Parveen Aziza escapes with Jack Grierson - Sex Stories

Parveen Aziza escapes with Jack Grierson

I had a very unconventional entry into the United States. Jack Grierson and I were on a Boeing 777 freighter that landed at the cargo hub in Columbus, Ohio. Jo Ellen Taggart was on the flight with us. After we landed, she handed me a U.S. passport – it had my picture in it, but it was in the name of Sofia Antoniou.

“You have green eyes, and your skin tone is creamy with olive undertones,” said Jo Ellen. “You can pass for Greek, no problem.”

“But why –” I began.

“Sergei’s men and your al Sura family will be looking for you,” said Jack. “You need a new identity, a fresh start. Do you mind?”

“No,” I said. “Parveen Aziza was a slave. Sofia Antoniou is a free girl.”

“You’re nineteen,” said Jo Ellen. “In a few years, you’ll forget you were a slave girl.”

Jo Ellen had us processed through immigration with our new passports. I wondered what name Jack was using on his new one. She told the immigration officer we were contract workers for Paddy’s security company.

“This is where I leave you,” Jo Ellen said to us once we were landside. “I’ll ship Zainab’s casket to Amy McAdams’ beach house address. Make sure you give her a heads up about it.” She handed Jack a phone and a leather case. “The phone’s a burner.”

“Thanks,” said Jack, unzipping the case and pulling out the gun. “Glock 17.”

“Plus a waist holster and three extended magazines,” she said. “In case you get into an extended firefight. Try not to let that happen.”

“I’ll try,” he said, clipping the ...

... holster onto his belt and putting the gun into it. He put the spare magazines into a pocket of his leather jacket.

He put out his hand, but Jo Ellen put her arms around him and hugged him. She buried her face into his neck. He turned her face up and kissed her on the lips. It was prolonged and I could see it was heartfelt for both of them.

“How old is young James now?” he asked.

“Your son is two. Not so terrible, though. He’s a quiet boy – like you must have been.”

“James Taggart. A splendid name. He’s lucky to have you as his mother. He’ll be fine.”

Suddenly tears were running down her face. She didn’t wipe them away, just let them drip off her jaw to the ground. Jack reached forward and wiped them with his hands saying, “Hush, hush.”

“I wish James could know you,” she said, brokenly. “So he could know what a hero he has for a father.”

“You must never tell him,” said Jack. “Your husband is his father. Keep your family together.”

“Goodbye, Jack,” she said, turning away. “I wish … I wish … oh, never mind. Just go.”

She walked away from us with quick steps and did not look back.

We walked toward the exit of the cargo terminal building. I pulled the roller bag with all the new clothes Jack’s team had bought me in Zurich. Jack had nothing, just the contents of his pockets.

“Let’s sit here for a moment,” he said, indicating a line of metal seats in the hall. “I’ll make a few calls to get us situated.”

He pulled out his phone, punched in a number, ...