His Devil's Wish

by Linzi Basset

  “Stop playing with the bastard, Ethan. The S-97 is close,” he said shortly to try and ease Jaxon’s mind while he forced him through the door. It was a battle seeing as he kept glancing over his shoulder for a peek at his father.

  Ethan heard the words but his mind was filled with the mantra, ‘He will not get the better of me.’ The guard charged. Ethan dropped to the ground. He could feel the wet heat spreading to his knee which told him that his wound was more serious than he cared to admit. Bruised and winded, he grabbed the man’s foot and yanked him to the ground. He heard a satisfying resounding crack when his head hit the marbled floor. He brought a fist to the man’s face, snapping his nose into a grotesquerie.

  The guard wailed in pain, the sound echoing through the room.

  “Fuck,” Ethan growled. He had killed many men in combat but always as a last resort. This time, he didn’t hesitate. His hands circled the guard’s head and with one mighty twist, he snapped his neck.

  He sat back on his legs, gasping for breath, the pain of the knife wound in his thigh, throbbed with every pulse of his heart. He took off his shirt and tied it tightly around his thigh. He staggered to his feet and walked to the balcony.

  “Jesus, it hurts,” he muttered and picked up the backpack he’d left where he’d landed. The night vision glasses in place, he got onto the ledge. He closed his mind to any negative thoughts that in his current state, he might not make the jump to the tree. His fist tightened around the belt in his hand.

  “I will make it. I will fucking make it.” He closed his eyes and concentrated on pushing the pain to the back of his mind. Meditation was a huge part of Krav Maga training and in a situation like this, the only way to survive. He heaved in a deep breath and sprinted forward. The jump felt uncoordinated at best and his breath whooshed from his chest when he slammed into the tree. He swung the belt around and clung for dear life, gulping for breath, the throbbing wound was now bleeding profusely. Ethan was aware that the knife might have nipped an artery in his thigh. He began to scuttle down the tree and weaved his way toward the back gardens of the palace where the rendezvous point was.

  “If I manage to scale that fucking wall,” he mumbled. His vision was becoming blurry but he didn’t slow down. His son was waiting for him. They were going home and finally, they would be a family again.

  He stumbled over a root of a tree but managed to straighten as he bore on, the yellow wall looming just ahead. Ethan shook his head, desperate to shake off the wooziness that threatened to pull him into a black void.

  “Ethan, fuck man, hurry up. The alarm has been raised in the palace,” Lance’s voice reached him from overhead.

  Lance tried to raise his head to give him a heads-up where he lay on top of the wall, waiting for Ethan, but his arm was too heavy to lift. He willed his legs to go faster but he could feel them slagging.

  “G-go, Lance. Get J-Jaxon home,” he croaked. The soft desert sand cushioned his fall when his body finally reached the end of its tether from the excessive loss of blood. He fell flat on his face, the sound of dogs barking mingling with the furious cries of male voices coming closer. He sighed as he heard the soft whirr of the S-97 chopper as it whizzed away.

  “Fin-finally. My son is s-safe.” His words slurred. His eyesight blurred; everything became fuzzy; then nothing at all. His consciousness floated through an empty space filled with a thick static. Throughout the inky space, his heartbeat pounded loudly, echoing in his ears, alongside the furious calling of his name. Ethan felt his strength drain away until finally he got swallowed by the black hole.

  * * * * * * * *

  “There’s so much blood, Uncle Lance.” Jaxon frantically pressed his hands over the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood.

  “Ease up, Jax, we’ll do what we can. Move, so that I can get to the wound,” Lance instructed the distraught boy. He still couldn’t get over how tall and like Ethan he’d grown.

  Jaxon reluctantly moved away in the confines of the chopper but only to lift Ethan’s limp head onto his lap.

  Max and Lance worked quickly, applying their first aid training to the bleeding wound. Despite the pressure they applied, the pooling blood darkened, and the stain on Ethan’s pants spread wider by the second. He appeared as lifeless as a cadaver and just as pallid. His pulse was weak too.

  “How does it look, Lance?” Rhone asked with concern running rife through him. They hadn’t come all this way to get Jaxon, only to lose Ethan. They deserved to be together.

  “Fuck, the wound is small, but deep. The knife must have nipped an artery. I can’t get the flow to stop,” Lance muttered.

  “Tourniquet his leg,” Keon instructed and handed Lance a thin white cord.

  “Ughh,” Ethan moaned when Lance tightened it around his upper thigh.

  “Dad? Hang on, Dad. We’ve got you.”

  Ethan’s eyes fluttered open. He glanced around, disorientated. He’d expected to wake up in a prison, in chains. Instead he was miraculously in the chopper. His searching gaze found the worried face of his son. Relief washed over him like a slow rolling wave onto a sandy beach.

  “J-Jax, my boy,” he stammered softly. He could see the tears running down his face. He reached for his hand and squeezed it weakly. “I’ll be okay, Son,” he puffed. He looked around until his gaze caught Keon’s concerned stare. “The women? Did you get them out?”

  “Yeah, mate. Parnell and Seth just confirmed they had a clear extraction. A full headcount of eighty-two women ranging from the ages of twelve to forty.”

  “Fucking assholes,” Ethan whispered. His voice grew weaker.

  “What do we do, Ethan? I’ve compressed the major artery but the bleeding isn’t stopping,” Lance interjected worriedly.

  “B-burn it,” Ethan said.

  “What? Are you crazy?” Lance grated.

  “I’m serious, Lance. Clean the wound with the disinfectant in the kit first. You have to cauterize the wound. It’s the only . . . way,” he said on a drawn-out breath. The burning pain had faded away to an icy numbness. His vision went black and the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat. His breathing became ragged and shallow gasps. Seconds passed as he lay there. He forced his eyes open and caught Lance’s stare.

  “Do it, mate. I’ll be out an-anyway.” The light became dimmer, drawing him back into unconsciousness.

  “How the fuck am I supposed to do it?” Lance muttered aloud.

  “There’s a blowtorch in the toolbox beneath my seat,” Keon said as he turned to lean back, holding a large hunting knife in his hand. We’ll heat the knife point and cauterize it that way.”

  “Jesus, Uncle Keon, that’s gonna hurt like shit,” Jaxon exclaimed.

  “Yeah, but your old man is a tough guy. He’ll be able to handle it. Besides, he’s out cold.”

  Max held the burning blowtorch while Keon waited until the blade was hot, but not so hot that it glowed red.

  “Hold him down, mates,” he muttered. Ethan’s body jerked wildly when Keon gently pressed the knife into the wound and held it there for two seconds. He repeated the processed once more. The smell of burning flesh filled their nostrils.

  “Did it work?” Jaxon prodded as he leaned closer to peek at the wound.

  “Yeah, just like your dad had said. Bleeding is slowing down and . . . yep, stopping,” Lance confirmed. He gently applied an antiseptic gel to the wound before he wrapped a white bandage around Ethan’s leg. “Now, get us the fuck out of this country, Rhone. He’s weak and probably needs a blood transfusion.”

  “And proper care for that wound. Cauterizing is effective to stop the bleeding but it might make him more susceptible to infection,” Keon said in a doleful voice. He glanced at Jaxon who refused to move away from Ethan and remained seated on the floor of the chopper with his father’s head cuddled on his lap. His hysterical screams, when they’d taken off, had been the final conduit to turn back for Ethan. Jack and Keon had zipped from the chopper with guidelines and held onto Ethan as Rho
ne took off the moment they picked him up, leaving Max and Lance to bring them back up.

  “It’s good to see you, Jax. We all missed you.”

  “Me too, Uncle Keon. The prince told Mom that Dad was dead. That he died in the desert three years ago but I refused to believe them. I knew he was alive.” He slapped his chest. “Here. He was very much alive inside here.”

  “It’s good to have everyone back where they belong. Home with all of us,” Rhone interceded. His voice sounded raw and filled with emotion.

  “Where is home, Uncle Rhone? Is it still in L.A.?” Jaxon asked. He stared at the large man concentrating on flying the impressive chopper. He had always loved his godfathers. He was probably one of the few children alive who had five of them, but he wasn’t complaining. In fact, he’d basked in the loving attention they had all drowned him in when he had been younger. The same camaraderie and love surrounded him now and he reveled in it.

  “No, Son. We all moved to Washington DC. Your dad opened his own private clinic and owns shares in our company, Precision Secure. And now that you’re back, everything will be as it should be.”

  “Yeah, one big, happy family,” Keon drawled, his voice thick.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I wish the bitch would stop bothering me,” Prince Khalid muttered as he jabbed the reject button on his phone.

  Borak glanced at his cousin. He groaned aloud and burped with undisguised relish. His stomach wobbled in reaction. Khalid was huge in every way, wide and tall, legs as big as tree trunks. The older he got, the more weight he gained. It was part of his rise to power. He liked that his size intimidated people.

  For the umpteenth time, Borak tasted the bitter betrayal in his mouth. Khalid’s father had disregarded the law that the eldest sibling of the Saud family was deemed to be his successor, claiming that Borak didn’t have the strength of character to rule the country and had decreed his own son as the next King. It had been a shock to realize that even Khalid had betrayed him; used the respect and love he had for his cousin, against him. It was Khalid who had fueled the stories of Borak’s inability to make informed decisions. Decisions that Khalid himself had spurred Borak to make, pretending to offer him sound advice, all the while setting him up for failure.

  “Who?” Borak asked with obvious disinterest. He only accompanied Khalid to the horse races to get out of the palace. He was weary of the demands from all the women in his harem. It was time to remove some of them and find fresh, nubile young girls.

  “The wife, who else. She’d been phoning incessantly since we landed; obviously, still piqued that I left her home. She’d been looking forward to spending my hard-earned money.”

  If Borak didn’t know that Khalid would clobber his head for doing so, he would’ve laughed at that statement. Khalid had never lifted his hand to do one stitch of work. He gave orders, period.

  “Are you not concerned that something might be wrong?” Borak picked up a chicken drumstick and pulled the succulent meat from the bone.

  “Like what? The palace is full of guards and besides, no one will dare to try and oppose me. Not even in my absence.” Khalid glugged loudly as he downed a bottle of beer. Another loud belch sounded through the room. “If I didn’t need her brat to succeed me, I would’ve gotten rid of her long ago.”

  “Abdul? Has the council agreed to it? You know it’s completely against our tradition.”

  “They finally accepted that I fathered him on a trip to the US sixteen years ago. Luckily for me that trip has been recorded when I went for discussions with the US President. The fact that I married Delia counts in my favor as I knew it would. You forget, Borak. I never do anything without a well-thought plan. You, of all people know that better than anyone.”

  “Has he accepted your rule then? He will be crowned prince in a month’s time when you ascend the throne?”

  Khalid looked at him in surprise. “You know about that? I was under the impression that the old man was keeping it a secret.”

  “He might have, but some of his advisors aren’t that way inclined. It’s already common knowledge that he’s abdicating the throne over to you before he dies.”

  Khalid shuffled deeper into the chair. “And how do you feel about it?”

  Borak kept his expression blank. He’d learned to accept that he didn’t have the backup from others or the strength to fight his cousin for the throne. He shrugged his broad shoulders. Between the two of them he was the attractive one, suave, with a muscled body and a face that attracted women to him like flies.

  “It’s been decided long ago, Khalid, why would it bother me now?”

  “That’s good to know, cousin. I need your support. There are those who value your opinion. Together we can rule the country better than any king before.”

  Borak continued to eat, simmering in the knowledge that although Khalid would use Borak’s contacts and respect he’d earned with the people, he would claim all glory for himself.

  Khalid glanced at the shiny gold Rolex watch on his arm. “Where is Steven Brown? We need to discuss strategy,” he growled irritably. The U.S. Triple Crown of Thoroughbred Racing, known as the Triple Crown was the highest honor a race horse could attain. To win the Triple Crown a three-year-old horse must win all three races in the series. The three races were The Kentucky Derby, The Preakness Stakes, and The Belmont Stakes. Khalid has been coveting the Triple Crown for many years and he’d be damned if he walked away with second place again this year.

  “Bit late now, isn’t it?”

  Khalid glowered at him. “Suffice it to say, cousin, you don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s never too late to strategize.”

  “Steven Brown doesn’t strike me as the kind of trainer who would indulge in the kind of strategy you’re into,” Borak dared to respond.

  “Guh, anyone will sink into the bowels of corruption if the money is right. Besides, I want his attention on the horses, not on me. I need to settle some business. I can’t afford to worry about the race at the same time.”

  “Settle some business? Why am I not aware of a meeting? Are you trying to cut me out, Khalid? I’m equally invested in our merchandising business. I’ll not stand back and allow you to jeopardize the richest and strongest link we’ve ever had out of the US.”

  Khalid grunted angrily. It irritated him that Borak had a stronger connection with the leaders of the Sixth Order than him. They always preferred to deal with him, which was why Khalid was adamant to take the shipment back with them. He was going to make a point. His judgment was the only one that mattered. It was high time his cousin and the Sixth Order realized it.

  “Don’t get all up in arms, Borak. Of course, you’ll be joining me when we meet. There’s a BDSM club I’d like to go to in New York.” He winked at Borak. “Might as well have some fun while we’re here, right?”

  Borak looked at him calculatingly. He’d be damned if he let Khalid set him up to take the rap for something going wrong. He’d been very careful in all the dealings with the syndicate. There were discussions and decisions between him and the Sixth Order that Khalid wasn’t privy to. Borak intended to keep it that way. If anyone was going to take the fall, should something go awry, it would be the future King Khalid Saud—leaving the path to the throne open for Borak. The thought excited Borak and his face brightened. Maybe it was time to play his hand.

  The king had already made his abdication known and it had been accepted by the Elders committee. Which meant that should something happen to the appointed successor; the throne would automatically go to Borak as the next one in line to be king.

  As it had been decreed by law, until Khalid’s father changed it.

  * * * * * * * *

  “They’re on their way to the airport, Governor, for a short trip to New York. I haven’t been able to get close enough to Khalid or his cousins to be able to overhear any conversations, but from what I heard earlier, I’m relatively sure they’re meeting their suppliers,” Sean reported.

 
He glanced around furtively. He stood next to the practice track where he could detect anyone approaching. He knew better than to let his guard down, even with the prince on his way to the airport. If anyone caught wind of who he really was, he was a dead man.

  “He won’t miss the first race of the Triple Crown here in Kentucky, therefore they’ll have to be back the day after tomorrow.”

  “That gives me at the most two hours to get a covert team in place to intercept them at the airport and follow their movements from there,” Alex contemplated aloud.

  “I managed to slip a tracking device into Khalid’s carry-on bag. He never goes anywhere without it in his hand. I suspect he carries a lot of cash around with him. I’ll send you the signal coordinates.”

  “Good work, Sean. Be careful and keep your eyes peeled. And since you’re back in the US, phone your mother. We can’t afford her stirring up more trouble.”

  “What do you mean, more trouble?”

  “She contacted your sister, who went to your place to see if she could find out anything. Someone had trashed your apartment and found her there.”

  “Paige? Is she—”

  “She’s fine. Ethan Brodie took her under his protection.”

  “Jaxon’s father?”

  “Yeah.” Alex hesitated for a moment. “Has the prince said anything about Jaxon’s disappearance?”

  “Not that I’ve heard. I know he’s been ignoring his wife’s phone calls. Which, I suppose is a good thing. Let’s hope he doesn’t find out until he’s back in Saudi Arabia. Although he did mention that he’ll go home and return to the US for the weekends of the second and third races, which means he’ll be going back early next week. You better warn Ethan.”

  “That’s what we’re bargaining on. It gives us a little time to secure Jaxon’s return and prove that they had originally kidnapped him seven years ago. As long as one of his advisors don’t contact him before he goes back. I’ve got to go. Stay sharp, Sean.” Alex ended the call abruptly and immediately dialed Rhone’s number.