“I can be gone as long as I want. I'm bound by no schedule other than the one I set for myself.”
“Two weeks, then. We'll see how far we get and go from there.”
“Are you sure about this?” he asked with a note of reservation in his voice.
Sessily considered the idea that perhaps she'd been too interested, recalling Bashir's warning that Ahsan didn't like to be chased. That would account for his sudden 'cooling off' toward her.
“I'm sure if you are. Or, we can simply meet up in Greece for the gala.” She didn't want to backtrack too much. They weren't going to be meeting up anyway, or going on any cruises.
He sank into silence for a few seconds, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
Sessily started to fret. She'd blown it. Been too accessible.
“A cruise it is. I'll send one of my yachts ahead when the gala gets closer.” He inclined his head, eyes hidden behind the sudden droop of his lashes.
“Excellent. I'm looking forward to it. But first, our race—and some sleep.” She eased into a segue and backtracked into the palace. The closing of the door somewhere behind her was her only clue that he'd followed her inside.
When they reached the bottom of the staircase, he glanced at her and said, “Is everything all right, Sessily?”
The rasp of his voice sent another shiver along her spine. Maybe it was hearing him use her given name. Or, perhaps it was the sincerity she detected. Pausing with one hand on the banister, she met his eyes. As before, she had an urgent need to confide in him. To put trust where she shouldn't. He was wearing her down with his perceived kindness, with his teasing and intensity.
“Everything's fine,” she said, and didn't bother to put a fake smile on.
He took a step closer, until he was staring right down into her eyes. Until she had to crane her neck to maintain the contact. So close that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. When he palmed her jaw, she jerked from the electric jolt that ricocheted through her.
“I don't believe you. Your eyes are telling me that you're desperate—or desperately unhappy—and sometimes you look so frightened that I want to pick up a sword and slay all your demons. Tell me who they are, tell me where they are, and I'll make sure you never suffer again.” He stroked an arc across her cheek with his thumb.
Rattled to her core at his perceptive ability, she wobbled a smile and tripped over the lowest stair when she turned to flee. He caught her arm in gentle but firm fingers and steadied her until she got her balance back.
“I'm fine,” she repeated, and even she didn't think she sounded sincere.
“Mhm.” More a rumble than a reply, he released her.
Sessily ascended at a trot, brushing aside a few strands of hair from her face. Was she so transparent as all that? When had she looked frightened? Appalled that she might have been giving off signals she hadn't meant to, she made brisk strides to her room, relieved when she glanced back to find Ahsan no where in sight. Disappearing into her suite, she closed and bolted the door, leaning against it afterward to draw in several ragged breaths. Her carefully constructed facade was coming apart at the seams.
Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough. She needed to have their agreed upon race and leave here before she fell under his spell. Before she did something she might regret.
In less than ten minutes she was ready for bed. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, her hands shook while she rubbed lotion into her skin, just another sign of her distressed state.
On the nightstand, her phone vibrated. Why would Bashir or his men be contacting her at this late hour? Picking up the device, she turned it on. Several messages had been left in her absence, each more annoyed than the last at the lack of a reply.
It was the last message, however, that sent a shockwave through her. It read: go to plan B.
Plan A had been the spying. To find out whether Ahsan had aspirations to take the throne and become Emir.
Plan B was the assassination of Ahsan Afshar.
And she was to be his murderer.
Chapter Eight
“Meet me in my office.” Ahsan didn't wait for an answer. He ended the call and pushed his phone back into his pocket. On the way to his suite, he thought about the evening, about Sessily in particular.
Something was definitely wrong. Every now and then he couldn't tell that anything was amiss, but sometimes, like tonight, she exuded vibes he couldn't ignore. It was the look in her eyes, the hunted—or haunted—way she surveyed her surroundings, or him. More than that, he had the sensation that she wanted to tell him something, he just couldn't imagine what. Did it have to do with their mutual attraction? There was no denying it existed. Or was it something regarding her homeland?
Maybe there was an over protective brother waiting at home, but that didn't add up to her offer of meeting up and touring the islands of Greece.
It was starting to drive him a little crazy.
The few times she'd been normal and easy going, even fun, seemed to be what he considered usual for Sessily. It wasn't forced or awkward and he thought if she would just let go, all her moments could be that way.
Crossing through an open archway, he passed through a sitting room on the outside of his suite, through double doors, and into his sanctuary. Columns and arches and walls separated several different rooms that made up his personal domain. Another living room with lush furniture and a tall fireplace gave way to a hall that went two directions, left and right. To the right was his bedroom, master bath and closets.
To the left, a private collection room, his office and a sitting area with comfortable chairs, reading lamps and a view out the floor to ceiling windows that made up the entire back wall. An enormous balcony overlooked the stables and desert beyond, all currently cloaked in darkness.
Taking his phone out, he set it on his desk and paced before the windows, thinking about every second he'd spent with Sessily so far. In less than five minutes, a shadowy figure approached from the living area and came to stop at his side.
Eli, a soul salvaged from one of the first trafficking rings he'd ever busted, was his right hand man. His most trusted member of security. And the best assassin he'd ever seen. Even better than the man who'd trained him. Eli's stealth was part of his excellence; the young man was able to come and go undetected when he so chose, and his preferred murder weapon was his hands. If Eli got that close to you and meant you harm, you had little chance to escape. Black haired and gray eyed, Eli stood at just six feet with a slim yet honed build.
“Yes?” Eli said in a quiet voice.
“I want to know everything about her this time. If it means you have to travel to Romania, then do it. I especially want to know if there are any ex-boyfriends in the picture that might have a reputation of harassment. Use whatever means necessary to get the information you need. Her parents are out of the picture—the mother is dead and the father travels extensively, so try the sister, friends and acquaintances. If her horses are that well thought of, someone should know where the stable is. Use the Elite contacts if you have to, use the hackers. I don't care, I just want the information as soon as possible.” He was pulling out all the stops to find out what was under Sessily's skin. Gut instinct told him it was serious, and a secret, and so, he meant to barge into her life whether she liked it or not.
“I will. Anything else?” Eli asked.
“No. Let the other men step up in your place to guard things here. Tell them to be especially vigilant, and that Bashir might very well be trying to set me up for a fall. The Emir called earlier and asked me to change my views, to become someone I'm not, because he wants to hand the throne to me.”
Eli showed a first sign of surprise.
“Yes,” Ahsan said, picking up where he'd left off. “And since we know how Bashir feels about the title of Emir, let's not be caught off guard.”
Eli inclined his head and retreated as silently as he came.
Ahsan scraped a hand back through his hair and looked out the window
. There would be little sleep for him tonight.
. . .
A knock at the door midday pulled Sessily out of her reverie. She'd declined to go down to breakfast, politely turned away a server for lunch, and was only now prepared to deal with other people. It had taken her this long to school herself, to do a better job of faking serenity. Because there was nothing serene about the knots in her stomach or the sick feeling she got every time she looked at her last text.
“Hello,” she said when she opened the door to find a staff member there.
“Miss. Your caravan is here. They have driven around to the stables,” the young woman said.
“I see. Thank you.” Closing the door after the employee left, Sessily brushed a few wisps of hair from her face and glanced down at her attire. She wore the same pair of jeans and a pale yellow shirt, clothes fitting for the race to come. Knee high boots had been set outside her suite earlier, boots that fit rather well and were more comfortable than she thought they would be.
The race was the last thing on her mind. She would put in a good showing, and with any luck, wouldn't fall off the horse in her distraction. Crossing the room, she entered the bathroom, then the closet, and went to the suitcase tucked against the wall. Kneeling, she opened the main zipper and flipped the flap up. Running her fingers along the edge just inside the seam, she found the hidden pocket and dug out a small, clear vial half full of fine white powder. One of Bashir's men had given it to her with strict instructions for use.
Just the sight of it, and the thought of using it on Ahsan brought tears to her eyes. A deluge waited to spill over, and several tears squeezed free before she could stop them.
This was madness. She wasn't an executioner. It wasn't in her nature to hurt people. Digging her phone from her pocket, she thumbed back through the messages until she found the picture of Iris. Her sister's terror jumped off the screen, wrapping icy fingers around Sessily's heart.
Did she have a choice?
Just tell him. Tell Ahsan what's going on. And what if he'd been pretending with her the whole time? What if he was what the text portrayed him to be? There was no telling what he might do if she admitted she'd been sent here to first spy, then kill him.
No. He wasn't pretending. He couldn't be. She needed to trust her instinct and needed to trust him. He would help her, wouldn't he, if he knew the truth? It was a huge gamble to think he would take her side over his own brother, even if he'd acted annoyed and frustrated with Bashir at the gala.
Stuffing the vial and her phone into her pocket, she closed the suitcase and propped it against the wall. Exiting the closet, she smeared tears off her cheek, sniffed once, and left the suite.
She was going straight to Ahsan and take a chance that he was as upstanding as she thought. Trotting down the stairs, she struck out toward the center of the palace, intent on tracking him down through one means or another. Someone would know where he was.
Before she could get ten steps, movement ahead in the giant foyer snared her attention. A group of women in rag-tag clothes stood there, heads bowed, hands clasped before them. They weren't the same women from the dancing harem, Sessily could see that immediately. Stepping aside, Sessily obscured herself behind a broad column, peering around the edge to see what was going on.
It didn't look good, that's what she knew. It didn't look good at all. And then there he was, pacing a slow circle around the women like he was a buyer at market, sizing up the quality of meat for purchase. Ahsan, head and shoulders taller than anyone else present, gestured with one hand, speaking in a low voice to the women.
Sessily couldn't hear what he was saying. The fact that the women were here at all was a blow of monumental proportions, and the more she watched him pace around the obviously fearful women, the angrier she became.
He'd lied. Not just to her, but to everyone who thought he was heroically busting up trafficking rings when in fact he was organizing everything behind the scenes. Oh, he deserved some kind of acting award for all his feigned disgust at the harem the night of the ball. He'd likely had the women 'entertaining' him after everyone went to bed at night.
The venomous vein of her thoughts surprised her. She was furious, however, at being used by one brother, and lied to by another.
A few minutes later, the women moved on from the foyer, encouraged by several staff members. Ahsan followed, giving orders to his men in Arabic. She didn't understand the language well enough to know what he said.
She just hoped no harm would come to the women. Now there were twelve under Ahsan's roof, not including herself. The trafficking ring was alive and well.
Only when the foyer and halls were clear did she break cover. Walking through the palace with brisk steps, as if she'd been doing that all along instead of spying on people, she made her way toward the back doors and out into the courtyard. Late afternoon heat seared the landscape, the temperature hotter than the day before. It felt good after the cooler atmosphere of the palace, at least for now.
Later, during the race when she was bathed in sweat, she probably wouldn't think so. Navigating her way free of the palace grounds, she headed for the stables, spotting a truck with a horse trailer attached. Someone had already unloaded her steed and led the gelding into the shade of the stable.
Sessily found the animal to be of good stock with a decent disposition. She accepted authority over the gelding and got busy grooming him before checking the supplied tack. It kept her hands and mind busy, gave her something to do other than obsess about how to escape the Afshar brothers.
And she would be escaping. One way or another, she and the other women would leave this house intact.
Chapter Nine
“I can't get them to tell me anything,” Ahsan said to Leander. “I tried several languages, too.”
“Well, they're scared half to death and probably think they'll die if they give up any information.” Leander, sitting next to Mattias and Chayton, rubbed his hands together between his knees.
“Just like the others. But we need it. I need something solid to confront Bashir with. Yes, you traced the trail back to Afshar shores. That's not enough, though.” Ahsan had little desire to sit. Instead he paced the sitting room, one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around a tumbler of cognac.
“We're still chasing leads. The women could probably give us many more, but we're following what we can. It'll just take longer to get any answers,” Mattias said. The Prince of Latvala reclined into the sofa, getting comfortable.
“That, and Bashir doesn't like to get his proverbial hands dirty,” Chayton said. “So I bet that even if the women talked, all they're going to be able to tell us is that they were grabbed off a street here or there by so-and-so man, none of which will admit to being hired by Bashir. He's got a chain of command with this, I'm guessing, so that it would take a while to unearth his position in it all.”
Ahsan nodded agreement with all that he heard, pointing a finger around his glass to Chayton. “Yes, yes, and you're right. Bashir has never liked to get his hands dirty. It'll take something more to wind the trail all the way back to him.”
“I still don't get the why of it. You don't even see him that much, do you?” Leander asked.
“I think I know why. The Emir contacted me with an offer for the throne—if I would change my wayward ways.” He gave his brethren a thin smile. To a man, they knew what his preferences were, they knew how he lived his life. It was polar opposite of his brothers and father, which was why all three men arched their brows and made small noises of surprise.
“Never saw that coming,” Mattias said in a low voice.
“What did you tell him? No wait, let me guess,” Leander said, chuckling. “You said something along the lines that you were you, and that you wouldn't change for anything. Take it or leave it.”
Ahsan, amused that Leander knew him so well, inclined his head. “Exactly. And I won't change, because I don't want the throne or the title. Even if I did, I still wouldn't live against
what I believe in. But I'd bet my best stallion that the Emir had a chat with Bashir.”
“Ah, now we're getting somewhere,” Mattias said. “That makes excellent sense.”
“It sure does explain a lot,” Chayton added.
“So, the Emir told Bashir that he's been unhappy with the reputation Bashir's been obtaining around the globe lately, and if he doesn't straighten up his act, there could be severe repercussions. Not exactly coming right out to say he might offer you the title, but everyone knows the accolades you've been receiving,” Leander said. “Bashir could be setting you up from several angles, you know. Trying to discredit you in public was step one, the trap we just uncovered is step two or three. Who knows what else he's got in store. He's not taking any chances, so he's striking first.”
“You're in a bad spot, my friend.” Mattias smiled a grim smile at the understatement.
“You've got that right,” Ahsan said after Mattias's assessment. The more details that came to light, the more he realized how complex the entire situation was. His brother and the Emir probably had a talk a week or two ago, and had made plans accordingly. Bashir, known for his vicious determination to ascend the throne, would stop at nothing to achieve his goal.
“What would you like us to help you do?” Chayton asked.
“I'm thinking. It makes sense for the rest of you to try and keep tracing things back, get what information you can. I might need proof that he's trying to dishonor me or...worse. Besides that, those women need help. However deep the ring goes, we need to dismantle every layer.” Ahsan would throw himself back into the mix as soon as possible. He had a guest he couldn't leave, wouldn't leave, especially now with Bashir acting up.
“We can do that. Or do you want one of us to remain here to help you with the women? You've got quite a collection, none willing to talk yet, that you need to either return home, or find a new home for,” Leander said.
The Royal Elite: Ahsan (Elite, Book 2) Page 10
