“Open up!” a gruff voice shouts. “Or else we’re breaking down the goddamned door!”
This time Dahlia stiffens, her mouth breaking away from mine. “Wes?” she whispers.
My forehead drops to hers, and we both try to control our erratic breathing.
“All right,” I shout to the person behind the door. “We’ll be out in two fucking seconds.”
It pains me, literally pains me, but I let go of Dahlia. I turn on the sink faucet and splash my face with cold water. “We should go,” I tell her, catching her reflection through the mirror. She’s straightening her clothes and trying to smooth down her hair.
“They’re gonna think that we were…” She doesn’t finish the rest, and it’s funny to me that she can’t say it.
“Doing exactly what we were doing?”
“Well…yeah.” Her face grows a few shades redder. “But it’d be nice if they were left in the dark.”
I reach out and tuck a flyaway hair behind her ear. “Who cares what they think, right? They coerced us into this plane, remember?”
“I suppose you have a point.”
Someone bangs on the door, shaking the entire cabin. “Dammit, Kent! Open up!”
It’s Tyson’s voice this time. I swing open the door, and as a result, his balance is thrown off. He stumbles inside, falling to his knees. I lean down and pat him on the shoulder. “Vacant now, buddy.”
Dahlia places her hand over her mouth, but not before I catch her grinning. “Just deserts,” she says to me on the way back to our seats.
“You’ve got that right.”
~ ~
DOLL
“I was wrong about your mom.”
I look up at Wesley, drawing my brows together. That came out of nowhere, and I’m not entirely sure how to react. “What made you change your mind?”
“I finally read my dad’s letter,” he admits, shifting in his seat. “He never told us he was sick. I never knew…”
“That must’ve been hard on you.” I reach for his hand, entwining my fingers through his.
I get it now. Harland was trying to protect his family, but instead he ended up hurting them. I can’t even begin to imagine how Wesley feels. Those last few years with my mom were precious; I wouldn’t give them back for the world. Being denied that time with her would’ve killed me. Harland was a good man, but I think he made a bad choice in not telling his family.
Wesley stares at our hands, a sort of sadness in his eyes. “And I was wrong for not believing you about Christine.”
“I know. It’s okay,” I assure him. “We don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, we do.” His eyes are suddenly focused on me. “I went to Barakat’s class yesterday.”
Fear ripples through my body, and I go completely still. “You did?”
“Yes.”
The way he’s speaking creates a tightening in my chest. It’s not so much what he’s saying, but how he’s saying it that puts me on edge. “Why?”
“I think the better question is why do you want that sword so much?”
I loosen my fingers away from his and turn to stare out the window, focusing on the tiny view of passing clouds.
He knows. He’s not coming out and saying that he knows, but I get the distinct impression he does.
“Don’t do this to me again, babe. Don’t shut me out.”
“I don’t like talking about him, Wes. It’s complicated.”
“Why is it so complicated?”
I press my lips together, unsure of how to say this. “Talking about him makes it real. I can’t explain it; I just feel like it gives him strength over me somehow.”
“We can’t keep doing this, babe. We can’t keep ignoring our problems, hoping they’ll disappear. Life doesn’t work that way.”
“You know who he is, don’t you?” I turn to face him, looking straight into his eyes. He carefully nods as if he’s afraid to speak.
I stare down at my lap, fidgeting at the frayed strings on my bracelet. There’s no avoiding this anymore. There’s no hiding from it either. “I wanted the sword because he wanted it…” I swallow, my voice beginning to break. “But it doesn’t matter because now I’ll never have it.”
“Did you think getting it would make him see you differently?”
“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” I let out a long sigh. “I guess I hoped he’d regret everything.”
Wesley’s voice softens. “Regret what, babe?”
He’s making this so easy for me, but the words lodged in my throat are still the hardest ones to say. Not because Wesley’s listening. But because I am.
“I’d hoped he’d regret…abandoning me.”
“And who is he, Dahlia?”
I blink.
Here it is. The moment of truth.
“My father.” I lean back against the seat, placing my hands over my face. “God, I’ve never admitted that out loud before.”
My whole body is trembling, and I can’t seem to get it together. The strange thing is, I feel better. I feel like I’ve let something out.
“Dahlia¸ look at me.”
I shake my head, keeping my palms flat against my eyes. Whatever this feeling is, I don’t want to ruin it so quickly by judgment or pity or whatever other sad emotion Wesley has reserved for me.
I hear his seat buckle click open. He pries my fingers away from my face, pulling me toward him. Strong arms encircle me, and I’m surrounded with the warmth of Wesley’s chest. When I look up at him, there is no pity or judgment in his eyes. He’s smiling. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“No.” I smile back. “It surprisingly wasn’t.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
DOLL
It’s after midnight in Marrakesh by the time we arrive. Tyson wanted to go straight to the sword’s location, but everyone convinced him to wait until tomorrow. Apparently it’s being kept in the desert, and it takes almost a full day to get there.
“Does your uncle live in the desert?” I ask Wesley curiously.
“No.”
“So what’s he doing there?”
“A job.”
“What kind of job?”
“I don’t know,” Wesley shrugs. “I didn’t ask.”
It bothers me that he doesn’t know much about where we’re going or what to expect when we get there. He mentioned before that his uncle is a geologist, so I guess it makes sense for his work to take him out to the desert. Although I still hate what we’re doing, I’m kinda looking forward to seeing it. I mean, it’s the Sahara. Who wouldn’t want to cross it off their bucket list?
On the way to our hotel, I try to look out the window to see some sights, but it’s too dark. Our taxi driver shouts in Arabic at the other drivers, swerving and twisting through the small streets in the same way any American cabbie would. When Wesley says a few words to him in French, his whole demeanor changes. The driver laughs, and they strike up a conversation that lasts the entire drive.
Once we’re in the hotel lobby, Wesley argues with Tyson over me being allowed to share the same room as him. As they’re arguing, I look over the rest of Tyson’s crew. There’s five of them, four around my age, and the older one I recognize from back at the Philosophy building. His name is James, but I’m not sure about the others. They all look semi-recognizable. They could very well be UF students, and most likely are.
Wesley told me on the plane there are more members—a lot more—spread all over the country. They believe they’re descendants of Knights Templar, and because the sword was mentioned in one of their ancient texts, they feel entitled to the ownership of it. They share a self-righteous determination that makes me livid about the entire situation. I hate that they’re getting away with this. I hate feeling so helpless to stop it.
Wesley’s right though; we don’t have another choice. They’ll never back off until they get the sword. There’s something ruthless in their tactics, something sinister in the way they go after people. They were ballsy enough
to abduct me on campus property. The lengths they will go to are boundless.
Before I know what’s happening, one of the guys pulls me in their direction, a slow smile on his lips. “Would you like to stay in my room?”
I turn my head, recoiling. His breath smells like sour milk, and the tone of his voice makes me cringe. “Thanks, but no thanks.” I push at his arms. They’re locked tight around my waist, and they won’t budge. The harder I push, the tighter he pulls.
Chuckling at my attempts to get away, he says, “Why not? I promise to keep you warm.”
“Get your goddamned hands off of her!” Wesley’s fist plunges straight into the guy’s face, the force sending us both to the floor.
As I’m scrambling away, I feel a hand on my elbow, lifting me up. Guilt immediately washes over Wesley’s face. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t think the idiot would fall over.”
“I’m fine,” I say, breathless.
The guy on the floor, however, is not fine. Blood drips from his nose, and there’s a murderous look in his eyes. The others help him up, looking just as pissed, and for a second I fear they might gang up on Wesley.
A quick glance around the lobby tells me no one is paying any attention. There’s a clerk at the front desk talking on the phone, but he has his back toward us. Other than that, there’s no one.
Before all hell breaks loose, I march toward Tyson. In the calmest, most serious voice I can muster, I say, “You’re either giving me my own room where I can lock the door, or you’re sticking me with Wesley. I’ve put up with a lot of crap from you over the last few days, Tyson, and I swear to God I’ve reached my limit. If we wanted to escape, we would’ve done it by now.”
A few long seconds of silence pass as we stare each other down. Then Tyson looks at Wesley, and back at me again. “The two of you can share a room,” he finally allows. “I’ll have someone keep watch outside your door.”
“Great. Thanks.”
Just when I think everything is over, Tyson signals one of the other guys. Then he snakes his hand around the crook of my arm. “Hey, wha—”
“Let’s step outside, Kent.”
It’s James who is speaking to Wesley now. He’s standing directly in front of him, daring him not to comply. I watch the other men go out the back of the hotel, one by one, and instantly I know what they’re planning.
My heart begins to pound furiously against my chest. “No,” I say, my eyes flicking to Wesley.
His features are stern, but I sense he knows what’s coming. He nods once to James. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Wesley, no—”
My voice is muffled as Tyson draws my face into his chest. “There, there,” he whispers into my ear. “Let’s not cause a scene.”
I’m pushing and fighting him with every ounce of strength I have, but his arms are like tree trunks. Turning my head just enough to get a quick breath, I scream, “Let him go!”
“Shut up!” he hisses. “The more you fight me, I swear to God, the worse I’ll make it for him.”
Cold metal grazes my side. I feel Tyson lift the barrel of a gun beneath the side of my shirt. Instantly I go still. “You wouldn’t,” I say, hearing the tremor in my voice. “We’re in a public place. Not only that, but you’ll never get your sword.”
“Don’t tempt me. Now that we have Wesley, we don’t need you anymore.”
“He won’t help you if you kill me.”
“Let’s agree there’s no need to find out.”
With every precious second that passes, I feel the urge to fight this. To stop them. My eyes flick to the door Wesley and the others went through. Seeing it, knowing what’s happening out there and not being able to do anything about brings a heaviness over my chest. There’s nothing I can do, and I hate myself for it.
“Now be a good girl and go up to your room,” Tyson directs me. “I promised the two of you won’t be separated, and I meant it. He’ll be up as soon as we’re through with him.” Tyson puts a key in my hand, then pushes me toward the stairs. “Run along now.”
I glare at him, literally feeling surrounded by rage. I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate him in this moment. I consider trying to get help, but he rests his hand on his hip bone where the bulge of his gun shows through his shirt, curbing any fight or flight notions coming to mind.
He’s leaving me with no choice. I retreat up the narrow flight of stairs, running the entire way.
Waiting for Wesley is pure torture. I sit on the foot of the bed, thinking about when or if he’ll come and whether or not I made the right decision in not calling for help. My stomach is in knots, and I feel nauseous. Every second that passes is worse than the last. I can’t stand this. It’s making me physically sick, knowing this is all my fault. I’m to blame for whatever pain they put him through.
When I hear someone stick a key in the door, my heart stops. I slowly stand, watching the door open. Wesley walks in, and I stop breathing.
His face is battered so badly I want to cry. His upper lip has been split open, blood smeared across his mouth. Both his cheeks have ugly red marks, the left one marked with a small cut above his cheekbone. He’s hunched over holding his ribcage, and he walks inside the room with a limp. As usual, the pain is masked in his face, but he can’t mask it in the way he’s carrying himself.
“Oh my God, Wes. I am so sorry. This would’ve never happened if I—”
Wesley reaches out, gripping both my wrists in his hands. His voice is low and serious. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. This isn’t your fault. Do you understand me?”
I nod once, a weak effort.
He loosens his grip, searching my eyes. “What happened out there was Tyson those other assholes showing the size of their dicks. We’re here because of them. Everything that has happened is because of them. None of this is your fault, babe. Okay?”
He stares at me intently, waiting for me to say something. I can’t get past his reaction. I didn’t expect him to be so upset about me blaming myself. Because I can’t stand the idea of putting him through anything else, I give him the answer he’s looking for.
“Okay.”
He watches me for a long moment, and once he’s satisfied, he releases me.
He drops the duffel bag on the chair beside the bed and crosses the room, stopping by the bathroom door. “I’m gonna take a shower. Are you hungry?”
“Yes,” I say, feeling my stomach growl on cue.
“I saw a twenty-four hour room service menu by the phone. Why don’t you call and order us something?”
“Okay.” I turn around and see the menu sitting on the nightstand.
The bathroom door shuts and a moment later I hear the water running. I dial the number to the front desk, relieved to hear the clerk answer in English. I proceed to order enough food to feed five people, hoping Wesley’s just as hungry as I am.
Out of curiosity I crack the door open to see if Tyson was serious when he said he’d put someone there to watch the room. Sure enough I glimpse one of his lackeys hanging out at the end of the hall. Frowning, I close the door and lock it.
I’m not sure what to do while I’m waiting for the food, so I search the room in hopes of finding a first aid kit. Luckily there’s one stashed inside the closet. Rummaging through it, I pull out things I think Wesley might need, antiseptic, a packet of ibuprofen, Band-Aids, and lay them on the bed.
“There’s something I wanna ask you,” Wesley says, causing me to jump. He steps out of the bathroom, his hair damp, dressed in a plain white tee and gym shorts. I notice a few bruises on his arms and wince when I see them.
“What if I were to come up with a way that didn’t involve Black Templar going home with the sword?”
I sit down on the side of the bed. After what just happened, his question isn’t one I’m prepared for. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Even if you came up with a plan that works, you’ll constantly have to look over your shoulder. They’ll always be looking for a way t
o take it from you, Wes.”
He kneels in the space in front of me, his eyes lit up. “Not if it’s reported. Not if you claim it.”
The excitement in his voice causes my pulse to quicken. “What do you mean?”
“Let’s make it public, babe. We can tell the world you found it—you’ll be famous. Well, like the fifteen minute kind of famous,” he adds with a grin. “But it would still be enough to throw in your dad’s face. The one student he wanted to glorify is the same one he shunned. How’s that for just deserts?”
“What about your plan to bury the sword with Sam?”
“I think my brother would understand,” he says softly. “He would say that you’re worth it.”
Warmth fills my chest, expanding inside of me. I’m smiling so big it hurts. The things he’s saying, the things he’s giving up…amazing.
I take both my hands and place them lightly on his cheeks, careful not to hurt him. “That is the absolute most sweetest thing anyone has ever offered to do for me.”
“So it’s a yes?”
“No.”
The surprise on his face makes me laugh. “We can’t, Wes. Tyson and the rest of his crew will be furious.”
“So what?”
“I don’t want to risk it. And besides, I need to let go of wanting my father’s approval. I need to let go of trying to be worthy of him.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t hold the sword over his head while you’re doing those things,” he grumbles.
My smile grows wider—if it’s even possible. “You have no idea how much that means. But really, I don’t want it. The satisfaction I’d get from the fame isn’t worth risking both our lives.”
Wesley stares at me, trying to figure me out. After a few long moments, I feel his mood begin to shift. The look in his eyes slowly changes to defeat, and he lets out a heavy sigh. “Fine. We’ll let them have the sword.”
I feel really bad. Handing it over isn’t going to be easy for him. Earlier when I’d first been hit with the news, I’d only been thinking about myself and how difficult it would be for me. The thought of giving up the sword broke my heart. Wesley put his own blood, sweat, and tears into finding it, and this is going to be just as hard on him. It’s not who he is to give up what he’s worked so hard for. It’s not who I am either, but I don’t see any other options.
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