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)
Our own family.
My brain screams that Victor deserves a second chance as a father. I friggen haven’t stopped praying for my child since that pregnancy test. At least, I haven’t ceased supplicating to God while I’m of sound mind.
As I tell myself to grow a pair and run, my legs move in the wrong direction.
Can I survive in the desert?
Is the 110-degree weather a worse fate for my child and myself?
Ahmad continues to sell the sheikh to me as if this is a fairytale come true. “Al Rafi will treat you well.”
“Oh! What’s your definition of well?” The words shoot from my mouth, and my glossy gaze meets his hopeful one. Forget running off into the wilderness. Luxxie, you can’t be hopeless like you were after Momma . . . you have a life growing in you. I need to strategize, but before getting around to that, I goad, “What is your friggen definition of well?”
“You won't have to work or worry for a single thing. Granted, you're paying for another man’s sins. Nevertheless, Allah has not forsaken you for being in a relationship with such an evil, disgusting being,” he retorts through grimaced lips. “Al Rafi is a good ruler.”
“I don't want to be here!” I shout with vehement indignation. Having been on a fast for at least twenty-four hours, I waver, exerting what energy I had.
Instead of yanking me up or offering a hand of support, Ahmad stands in front of me. He glares down at me as angry as the moment he first laid eyes on me. He’s seeing me as Victor’s property. Or maybe he’s not, since his thick lips are not in a frown beneath a stark, black goatee. Whatever it is, it doesn’t stop his taunting voice as he asks, “Did you survey the lands upon our travel? Can you honestly believe you will get away from here? Ms. Whitson, pray until your face turns ashen—Allah is with Sheikh Al Rafi. This is your home.”
“It's not!”
He takes siege of my shoulders. “The happier you are, the safer you are.”
The words are advice laced with threat. I shove out a hand, and he blocks. My left hand goes for a hook. It almost connects with the side of his face. “This isn't my home. You abducted me, you mother—”
“Ahmad!” a voice commands his attention.
I fight, giving my all to a strike that would deck a lesser man. Although Ahmad’s no longer defending himself, instincts warn that my cross was a mistake. My gut twists as I spin around to align my gaze where Ahmad’s landed.
A chubby man, face etched in wrinkles, stands with a spine of steel and the eyes of a hawk.
“Ahmad, what have you done to my future wife?” he demands. The saliva on his thick mouth stretches from one lip to the other. “What has caused her such distress—”
Chin high, I snap, “I’m not your future—”
“Or bed maid!” His chin jiggles savagely. “You do not speak unless permitted. Allow me to forewarn you, Ms. Whitson. This moment is the only time you have a choice to make. You will be one of my many wives or one of my many bed maids. The requirements are the same—except a bed maid takes it rougher.”
My stomach clenches at the thought of sex with him. So, my decisions are fuck him willingly as one of his many wives or be raped. Although he’s dressed in a suit and spritzed with expensive cologne, the sour scent of his sweat permeates the space between us. Trembling with every step I take, Ahmad stays at my side, escorting me. Al Rafi silently devours my flesh with his piercing dark eyes as we pass by.
The lofty walls are more extravagant than the hotel we left, which seems like a lifetime has passed, but that was just hours ago. A striking mural blankets the ceilings, and we meander through an endless tangle of corridors.
“This will be your apartment,” Ahmad mutters, stopping at a closed door that arches up into the ceiling. We’d passed by similar entryways. With no numbers to identify the rooms, I’m left baffled as he escorts me into a sitting room with a large flat screen. I haven’t seen a television since leaving New York. For all of Victor’s possessions, there wasn’t a single screen at Arlington.
Once done spinning around, I turn to see Ahmad still darkening the threshold. He’s stuck by my side the entire time, even arguing with Hadiyah at the hotel. Running his knuckles softly over his jaw, he mumbles, “I am waiting for your ladies.”
“My ladies?”
“Uh . . . what you would call . . . maids,” he assures. “Please look around. Please . . . smile.”
I stroll toward the muscular lapdog, disgusted by how Hadiyah’s makeup cakes over my skin. After setting eyes on Al Rafi, I know which man to whom I’d rather be indebted. Disconnected from the moment, I place on a graceful grin.