Chapter 4: The Expedition

Departure from the Hotel

The lobby of the modest hotel buzzed with the low hum of early morning activity. Sunlight streamed through the smudged windows, casting a warm glow over the cracked tile floor. Sahara stood near the entrance, her arms crossed, her fingers drumming a restless rhythm against her elbow. She was dressed for the desert—khaki cargo pants, a fitted tank top beneath a lightweight jacket, and boots that had seen their share of rough terrain. Her gear was practical, but it clung to her in a way that hinted at the curves beneath, a subtle reminder of her strength and femininity.

Her eyes scanned the room, darting from the worn leather couches to the chipped front desk, searching for Mo. He was late.

Again.

She clenched her jaw, the tension in her shoulders tightening with every passing minute. Beside her, Layla leaned casually against the wall, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp. She wore a fitted olive-green jumpsuit; the fabric hugging her figure in a way that was both practical and undeniably alluring. She exuded a calm confidence, but Sahara could see the flicker of unease in her gaze.

“He’s not coming,” Layla said, her voice low and smooth, like honey laced with something sharper. “Or he’s already left without us.”

Sahara shook her head, though the same thought had crossed her mind more than once. “He’ll be here. He needs us as much as we need him.”

Layla raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on her lips. “You have more faith in him than I do.”

“Faith?” Sahara snorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “I wouldn’t call it faith. More like ... calculated optimism. If he bails, I’m taking his cut of the payout and buying myself a one-way ticket to somewhere with better Wi-Fi.”

Layla chuckled, the sound warm and rich. “I’d join you. But I think Elias might have something to say about that.”

Sahara glanced over at Elias, who sat on one of the couches, his phone in hand. His dark hair was tousled, his glasses perched low on his nose as he scrolled through something on the screen. He looked out of place in the rugged setting, his button-up shirt and slacks more suited to a lecture hall than a desert expedition. His mind was clearly elsewhere, his fingers twitching as if he were typing notes only he could see.

“Elias,” Sahara called, her voice cutting through the quiet hum of the lobby. “You planning to join us in the real world soon, or should we just leave you here with your imaginary friends?”

Elias blinked, looking up as if he’d just noticed them for the first time. “What? No, I’m—I’m here. Just ... reviewing some notes.”

“Notes?” Sahara raised an eyebrow, her tone teasing. “Let me guess. ‘How to Survive in the Desert: A Guide for People Who’ve Never Left Their Office.’”

Elias frowned, adjusting his glasses. “For your information, I’ve done extensive research on the temple’s location. If we’re going to find it, we’ll need—”

“A miracle?” Sahara interrupted, her smirk widening. “Because unless your notes include a map to Mo’s sense of punctuality, I’m not sure how helpful they’ll be.”

Layla stifled a laugh, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Elias sighed, clearly used to Sahara’s barbs, but not immune to their sting. “I’m just trying to be prepared,” he said, his voice tinged with defensiveness.

“And we appreciate it,” Sahara said, her tone mock-sweet. “Really, we do. But maybe save the lecture for when we’re not waiting on a smuggler with the time management skills of a sloth.”

Before Elias could respond, the door swung open, and Mo strode in, his presence immediately commanding the room. He was dressed in his usual attire—a loose-fitting shirt, jeans, and a scarf draped around his neck. His dark eyes swept over the group, lingering on Sahara and Layla with an intensity that made Sahara’s skin prickle. There was something predatory in his gaze, something that set her on edge.

“Morning,” he said, his voice rough but laced with a charm that felt calculated. “Ready to go?”

Sahara straightened, her guard up. “You’re late.”

Mo shrugged, unfazed. “Traffic.”

“In the desert?” Layla asked, her tone dry.

Mo’s lips twitched in a half-smile, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to Elias, who had finally looked up from his phone. “You good, professor?”

Elias nodded, though his expression was distant. “Yes. Just ... reviewing some notes.”

Mo’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, as if assessing his usefulness, before turning back to Sahara and Layla. “Let’s move. We’ve got a long drive ahead.”

Sahara didn’t budge, her arms still crossed. “Hold on. Before we go anywhere, I want to know why we’re trusting you to get us there in one piece. Last time I checked, your track record wasn’t exactly spotless.”

Mo’s smile didn’t waver, but his eyes narrowed slightly. “You got a better option, sweetheart?”

Sahara stepped closer, her boots scuffing against the cracked tile floor. Her eyes locked on Mo’s, unflinching despite the predatory glint in his gaze. She could feel the weight of her mother’s journal in her bag, tucked safely against her side, as if it were a talisman grounding her in this moment. The words she’d read just last night echoed in her mind, sharp and clear.

“Mo is the best guide in the region. He knows the desert like the back of his hand, and he’ll get you where you need to go. But there’s something about him—something that makes my skin crawl. He’s not a man I can trust, not completely.”

Her mother’s voice, even in memory, carried a weight that Sahara couldn’t ignore. Observations, musings, and warnings filled the journal—notes she wrote for herself, not for anyone else. Sahara had spent hours poring over the pages, tracing her mother’s handwriting with her fingertips, trying to piece together the woman she’d never really known. And now, standing in front of Mo, she felt the same unease her mother had described, like a cold finger running down her spine.

It wasn’t just the journal, though. Layla’s warning from the night before lingered in her mind, too. “Mo’s good at what he does, but he’s not your friend,” Layla had said, her voice low and serious. “He’s got his own agenda, and it’s not always clear what it is. Keep your guard up.” At the time, Sahara had brushed it off, too focused on the excitement of the expedition to let Layla’s skepticism dampen her optimism. But now, with Mo standing in front of her, his eyes roaming over her and Layla with that lecherous intensity, she couldn’t ignore the warning bells ringing in her head.

“Here’s what I’ve got to say,” Sahara began, her voice low but steady, cutting through the tension like a blade. “If you screw us over, if you so much as think about double-crossing us, I’ll make sure you regret it. And trust me, I’ve got a very creative imagination.”

Mo’s smirk didn’t falter, but his eyes narrowed, the amusement in them hardening into something darker. “Big words for someone who’s never set foot in this desert before.”

Sahara didn’t back down. She tilted her head, her lips curling into a humorless smile. “Oh, I’ve set foot in plenty of deserts. Just not this one. And let’s be clear—I didn’t come here because I trust you. I came because my mother did. And even she thought you were ... what was the word she used? Unsettling.”

Mo’s expression shifted, just for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he masked it with that same infuriating smirk. “Your mother, huh? She always had a way with words. But if she trusted me enough to write about me, maybe you should too.”

“Trust you?” Sahara let out a short, bitter laugh. “My mother didn’t trust you. She wrote about you because she didn’t. She kept notes on everyone—friends, enemies, people she couldn’t quite figure out. And you? You were in the ‘can’t quite figure out’ category. So forgive me if I’m not exactly jumping at the chance to follow in her footsteps.”

The air between them crackled with tension, the weight of Sahara’s words hanging heavy in the silence. Layla and Elias exchanged uneasy glances, but neither intervened. This was between Sahara and Mo, a battle of wills that had been brewing since the moment they’d met.

Mo took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low, almost intimate tone. “You’ve got her fire, I’ll give you that. But fire’s dangerous in the desert. Burns too hot, too fast. Leaves nothing but ashes.”

Sahara held her ground, her chin lifting in defiance. “Good thing I’m not afraid of a little heat. And if you think I’m going to let you intimidate me, you’re even more delusional than I thought.”

Mo chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “Feisty. I like that. But if you’ve got something to say, say it now. Once we’re out there, there’s no turning back.”

Sahara’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’ve said my piece. Just remember—I’m not my mother. I don’t trust easily, and I don’t forgive at all. So if you’ve got any plans to screw us over, now’s the time to rethink them.”

Mo held her gaze for a long moment, the air between them thick with unspoken threats and promises. Then he smirked, leaning in just enough to make her skin crawl. “Noted. Now, can we go, or do you need to threaten me some more?”

Sahara didn’t flinch. “I’m good. For now.”

As they gathered their gear and headed for the door, Layla fell into step beside Sahara, her voice low. “You really know how to make an impression.”

Sahara shrugged, her tone casual but her eyes still sharp. “Someone’s got to keep him in line. Might as well be me.”

Layla smiled, her gaze lingering on Sahara with a warmth that made her pulse quicken. “I’m glad it’s you.”

The desert air hit them as they stepped outside, dry and warm despite the early hour. A beat-up Jeep waited at the curb, its engine idling. Mo climbed into the driver’s seat without a word, leaving the others to arrange themselves. Sahara hesitated, her eyes scanning the horizon as if searching for answers in the vast expanse of sand and sky. Layla touched her arm, a brief but grounding gesture.

“We’ll be fine,” Layla said, her voice steady. “As long as we stick together.”

Sahara nodded, though the knot in her stomach remained. She climbed into the Jeep, taking the seat behind Mo, while Layla slid in beside her. Elias took the front passenger seat, his phone still in hand, though his attention seemed to be on the road ahead. As the Jeep pulled away from the hotel, Sahara couldn’t help but glance back, the building shrinking in the distance until it was just a speck on the horizon.

The journey ahead was uncertain, fraught with danger and the unknown. But as Sahara looked at Layla, at the quiet strength in her eyes, she felt a flicker of hope. They were in this together, and that was enough—for now.

The Journey Begins

The Jeep was a relic of the desert, its paint faded and frame dented, a testament to years of hard use. The cracked leather hot against Sahara’s skin even in the early morning light. The olive-green of Layla’s jumpsuit catching the sunlight as she settled in. The air inside the Jeep was stifling, heat rising in waves from the cracked dashboard. Sahara adjusted her jacket, the fabric clinging to her skin.

Mo took the driver’s seat with practiced authority. Elias sat up front beside him, glasses perched low on his nose as he stared intensely at a map on his phone, fingers tracing lines and muttering in a low, distracted tone.

Sahara rolled her eyes. “You know, Elias, the desert isn’t going anywhere. You can stop staring at it like it’s about to disappear.”

Elias glanced up, annoyance and confusion mingling on his face. “I’m just trying to make sure we’re prepared. This isn’t exactly a Sunday drive.”

“No kidding,” Sahara shot back dryly. “But unless that map can tell us where to find water and shade, I’m not sure how helpful they’re going to be.”

Mo chuckled from the driver’s seat, eyes meeting Sahara’s in the rearview mirror. “Relax, sweetheart. I’ve got this under control.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” Sahara snapped, her voice sharp. She caught Layla’s eye, a faint smile on Layla’s lips making her flush despite herself. Layla’s hand brushed against hers, brief but reassuring.

As the engine roared to life, the Jeep lurched forward, kicking up a cloud of dust as they left the hotel behind. Almost immediately the landscape shifted; sparse buildings and scrubby vegetation giving way to endless stretches of sand and rock. The heat intensified, the sun climbing higher in the sky, Sahara feeling sweat gathering at the back of her neck.

Mo’s voice broke the silence. “You know, the desert’s a funny place. Beautiful, sure, but deadly. One wrong turn, one poor decision, and you’re done. No water, no shelter, no way out. Just you and the sand, and the sun beating down until there’s nothing left.”

Sahara’s jaw tightened. She met his gaze in the rearview mirror, her eyes narrowing. “Are you trying to scare us, Mo? Because if you are, it’s not working.”

Mo smirked, eyes glinting with amusement. “Just stating the facts, sweetheart. The desert doesn’t care who you are or where you’re from. It’ll kill you just the same.”

Sahara leaned forward, voice low and steady. “And yet here you are, alive and well. Guess you’re really good at what you do, or really lucky.”

Mo’s smirk widened, but he didn’t respond. He turned his attention back to the road, hands gripping the wheel with a confidence bordering on arrogance. Sahara sat back, unease growing with every mile. She glanced at Layla, who met her gaze with a steady look. Layla’s hand brushed against hers again, her touch warm and grounding.

The confined space of the Jeep heightened the tension. Their legs brushed as the vehicle jolted over a rough patch of terrain, and Sahara felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her at the contact. Layla’s hand lingered on hers for a moment longer than necessary, fingers tracing a faint pattern against Sahara’s skin. The gesture spoke volumes, a silent reminder of the night they’d shared and the connection that had deepened between them.

Sahara’s pulse quickened, her breath catching in her throat. She glanced at Layla, eyes searching for reassurance, found it in the quiet intensity of Layla’s gaze. There was something unspoken between them, a low burn of anticipation simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to ignite.

The landscape continued to shift as they approached the Iraqi border, sand dunes giving way to rocky outcrops and sparse vegetation. The heat was relentless, air thick with dust and the faint scent of diesel. Sahara felt the weight of the journey ahead pressing down on her, uncertainty of what lay beyond the border adding to her unease.

As they neared the checkpoint, Mo slowed the Jeep, pulling to the side of the road with a gravel spray. He turned to face them, expression serious for the first time since they’d left the hotel. “We’re about to cross into Iraq. You two need to change into burkas. It’s not optional.”

Sahara’s stomach dropped. She muttered under her breath, “Great, just what I needed—another layer of suffocation.”

Before they could don the burkas, Elias piped up, voice low but insistent. “Uh, Mo, I think we need to take a quick break. It’s been a while since we’ve, uh, relieved ourselves.”

Sahara shot him a look, annoyance flickering on her face. “Of course Elias would be the one to bring this up. Always the practical one.”

Mo nodded, rolling his eyes but pulling the Jeep to a stop near a sparse cluster of rocks. “Make it quick. We’re already on a tight schedule.”

Sahara climbed out of the Jeep, the heat of the desert sun hitting her full force as she walked a few paces away from the vehicle. She found a spot behind a low outcrop of rocks, glancing at Elias as he walked in a different direction, as he sought privacy for his bladder.

She crouched down, her pants slipping slightly as she relieved herself, the desert heat making the moment feel even more exposed. Her eyes flicked to Elias, who was a few yards away, his back turned but his movements were clear. She couldn’t help but glance at him, her gaze lingering for a moment longer than she’d intended. His silhouette against the harsh sunlight was unnervingly familiar.

Her mind drifted back to their affair, the steamy tension that had built between them in those months at the university. She thought back to the office party, the men’s bathroom they’d slipped into, voices of their co-workers close but muffled by the pounding of her pulse.

She remembered Elias’s hands gripping her wrists, his breath hot against her neck as he pushed her up against the wall, his cock pressing into her with a force that made her gasp. Alcohol and sweat filled the cramped stall. Elias’s fingers had slipped under her skirt, pulling her panties down to her ankles, his mouth against her ear as he whispered, “You’ve been teasing me all night, Sahara. Now it’s time to pay.”

She’d thought of his cock sliding into her cunt, the thickness of it stretching her pussy as he thrusted deep, her breath catching in her throat. The sounds of their co-workers echoed beyond the door, laughter and chatter just a few feet away. Elias’s hips moved against hers, the rhythm of their bodies a dangerous dance in the confined space.

Sahara had moaned, the pleasure of his cock inside her muffled by her clenched teeth, her hands gripping the wall as Elias pushed her harder, his hard cock teasing her depths with every thrust. The bathroom was filthy, the tile floor damp, but the filth only added to the illicit thrill of the moment.

Elias’s voice had been low, rough as he whispered, “You like this, don’t you? Knowing they’re just outside, hearing us. Knowing you’re getting fucked right here, just feet from them.”

Sahara had felt the truth in his words, the exhibitionist thrill of the moment making her pussy tighten around his cock, her body responding to the danger and the pleasure alike. Elias’s hand had slipped under her skirt, gripping her thighs as he fucked her harder, finally spending his seed deep inside her wet pussy.

The memory was vivid, the intensity of it causing a flush on Sahara’s face even now, in the open expanse of the desert. She’d thought she’d left those memories buried, but seeing him here, in this moment, brought them back with a sharp clarity.

She finished her business, pulling her pants up and glancing at Elias again. He was still there, his movements almost methodical. She couldn’t help but think to herself, “He might be a son of a bitch, but he has a nice cock.”

Before Sahara had a chance to get back in the car, Mo turned to her and Layla, tone firm. “You two need to change into burkas. It’s not optional.”

Sahara’s stomach dropped, unease flaring into outright resistance. “You’ve got to be kidding me. We’re not—”

“It’s not up for debate,” Mo interrupted, his voice sharp and uncompromising. “If you want to get through the border without attracting attention, you’ll do as I say.”

Sahara exchanged a glance with Layla, who gave a small, resigned nod. Reluctantly, Sahara reached for the bundle of fabric Mo handed her, the coarse material rough against her fingers. She unfolded the burka, the dark fabric pooling in her lap, hesitated for a moment before pulling it over her head. The world narrowed as the fabric settled around her body, her vision reduced to a small slit that barely allowed her to see.

Layla adjusted her own burka with practiced ease, her movements calm and deliberate. She reached out, her hand brushing against Sahara’s arm in a silent gesture of solidarity. Sahara felt a flicker of gratitude, the tension in her chest easing slightly at the touch.

As the Jeep rolled toward the border, Sahara felt a strange sense of disorientation. The burka obscured not only her face but her identity, reducing her to a shadow of herself. She glanced at Layla, her form now indistinguishable beneath the dark fabric.

The checkpoint loomed ahead, a cluster of armed guards and barbed wire fencing. Mo slowed the Jeep to a crawl, his expression unreadable as he prepared to navigate the border crossing. Sahara’s heart pounded in her chest, an unease growing with every passing second...

As the Jeep rolled to a stop, the guards’ demeanor immediately turned hostile. Two men approached, their rifles slung over their shoulders and their eyes sharp with suspicion. One of them barked an order in Arabic, his voice rough and commanding.

“Get out of the car,” he snapped, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the occupants. His gaze lingered on Elias, his Western features a clear red flag in this part of the world. “Who is this man? Why is he with you?”

Mo stepped out of the Jeep first, his posture calm but his eyes sharp. “He’s a colleague,” Mo explained in Arabic, his tone smooth but laced with authority. “We’re traveling for business.”

The guard’s expression didn’t soften. He gestured for the others to exit the vehicle. Elias climbed out next, his glasses perched low on his nose and his hands raised slightly in a gesture of compliance. Sahara and Layla stepped out last, the burkas obscuring their forms but drawing the guards’ attention nonetheless.

The second guard, a younger man with a leering smirk, made a crude remark about the women, his words muffled but his tone unmistakable. Sahara’s skin crawled beneath the burka, her fists clenching at the insult. Layla remained silent, her posture calm but her eyes sharp beneath the fabric.

The female border guard stepped forward, her expression stern but her movements deliberate. She pointed at Layla first, barking an order in Arabic. “You. Come here.”

Layla stepped forward, her movements smooth and unhesitating. The female guard patted her down, her hands rough and impersonal as she searched for any concealed items. She barked another order, her voice sharp.

“Answer me,” the guard demanded, her tone commanding. “Who are you? Why are you traveling with this man?”

Before Layla could respond, Mo barked a sharp reply in Arabic, his voice laced with authority. “She is my wife,” he snapped, his tone protective, but his eyes sharp with warning. “She is not to speak to strangers.”

The female guard’s expression flickered with suspicion, but Mo’s words seemed to carry enough weight to prevent further questioning. However, the guard’s eyes narrowed as she stepped back, her suspicion lingering.

“You,” she barked at Layla again, her tone sharp. “Come with me.”

Layla glanced at Sahara briefly, her expression unreadable beneath the burka, before following the female guard toward a small, makeshift tent. The guard pulled her inside, the dark canvas obscuring them from view.

Inside the tent, the guard barked another order. “Raise your burka,” she snapped, her tone sharp and impersonal.

Layla complied, her movements smooth but deliberate. She pulled the burka up, the fabric pooling around her shoulders, revealing her face and form. The guard’s eyes narrowed as she studied Layla’s features, her suspicion still flickering.

“Eastern,” the guard murmured, her tone neither approving nor disapproving. “But why are you with these men?”

Layla held her tongue, her expression calm but her eyes sharp. The guard’s suspicion remained, but she barked another order without waiting for an answer. “Undress,” she snapped, her tone rough and impersonal.