Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
No, dummy, you were almost raped here the first night.
As the doors whisk open, my eyes crash into Al Rafi’s. His eyes teem with lust. Sitting in a sunken chair, guards surround him.
I search their faces for Ahmad, and my shoulders instantly fall.
“Ah, there she is.” The sheikh apparently has some sort of memory loss. He smiles affectionately. “Everyone, leave us!”
To my left and right, the men and women flood out of the room. I almost reach out to graze someone, anyone, to stop their retreat.
“Kneel.”
You’ll have to kill me.
The returned glint signifies that he will.
“Luxury, I’ll blacken both your eyes.” His tone grows soft, melodic, and amused. “We’re to marry in six weeks. But before we do,” he glares up at me, “it’s imperative that your womanhood be restored. Shall I provide the surgeon more to stitch?”
I crumple to my knees at his feet.
Six weeks.
Vic, please save me.
“Now, be a good girl while I tell you the plans for our nuptials.” He adjusts his robes, revealing himself, and places a hand on my head, applying gentle but firm pressure.
Tears bite my eyes, and I half gag as my mouth encompasses the sheikh to please him.
Days ago, I sold a piece of myself.
Tit for tat.
The attention granted me favor, and now, I have the same feelings for myself that I do for Wasim, Al Rafi, and everyone here.
I’m starting to hate myself.
My listless eyes sparkle for the sheikh as he holds the door of his Ferrari. At first, I was terrified that today this bastard might be taking me to get stitched back together like Humpty Dumpty, but there’s a playfulness in his black, marble eyes. That same impishness also implies that he has been triumphant. His fleshy lips press the nape of my neck, sealing his ownership of me with a kiss.
Clasping my arms over my flat abdomen, I don’t come to attention until he whisks me into the extravagant casino. Laughter fuses with the sweet smell of expensive cigars and mingles with the excitement of free-flowing Cristal. Al Rafi takes two flutes of champagne off a tray from one of the many servants.
I consider shaking my head no but being compliant is best. “Thank you,” I murmur, placing the glass to my lips. Once it’s tickled there, I hand it back without even taking a sip.
At an elevator, the attendant places a hand up, discouraging other tourists from climbing aboard.
As the elevator shoots up into the sky, I catch my reflection in the mirror. The girl who once lost her mind in a hotel elevator with Victor Tudor has passed away. Fleeting images of the duke tempting me to his room vie for my attention, but I focus on my surroundings. Similar to my first love affair, we exit on the top floor. Nevertheless, my reality is teeming with more opulence than Victor’s penthouse had on our magical night.
A live band plays on one side of the 360-degree room. The upper echelons don tuxedos while their counterparts sweep about in ball gowns.
With every step Al Rafi takes, someone kisses his cottage-cheese ass. He escorts me to a card table with genuine gold and platinum game pieces.
As Al Rafi places a bet, I glance discreetly through the veil of my eyelashes for the various exits. There are elevators in only one direction. Men with buds in their ears wander about—the sheikh’s guards. They've seen me walk in with the sheikh. I know at the palace his other wives have free rein once they've submitted. I'm the only bad sub. So, I don't know if they'll allow me to leave alone. I have learned a few of the customs. Stepping onto the elevator unescorted is a no-no.
I need someone to latch onto. A man that I can pretend is my escort, but first, I have to get away from Al Rafi.
Caught up in a poker game, Al Rafi doesn’t notice as I continue to take subtle glances around. My instincts heighten based on Ahmad’s suggestions. I pray that the love of my life has instilled in me the fight to survive. I wish I’d paid more attention to our self-defense lessons on Victor’s yacht.
A pang slices through my heart even now as I think back to the image of Vic and Madeline.
If I survive, that bitch is dead.
I place a hand over my womb, determined I won’t foolishly survive without thriving.
I’ll truly keep my momma’s memory alive through Urban Gardens.
And . . . I won’t just cave to Victor’s every desire. Not after he publicly agreed to marry Madeline. Sure, his mother’s conniving is behind the entire scenario. His conforming hurt me more than anything ever has.
Even the reason I’m here.
With calculated determination, I drift a few tables away toward an affluent couple, who I assume are Americans, by working the servers. I grab a champagne glass, pretend to sip, and set it down. I have to see how far I can go before Al Rafi lassos me like a friggen animal.