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)
“Noor?” I quickly jump in after his pretentious monologue.
“Do not insult me.”
“Full disclosure, mate?” I spit back. “Noor was not innocent, and I never laid a bloody hand on her.”
“Blasphemy!” The sheikh collects a bit of composure. “You attempted to sully my most prized possession, my beautiful daughter. Now it's only fair that I touch what is dearest to your heart. What once belonged to you is now mine.”
1
Luxury
Five hours before . . .
An explosion bleeds into the dark, empty field. Flames engulf Ahmad’s get-away car. While shivering in my pajamas, I stumble over the unkempt land as Ahmad tugs me toward a Learjet.
Offering a pointed glare at the zip ties binding my hands, Ahmad asks, “Will you behave?”
Although my throat’s so dry that it feels cracked and swollen shut, I don’t trust myself to respond, not even a subtle nod.
“As you wish,” he hisses, waving a hand for me to ascend the staircase and into the jet. An Arabian flight attendant stands at the plane's entrance. With much of her face concealed beneath a veil, her impassive eyes sweep over my thin, silk sleepwear and the ashes peppering my mass of copper curls.
Her look of disdain warns that I have no voice.
Woman-to-woman isn’t an option.
They exchange words in a different language. The woman disappears behind the curtains as the jet's door closes, taking my last bit of hope with it. Ahmad escorts me down two aisles of plush white leather reclining chairs.
“Once we’ve made progress, I’ll inform you of the rules.” Ahmad’s athletic build leans over me as he buckles my seatbelt.
I glare through him before he takes a seat across from me.
Sometime later, the jet streamlines into the air. Ahmad clears his throat. “It’s just about time for breakfast, Luxury.” His tone is calmer. After waiting a few beats for my response, he mumbles, “Suit yourself.”
As tears trickle down the cinnamon freckles on my cheeks, I watch as Ahmad feasts on a variety of food. My only thought is Victor. I wonder what he’s doing now. Has he noticed I’m missing? I know he will search for me, but how will he find me?
Another hour into the flight, Ahmad wipes his goatee-framed lips with a linen napkin. He gives an abrupt hand wave, and the attendant whisks away his silver tray. He places a straw into an untouched glass of apple juice, bringing it to my lips, and I set my mouth in acrimony.
“Drink when you’re ready. Eat when you’re hungry.” His thick accent laces with sincerity as he removes the glass. Again, his demeanor changes, turning serious. “Now, for the rules. How you will address the sheikh.”
Tears blanket my eyes, and I’m left sightless as he dictates what will be expected of me.
“And finally,” Ahmad pauses, clearing his throat, “you will be required to attend to his needs. Hadiyah will discuss the more feminine requirements.”
Whoever she is, Hadiyah will teach me all right. Teach me how to fuck the sheikh to his standards. Sharp talons claw at my veins and send vomit hurling up my throat. I bite it all back down. How is it possible this is happening? Forced to sleep with one man while I'm having the child of another.
Here I am in another foreign country with no family. Not even a friend like Burt. Or the man I love. The jet just landed in the center of a metropolitan area. The buildings here make NYC look like a contractor's model. The skyscrapers shoot up into the blistering blue heavens with no cloud in sight.
Before we exit the plane, the flight attendant provides me with modest clothes—loose blue jeans, a blouse, and tennis shoes. After all the rules about Al Rafi, I figure that this attire is to ensure I don’t appear to be an abductee among the wealthy tourists. I look like one of them.
Sweat drips down my back as Ahmad escorts me into a hotel and casino that apparently belongs to the sheikh.
Gold-trimmed marble floors and columns are just the beginning of the extravagance. A river of water, with soaring fountains at each turn, stretches through most of the building. I look around for a familiar face, an American or an Englishman, anyone who might speak English. I fear that the foreign faces won’t understand my plea for help. It will do no good if my pleading is for nothing or could possibly lead to a beating. No matter how nice Ahmad seems, I don't trust him.
At a long bank of elevators, we step into one at the end. A couple starts toward us. My eyes meet the young women of mixed, unfamiliar heritage. Her eyes are questioning. The doors swoosh closed as I open my mouth to utter my first word—a plea for help—in hours.
Ahmad opens a panel beneath the bank of buttons and enters a code. The elevator shoots up. After a lengthy climb, the doors open at level 157. Ahmad steps out, and we head down a corridor, which is not as long as I think it should be. Perhaps it is one of the top floors. We stop in front of a door, and he pulls out a key card, unlocking it.