“Leave her alone, Flavia,” Uncle Gaetano said. “If you damage the goods, Fahd will be angry.”
Flavia let go and gave Ella’s shoulder a shove. Since she was strapped into her seat, she didn’t fall. If she’d been standing, she probably would have. But that was nothing compared to the horror that filled her at what her uncle had said. At whose name he’d said.
“Sheikh Fahd? He still wants to marry me?”
Aunt Flavia snarled. “No thanks to you, you little slut. Yes, he’ll still take you—though he won’t pay as much as he would have before that stunt you pulled.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s not up to you to understand. It’s up to you to do your duty!”
Anger and outrage still had Ella in their grip. And since her uncle had told her aunt not to hit her again, she didn’t guard her tongue.
“You know you can’t touch the vast majority of the Rossi money. It’s not yours at all. It’s mine.”
Uncle Gaetano threw her a bored look while Aunt Flavia turned redder by the minute.
“You will sign it over,” Uncle Gaetano said. “And you will do so happily.”
“I won’t.”
“Oh, I think you will. If you wish to remain alive, that is. Because upon your death, dear niece, the money passes to the next heir. That would be me.”
Ella blinked as fear tightened her throat. “Then why not kill me and be done with it?”
“We thought of it,” her uncle said. “But the money stays in trust for the next five years if you die. It will eventually come to me. If you sign the money over, it will come much sooner.”
“And if I’d rather die?” she threw at him.
He uncrossed his legs and recrossed them the other way. So casual. So unconcerned. “Don’t be melodramatic, Antonella. Alive is always better than dead. And you will be a queen, which you will never be in Capriolo. The monarchy is dead there, even with that silly band of monarchists who want to bring it back. The people have spoken, and they will not return to those days. So die if you wish and make this inconvenient for us—or marry Fahd and be his queen. You will be wealthy and pampered and live out your days as a royal. Much better than tawdry sex in a tiny apartment with a soldier, don’t you think?”
“And what if I agree to sign it over if you let me go? Just let me be free and you can have everything.” She meant it too. Because freedom was far more important than a fortune. Freedom to be herself, to choose her life. To choose whom she loved. “I’ll get a job, renounce my title and fortune. I don’t care. Whatever you like—only don’t do this to me. Don’t sell me to a man I don’t love.”
“I am afraid that won’t do, Antonella,” her uncle said. “You will always be Princess Antonella of Capriolo. You will always be the queen in exile if you stay in the US. And how would it look if your aunt and I are rich and you are poor and living with a soldier? Or, worse, getting a job?” He shook his head. “No, it’s better this way. You will thank us one day for looking out for your best interests.”
Ella very much doubted that. Her uncle accepted a drink from a flight attendant who carefully avoided looking at Ella. Her aunt joined him and took her own drink from the tray.
Ella glanced around. The jet was opulent, with gleaming gold surfaces and leather couches and chairs. There was a pattern in the carpet that she tilted her head to study.
Qu’rimi Oil Exploration was written around the medallion that featured a hawk and crossed palm trees. There was also a curved sword and words written in what she assumed was Arabic across the bottom.
Sheikh Fahd. Of course they were in his jet. Of course he was still involved.
She thought of the man who insisted his hooded raptor accompany him everywhere he went and knew that a man like that would not take any insults to his person lightly. And he had certainly taken her flight as an insult.
Which meant, even if he was planning to marry her, he intended to punish her as well.
Ella shivered. She had no idea what a desert sheikh might do in order to assuage his wounded pride, but she didn’t look forward to finding out.
Chapter 29
“Her aunt and uncle have her. They’re on the way to Qu’rim,” Colonel Mendez said, brows drawn low, expression one of quiet fury.
“Fucking Fahd,” Cage said. He had no love for Fahd, not since his wife—before she was his wife—had been in Qu’rim to meet with the sheikh and he’d flown away from the capital without offering her a ride when the rebels took the city.
Cash stood beside the table, unable to sit. Unable to reconcile the situation in his head. The colonel and Ghost were the only other men standing. Everyone else was at their seats around the conference table.
When he’d arrived, they’d already been here, war-gaming the situation. He’d called Viking on the way and told him everything. Hawk had called too. Flavia and Gaetano Rossi had been watching Ella for days, it seemed. They’d hired a mercenary to kidnap her, and he’d taken his shot when one of Hawk’s men left his post.
“What does Fahd want with her?” Cash asked. “She’s still married to me.”
Or at least as far as he knew. He’d gotten no papers to sign. Didn’t mean she hadn’t initiated the process.
“You think a little thing like that will stop Fahd?” Mendez asked. He shook his head. “It won’t. He intends to marry her. He apparently never gave up on the idea after all.”
“We have to stop him,” Cash said, his voice tight. Ella would be afraid. He hated the idea of her being afraid. She’d been free of her family for almost two weeks, but now she was right back where she’d started. Except it was worse, because now she knew what freedom tasted like.
Mendez looked thoughtful. Cash’s belly tightened. If the colonel said this wasn’t a military op, they were sunk. He was sunk.
Cash’s resolve hardened. He would call Ian Black if so. That rogue could get anything done. For a price.
“We’re going to stop him, Money,” Mendez finally said. “You boys get your gear and get ready. I’m calling Andrews for transport.”
Cash’s legs wobbled for a second. Andrews was Andrews Air Force Base, home of Air Force One—and one of the primary sources of their rides to various theaters. This time their theater was the Middle East.
The SEALs hurried to their lockers and grabbed their gear, checking weapons and packs. They’d have to make battle plans on the way. Study maps, figure out where best to intercept Ella and her relatives.
They boarded a plane within the hour and took off. They were a couple of hours behind Ella, but they could make that time up in the air. It was a long trip, and when they landed at a base north of Baq, it was midmorning.
There was a surprise waiting on the tarmac when they disembarked.
Ian Black stood there with arms crossed, chewing a piece of gum and looking supremely bored.
“Hey there, boys,” he called when they trudged off the aircraft with equipment duffels on shoulders and weapons strapped to their bodies. “Long night?”
Viking, as their commanding officer, was the one who had to deal with Black.
“Long enough,” he replied. “How about you? Spend the night in a cushy hotel room eating bonbons?”
“You know it, man,” Black said. “Don’t forget being fed those bonbons by a nubile young lady who misplaced her clothes.”
“Can we cut the crap?” Cash interjected. “Where’s Ella?”
Black let out a long-suffering sigh. “You fucking marine animals are too serious sometimes. Lighten up, fish face. They landed half an hour ago. She’s being taken to Fahd’s palace in the city.”
“Palace? The fucker has a palace?”
Black shrugged. “It’s a compound. He calls it a palace. I guess he’s big into visualizing what he wants. If you visualize it, it will come,” he intoned.
“What about the wedding? Is he actually planning to marry her?” Viking asked.
“So far as I can gather, yes. It’ll be a sunset ceremony in
his gardens, according to my information.” He glanced at his watch. All operators wore a watch instead of using cell phones for time, because phones could jeopardize mission security. Black was Special Ops, all right. “That gives you a few hours to figure how you’re gonna bust in there and rescue the girl. Best keep nap time to a minimum, boys.”
“You got a schematic for this place?” Cash growled. “Or you just want to bust our balls?”
Black smiled a lazy smile. “I’ve got it.”
“All right,” Viking said before Cash could pounce, “let’s get into the war room and figure out the plan. Ella is counting on us.”
* * *
After a forced nap—in which she did not nap at all—Ella was taken to a bathhouse within the palace. Made of artfully crumbling stone and mosaic tile, it was lovely, with a soaring domed roof and hot water pouring from a spigot into a clear pool. Another spigot poured cool water.
She was disrobed by servant girls who ignored her protests, and then immersed into the pool. They joined her, soaping her body and then rinsing her skin with ewers of water poured over her head. Ella sputtered and spat, but they didn’t stop.
Her hair was washed, dried, and woven with flowers. They painted henna designs on her feet and hands while her limbs trembled and they ringed her eyes with kohl. All the while, she kept imagining the dark sheikh with his hooded hawk and the hard look in his eyes. What would he do to her when he finally had her in his bedroom?
Would he strip her naked and take his pleasure, or would he turn away in disgust because he knew she’d been with another man? If all he wanted her for was her title, what incentive did he have to actually copulate with her?
Ella hoped he had none, though she very much feared she was going to be proven wrong on that score. Men, she knew, didn’t need much of an excuse.
She was wrapped in silk robes, each one more elaborate than the last, and draped in jewels that hung between her breasts and lay against her skin. Skin that was visible through the narrow slits in the robes.
“Come,” one of the maidens who’d been tending her said when the preparation was done, smiling as if Ella were being bestowed a great honor.
Ella hesitated.
The maiden took her hand. “Come.”
“No,” Ella whispered, hanging back. “No.”
Her heart pounded and she felt suddenly light-headed. She didn’t want this. She was married to Cash—whether he liked it or not—and she didn’t want Sheikh Fahd. How could she lie beneath him after what she’d experienced with Cash? How could she pretend it was okay?
At least it won’t hurt.
No, it wouldn’t hurt because she’d had enough sex to make sure it didn’t. Unless the sheikh took her in a place that Cash had not.
Fear froze Ella’s heart, her throat, her feet. She couldn’t move.
“You will come, Princess,” the maiden said again. Firmer this time. Less smiling. “The sheikh awaits.”
“No,” she whispered. “I cannot.”
“You have no choice, Princess. The sheikh is your lord and master. You will come.”
“Who are you?” Ella asked, horrified at how unfeeling this girl was. How certain that Ella should go willingly and that it would be a great honor for her.
“I am nobody, Princess. You will come.”
Ella wanted to scream. To cry. Fear glued her feet to the ground. But then she got mad at herself. Why was she cowering? Hiding? She would go to Sheikh Fahd with her head held high. She would be defiant and completely unsuitable. Perhaps he would be so disgusted with her that he would let her go. Tell her aunt and uncle the deal was off.
She marched out of the room behind the maiden. The others followed. This one led Ella through cool corridors upon which the shadows grew long. When she reached a doorway, she stopped and knocked.
“Enter,” a dark voice said.
Ella’s heart throbbed as the maiden swung the door open. The sheikh stood there, imposing and cool in his white desert robes and dark headdress with the golden cords holding it in place. There was a sword at his waist and a winking jewel on his hand. He was resplendent—and a little frightening.
Ella followed the maiden into the room. Her aunt and uncle stood off to the side, looking smug. There was another man. A secretary, perhaps.
“I have papers for you to sign, Princess,” Sheikh Fahd said. “You will sign them and then we will be married.”
Her heart pounded. Her chin lifted. Defiant. “And if I do not?”
Because would the sheikh threaten her with death? What good would it do him?
“You will sign, or you will be punished.”
Ella searched for something to say. Finally it hit her. “You would have me sign over my fortune to them? What if it could be yours?”
Sheikh Fahd’s eyes gleamed. “I have enough money. I don’t need more.”
She lowered her lashes. “Can a man ever have enough?” she asked softly.
He didn’t speak for a long moment. Her aunt sputtered. Her uncle stiffened. Ella wanted to laugh. Fahd did laugh, but it wasn’t an angry sound. It sounded like genuine amusement. She was encouraged.
“Perhaps not,” he murmured.
“Sheikh Fahd, I have a lot of money that my parents left me. I don’t know what these people told you”—she cast her relatives a withering glance—“but they have no right to that money. It can be yours. I would rather it was yours than theirs.”
Aunt Flavia was close to exploding. Uncle Gaetano looked furious.
Ella pressed on before her aunt could speak. “They have no right to it. You, as my husband, do. Surely it will help you in your quest.”
“My quest?”
Ella lowered her gaze. Had she gone too far? She only knew that he wanted to be king of Qu’rim because Cash had told her. “Your quest to do what is right and best for your country,” she said softly. “Let the money help Qu’rim as it cannot help Capriolo.”
Fahd shot her relatives a glance. They looked positively outraged. It must be killing them not to speak, but she knew they were working hard to show deference to Fahd.
“Sheikh Fahd,” her uncle began. One of Fahd’s eyebrows lifted. “The girl is mistaken. The Rossi fortune cannot be transferred to someone who is not a Rossi. It is law.”
Ella wanted to laugh at that blatant lie. Her attorneys had spent a great deal of time over the past five days telling her exactly what she could do with her fortune. The answer was whatever she wanted.
Fahd ignored her uncle. He snapped his fingers and the man who’d been standing off to the side hurried over.
“Come,” he said to Ella, holding out his hand with the hint of a smile. “We will be wed first. Then we shall decide what is to become of your money.”
Chapter 30
Cash sat in the van with his teammates, M4 slung over his chest, Glock at his side, extra magazines stashed in his belt. The SEALs were dressed for combat in tactical suits and armed to the teeth.
“This is Delta Whiskey. What’s our ETA?” Viking asked Black via radio back to his HQ. “Over.”
They’d been crawling through a traffic jam for the past half an hour. Black was tracking their progress via satellite and trying to give them alternate routes. Waze wasn’t a thing in Qu’rim yet, and Google Maps hadn’t caught up with all the changes now that the city was a war zone much of the time.
Cash was about to lose his frigging mind. Ella had been in Qu’rim for about six hours now. She hadn’t moved from Fahd’s palace, but what was going on in there? What had they done to her by now? The possibilities killed him, but his team hadn’t been able to move until they had a plan and good intel. Rushing the op was bad juju, and they weren’t about to do that.
The mood in the van was somber, and the guys didn’t say much. Ella was fifteen minutes away from Black’s HQ on a good day. Fahd’s palace in Baq was a recent acquisition that he hadn’t managed to completely modernize yet. That was good for the SEALs when it came to Fahd’s security measures—me
aning they were still rudimentary, which Black’s schematic of the buildings had confirmed.
There were cameras and alarms, but nothing state of the art. More like what you’d get for typical home security in the suburbs back home. Adequate against thieves but a joke for experienced operators.
Black’s voice came over the line. “India Bravo copies. ETA twenty-eighteen. Unless you get a miracle and someone parts the traffic for you. I’m still looking for a route. Over.”
“Shit,” Viking said before lifting the receiver again. “Copy that, India Bravo. Let us know. Over and out.”
“We could run faster than this,” Camel grumbled.
Cash started for the sliding door. Someone grabbed him and slammed him down again. “No, not happening.” It was Cage who’d growled in his ear. “This is fucking Qu’rim, and you’d stand out like a sore thumb. We all would.”
They would. They were a badass Special Ops team on a mission. They weren’t in civvies, they were in full-on spec ops gear. Yeah, they’d stand out. They’d be a target too. There were Freedom Fighters in the streets these days, and they didn’t give a shit about civilians. If a SEAL team appeared in full gear on the streets of Baq, people would panic that they’d be in the line of fire.
The van crawled along for another fifteen minutes—and then, just when Cash was ready to blow his top, they shot forward and started to move. Dirty Harry, or DH for short, was behind the wheel, and he mashed the accelerator to the floor. Ten more minutes and they were swinging into position on a side street near Fahd’s compound. It was full dark now, which was good. They’d originally planned to go at sunset, but the traffic had changed that plan.
Now they piled out of the van and headed for their insertion point, a part of the razor-wired wall that butted up against a nearby house. They scaled the wall, cut the wire, and dropped into the compound. Voices came from the courtyard. Glasses clinked together as if there was a celebration happening.
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