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)
As rats scurry around on the dirt floor of my host’s living quarters, I observe the various trackers.
“There’s a trend,” I mutter.
They’re leaving at certain times. Breakfast, brunch, supper. I run a hand over the back of my neck, stifling a laugh, then kick at a particularly comfortable rodent that has taken up residence near my boot. Burt would riot.
“Ha, ha, ha, that bloody bastard, Al Rafi, requires a fry-up. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. One mustn’t deprive themselves of such luxuries.”
I glance around. Shite. Well, one deprives themselves for true love.
I wag a finger at the pinpoint. “You love no one, huh, you dirty cunt.”
As I preview the digital map, the location appears somewhere remote. Possibly subterraneous. “Wealthy tosser should’ve invested in building a proper bunker,” I mutter to myself while clearing out the server. I won’t risk a proper search of where I’ve triangulated the sheikh to be. Placing his latitude and longitude location into Google Maps is out. Who’s to say he’s not that paranoid. Although, his cravings will be the death of him.
At the casino and hotel, I blend in once again in the customary attire—an all-white thawb, with a Glock concealed beneath the robe, and a checkered keffiyeh tied on top of my head.
In the covered parking structure is a flank of the sheikh’s supercars opposite billions of dollars’ worth of bulletproof vehicles, similar to all the ones I’ve tracked.
As the evening sunlight streams into the opening of the parking structure, I crouch behind the farthest armored SUV, far from the entrance, and await the next to leave.
Sure enough, the ping of a lift descending to the appropriate level echoes into the quiet area, followed by the elevator doors opening.
I measure the steps, counting one set as particularly heavy and another two of moderate size.
I move around the vehicles, revealing myself.
In a split second, I’ve shot the heavy bloke, who’s at least seven feet, clear through the skull. The next suppressed bullet penetrates the legs of his smaller companion. I use the butt of the gun to slam into the smaller guard’s temple. He falls, instantly unconscious, and then I level the gun at the third person.
A gorgeous woman.
A chef.
Ahhh, I see. She serves two purposes for the sheikh.
With trembling hands up in surrender, she begs, “Please don’t kill me.”
“That’s up to you, lady. Your honesty is your life insurance policy. Are we understood?” I prompt.
“Ye-yes.”
“You’re visiting the sheikh?”
She nods.
“Are there certain requirements for the guards upon arrival?”
“I . . .”
I clamp my hand into her curly tresses, bringing her face down toward the unconscious man. “As you can see, he’s breathing, is he not?”
After I’ve squeezed a few strands to their breaking point, the beautiful chef whimpers, “Yes.”
“If there’s a requirement upon arrival from the guard, I’ll keep him alive. If there’s not, I’ll . . .”
In Arabic, she stutters, “Spare me.”
“Ahhh, I see you understand now. I only require one of you. So, he dies?” I extract my hand from her hair, and the momentary relief flees the second I place said palm around her throat. “I’m not particularly fond of murdering women.”
She tries to speak.
“I’m a human lie detector. So, I’ll place my fingers on your wrists. Calm now.”
She heaves tiny, measured breaths.
“Yes, stay calm, or I won’t be able to gather an accurate assessment. You will die at that time.”
She nods.
I remove my hand from her soft skin, jealous that I can’t have my hands all over my lover. Will Luxury allow me to hold her if I get back to her?
My index and middle finger press at the chef’s wrists while I look her in the eyes. “Are you calm?”
“Yes.”
Do you still love me, Luxury?
“Do you?” I almost glance away as the stranger’s brows knit. Vic, you bloody tosser, focus. “Alright, good. What’s your name?”
“Yegane,” she mutters.
I start with a simple battery of questions, including her age.
Twenty-four.
Then I start over, not because I sense dishonesty, but because of Luxury and me.
Will my lady be receptive to my love for her?
Finally, Yegane and I return to the more imperative shite.
“Are there guards? Do the guards rotate with you as well? How many men are below ground? How many rooms?”
With the lay of the land snug in my psyche, I gesture toward the vehicle. As Yegane climbs inside, I’ve expired the smaller guard and hefted him over my shoulder to place him in the trunk of the ride. Then I follow the same practice with the larger wanka, so there’s nothing left to allude to their sheikh’s imminent demise.
25
Victor
During the span of the long ride, I’ve set Yegane at ease by discussing my life with her. Her pitch irises gleam as I mention a position of employment at Tudor Enterprise and the compensation package.
Of course, she will not survive this. However, I require Yegane’s total trust.