said, her voice dripping with cold derision. She tapped a long, manicured fingernail against her chin. "Doesn't he know that this is Malik Barakat's turf? You usually have better taste in the dogs you bring on a leash." Tariq's expression remained carved from stone. He didn't blink. He didn't even look at her. His focus was entirely on the corridor ahead, his mind clearly elsewhere. Lina Quinn stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. The patience she usually maintained for the sake of Mazen Al-Ghamdi's business interests had evaporated the moment they crossed the threshold. She could feel the mounting pressure radiating from Tariq; if she didn't get him to Rana soon, the consequences for the Al-Nujoom Club would be catastrophic. "Nadia Vaughn, I'm warning you, if you don't want to get yourself in any trouble, lead the way now!" Lina's voice cracked like a whip. She stepped into Nadia's personal space, her eyes burning. "Or else, even Jesus can't save you!" A muscular gang member stepped out from the shadows of a nearby alcove, sensing the shift in tone. He moved to intercept Lina, his hand reaching for her shoulder to shove her back. Lina didn't hesitate. Her hand blurred, snatching a half-full wine bottle from a passing waiter's tray. In one fluid motion, she swung. The glass shattered against the gang member's forehead with a sickening crunch. Red liquid and glass shards sprayed across the wallpaper. The man groaned, his knees buckling as he slumped to the floor, clutching his face. Nadia recoiled, her face flushing with a mix of shock and pure rage. "Lina Quinn, you've crossed the line! This place belongs to Barakat, not Mazen Al-Ghamdi! You think you can just come in here and spill blood?" Lina didn't flinch. She held the jagged, broken neck of the bottle inches from Nadia's throat. The sharp edges caught the light of the chandeliers. "I'll ask you one more time," Lina said, her voice vibrating with an uncharacteristic irritation. "Where is the room?" Tariq stood behind her, a silent shadow. His lack of movement was more terrifying than Lina's violence. He was waiting, and his patience was a dying flame. The sound of the scuffle brought more men. From the lounges and the security stations, a group of gang members swarmed into the hallway, surrounding Tariq and Lina. They reached into their jackets, their faces twisted in snarls, ready to tear the intruders apart on Nadia's command. Lina lowered the broken bottle slightly, but her gaze swept over the gathered men with absolute disdain. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice dropping to a calm, dangerous register. "Are you trying to prove that I, Lina Quinn, can't win against numbers? Or have you all forgotten Mazen Al-Ghamdi's words? He told you all once—if I am on a mission, the street clears. Do you really want to find out if he was joking?" The men hesitated. They looked at each other, then at the unconscious man on the floor. The name of Mazen Al-Ghamdi carried a weight that even Malik Barakat's protection couldn't entirely offset. They knew Lina wasn't just a subordinate; she was the blade Mazen used when he wanted a clean cut. Nadia watched the hesitation of her men. She looked at Lina's cold eyes and then shifted her gaze to Tariq. He was looking at his watch. The utter lack of fear in the man—the way he didn't even acknowledge the dozen armed men surrounding him—sent a fresh chill down her spine. If Lina Quinn, a woman who answered to no one but the underworld king of Al-Wadi, was acting as a foot soldier for this man, the situation was far more volatile than she had assumed. Nadia raised a hand, signaling her men to stand down. They retreated into the shadows, though their hands remained near their weapons. "Fine," Nadia spat, a cruel smirk returning to her lips as she smoothed her hair. "Lina Quinn, are you sure you want to go in there? I'll say it upfront. The person inside is not someone you can mess with. Even if Mazen Al-Ghamdi was here today, he has to show a little respect. I hope you won't regret this!" Tariq finally shifted his gaze to Nadia. It was a brief, freezing look that seemed to strip away her defenses. He didn't say a word, but the message was clear: *Move.* Lina rolled her eyes, stepping past the bleeding man on the carpet. "Stop with the nonsense and lead the way!" Nadia turned on her heel, her silk dress rustling as she began to walk toward the back of the club. As they followed, Lina discreetly reached into her pocket. Her thumb moved rapidly over her phone screen, sending a short, urgent text message to Mazen Al-Ghamdi. She knew that once that door opened, the balance of power in Al-Wadi was going to shift, and her boss needed to be ready for the fallout. They moved past the smaller, private lounges where the sounds of muffled music and laughter drifted through the heavy oak doors. The air grew thicker with the scent of expensive cigars and aged oud. Nadia stopped at the very end of the corridor, in front of a set of massive, double-leaf doors adorned with gold leaf and intricate carvings. This was the largest VIP room in Al-Nujoom Club, a sanctuary reserved for the elite, the untouchable, and the dangerously powerful. Nadia stood to the side, her smirk widening. She reached for the handle, but she wasn't fast enough. Tariq stepped forward. He didn't wait for an invitation, and he didn't wait for Nadia to play her games of status and protocol. He raised his foot and slammed it into the center of the double doors. The heavy wood groaned and the lock shattered with the force of a gunshot. The doors flew inward, bouncing off the interior walls with a deafening crash that silenced the music inside instantly. Tariq walked into the room, his shadow stretching long across the plush carpet. ════════════════════════════════════════