Cross the Stars (Crossing Stars #1)

by Venessa Kimball

  All of a sudden, my body begins to shake like I am freezing, but I am not in the desert heat. I am fucking scared as shit and I can’t move other than shake and chatter my teeth uncontrollably. I notice Jasara and Laila walk toward me as Rushdi stays close to Naz. Without a word they come to me, Jasara the first to take me in her embrace, the warmest I have ever experienced. I don’t think my own mother has hugged me like she is.

  That night I cried so hard and they each took turns holding me. Jasera cried with me, telling me in Arabic she wished she had stayed at the center with me, but they wouldn’t let her. I hugged Ameena, Laila, Ghalib, and Rushdi, relieved they were safe. Ismad told us the explosion happened east of the center, but there were multiple attacks by shooters in the area, including the center’s attack immediately following the explosion.

  Hoda and Jasara make dinner like every other night, while I lie in my room. The sound of Ismad’s small radio playing the news in Arabic resonates through the upstairs throughout the evening as him and Nazeer listen to the updates on what happened. I don’t attempt deciphering what is being said.

  Don’t want to know right now. I just want to shut off.

  I don’t come out of my room once the men have eaten and it’s the women’s turn. Hoda brings me Shrak and a glass of water, sets it on the small table next to my bed, then leaves quietly. She leaves the door cracked and I can only think it is for her own benefit to hear me if I cry out.

  I hear the women talking in the kitchen. My name is spoken a few times, but I can’t hear the rest. I don’t want to, I suppose. The only thing I want is sleep to find me, but it doesn’t as I roll over and stare at the uneaten food sitting on the small table next to my bed.

  I close my eyes and wonder what my chances are of being sent back home to D.C. over this. I should be begging, pleading to go back, but all I can think about right now are my girls and the prince saving me, those unknown words he spoke as he captured me and held me to him.

  “‘Eh enta.”

  Standing on the balcony off my room, looking out into the night, I think of her, the woman with the blue veil and the fallen hair blowing in the wind in the courtyard at the center, then the woman huddled on the floor with screaming girls, frightened out of their minds, surrounding her. When she rose, her veil fell, revealing her fear and eyes I knew had looked upon them before upon, a girl lost in her circumstance.

  It was her.

  Ella is what Tom called out just before the gunfire. I ran to her without thinking. I didn’t need to think, I just needed to protect her. Tom and the soldiers with us in the office were running toward me as I shielded her. One of my men tried to pull me away from her, but I told them to take the girls. I watched through the deluge of bullets as they found shelter in a nearby room. Once the avalanche of broken glass from the bullets subsided, I pulled her up and raised her over my shoulder, knowing I didn’t have much time before another assault of bullets might target us.

  “Eh enta.”

  It’s you were the only words I said, the only thought I held in my head. The only words that left my lips as I studied every angle of her tear-streaked face, making sure I wasn’t imagining the likeness of the lost girl from D.C at the party and the one I should have followed down the elevator at Stern’s office. How can it be this same girl is here in Jordan at this center? Was she some kind of mirage then? A fabrication of the likeness of this woman? No, the likeness of her haunting eyes was the same as those I held in my gaze for as long as I could in the loft that night in Washington and for a fragment in time before the elevator closed. She was probably there speaking to Stern about the program.

  The connections I’m making with this woman are screwing with my head as I lean on the railing. I look down at my hands, remembering the feel of her weight in them when I lifted her to my shoulder, keeping her silent with my hand over her mouth when I was face to face with her, then the obsessive desire to wipe the streaks of dirt and tears from her cheeks. It was her. There is no mistake. She was the one possessing my every thought that night, the next day in the elevator, and today.

  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I dial Tom Stern. He picks up quickly. “Prince Rajaa.”

  “Are you home safe?”

  “Yes.”

  “The woman I shielded, is she safe?”

  “Ella. Yes. She is with her host family.”

  Uncertain of him knowing her condition, I ask, “You are sure she wasn’t injured?”

  “She was shaken, but not hurt.”

  “What do you plan to do?” I fully expect him to tell me he has decided they are returning home to the States.

  He breathes out deeply. “Tomorrow, I am going to the center to start cleanup. A few of the men from the staff and a handful of Syrian men plan to return to help.”

  “I will be there.” There is no hesitation in my response.

  “Rajaa, I’m not sure that is a good idea. I have told the volunteers and staff to stay home just in case something else happens.”

  “Tom, this isn’t up for negotiation. You are going to be there, then I will be there. You have come to my country expecting safety as you support the refugees at the center. When I agreed to support this program, I agreed to keep you safe, and I am not the type of man to walk away from my responsibilities. I will be there tomorrow with more soldiers and a crew to begin cleanup. I will spare no expense to get the center up and running.”

  “Okay.”

  I hang up the phone just as my name is called. “Rajaa!”

  Zaid didn’t come home until late the day after the party at Sam’s. Even upon his return, I didn’t see him. The combination of Arak and the drug, Captain, made for the worst fucking hangover I have ever had. I don’t remember getting to my bed after leaving Sami’s house with our guards. I woke in my bed, so I assume one of the guards got me there. I have never used in my life, and after witnessing the shit Zaid and Tariq were doing, how they drugged me with shit they give extremists before war attacks, I was ready to go straight to my mother and father with what I knew.

  But then I thought, what the fuck did I really know? Zaid was smart, and even though he was being a dumb fuck, he was methodically smart.

  He didn’t come home until late on Sunday, telling my father he was staying with Anwar. I know Anwar and he would cover for him, especially with all the shit Zaid probably has on him; the prostitutes they used to hire, shit he is probably partying with Zaid and Tariq, lying to his wife when he goes out. I’m sure Zaid told him those nights would be divulged to his very traditional wife if he didn’t cover. Samir, housing his fucking drug-dealing Sheikh, was another cover. Who the fuck knows what else Tariq is dealing. But I do know if I try to out them, there will be more lies backing my brother’s story than mine having built walls of protection for himself.

  So, I will hold what I know until I can make my direct approach on Zaid and Tariq. While both of their covert innuendos about a pact meant to give rise to both Syria and Jordan in the Middle East was vague, I knew the key element of their plan would not be good for either side involved. My fear is Tariq is the puppet master and my brother the puppet in this scheme, and time is running out to discover their plan. Not to mention Tariq is my brother’s fucking drug dealer.

  “What the fuck do you think you were doing there?” Zaid’s eyes are wide, fueled by ripened anger as he strides toward me.

  “I had a meeting with Tom.”

  He mimics me condescendingly, “I had a meeting with Tom. Fuck! We talked about this! You agreed you would not risk going down there unless it was necessary!”

  Does he not remember my last conversation about this! “No, I told you I was going to be more involved, you just didn’t want to hear it! Lives would have been lost if I wasn’t down there today!”

  “Yes, Tom told me you threw your fucking life on the line for a bunch of children and that American teacher compelling you to be more involved. Are those the lives you were so ready to lose your own for?”

  “I wasn�
��t going to lose my life, Zaid! I have been on missions with the King. You seem to forget I can handle myself!”

  “Three fucking missions as a first Lieutenant and you think you are a war hero! I have been on two dozen missions and I don’t throw my life on the line for anyone!” he growls.

  “Those lives are worth their weight in gold and I can’t understand how we carry the same blood and you still don’t get that!”

  “We only share half of our blood and the better half is our father’s, Raj.” The strike at my mother, his Queen, makes my chest tighten with anger.

  He continues on, “Some lives will be casualties of war. Princes, kings, royalty, those are the lives worth their weight in gold, Raj, not Syrian children and a Westerner!”

  He shakes his head in disgust at me, like his logic is resolute and mine is insanity. “You think those children, those little girls that will grow up and become our whores, will remember you? You think the American will remember you? They will save you when your life is on the line? They won’t give a shit about you and what you have done for them today!”

  He raises his hands up like he is balancing two objects. “On one hand you have Syrian peasants and on the other Americans pretending to care about our crisis for a free summer trip to an exotic land. Maybe see the desert, the Dead Sea, the sites, get under the skin of some naive prince?”

  Zaid laughs as he drops his hands and walks to the other side of the balcony, only to turn on his heels maddeningly and come back to me, fully fueled. “With this attack, do you really think those volunteers you paid to come here are going to stand by your side and continue to help those Syrian vultures? Do you think Mr. Stern will stay here and support your dream?”

  “Those Americans, Tom, they are helping us with this crisis because they believe in it! If you could only see what they do, you would realize how wrong you are.”

  “What I realize is this program, this center father agreed upon, is a liability to us. Tariq believes he has misjudged its use as well after today.”

  “I don’t give a shit what Tariq believes! Soldiers will continue to be present at the center around the fucking clock giving them the security they need, they will return, and I will be there to stand by them, show them Jordan’s leaders aren’t going to hide because of this. Clean up on the center starts immediately.”

  His eyebrows raise as his eyes widen. “Do you realize while you were playing hero, I was walking through the remnants of a shop that had been bombed? I dispatched soldiers to multiple areas of gunfire and explosions, while I dug through body parts along with investigators, looking for any evidence of these fucking extremists. Then I find out you are at the center in the middle of an attack! I knew this program of yours was a bad idea from the beginning! No, you will not return to the Makan Lil Amal! From here out, you will work with me on programs to build our nation, help OUR people, not tear it down by giving away our resources to immigrants!”

  As he walks away from me, I defy him. “The King will decide if I return, not you and not your silent fucking benefactor!”

  He stops walking and turns around. “What the fuck did you say?”

  My brother’s eyes have turned feral from my conditions and I don’t see any remnant of the brother I have known all my life. “What happened to you, Zaid? What happened to the honorable, responsible, strong, and smart brother I knew?”

  He has changed so much in the last two summers. Fucking drugs, sex, alcohol, addictions multiplying one by one. Slowly he stalks back to me, his head lowered, set on shutting me the fuck up. “Your brother has spent his days and nights growing up in this crisis, the one in our world here in Jordan, while you have been pampered in the States! The world you think we live in here, the one you have missed while away, the one your mother has filled your mind with, is not the one we live in! She discovered this when she came too close to the flame recently. Now there is a fucking bounty on her head! The way our father the King and your mother the Queen have been ruling has done nothing to protect our country from attacks that are only worsening. We are in the fucking middle of all of it! An island of order in the middle of this fucking sea of chaos, our allies thousands of miles away, across oceans! The storm is all around us and when it comes here, who will protect us from it? The allies on the corners of this earth in their fucking ‘safe zones’? Your mother, the Queen? Our father, the declining King? No, I will! I will secure our resources, I will create bonds, relations, networks, not wait on fucking resolutions to be approved by diplomats!”

  I consider his way of protecting us from the coming storm and how he and Tariq had kept it hidden. “So, going to parties, potentially extorting from Sheikhs, getting your fucking drug fix, fucking up your brother with laced Arak and orgies? Is that your brilliant strategy? Tell me, is that part of yours and Tariq’s plan to change the Middle East?”

  His chuckle is low and menacing. “Don’t be so fucking righteous, Raj. You didn’t seem to mind bought whores in summers’ past and don’t tell me you haven’t gotten stoned at that fucking school of yours! All those kids are getting loaded!”

  I run my hands over my face, then open my arms to him. “No, I haven’t, you fucking asshole.”

  He paces in front of me nervously as he forces his belief. “It was just a small amount of Captain.”

  “Captagon, a highly addictive drug that can fuck you up. Makes you do and see shit.”

  “We don’t take enough, Rajaa. It isn’t my fault if you are a lightweight.”

  Son of a bitch. I want to deck him so badly right now.

  He stops in front of me and holds his hands seeming to pray in front of his face. “You know what? Stay with your philanthropic endeavors, brother. You are too fragile to do what I have to do day by day. Too weak to handle anything I may show you. While I aim to be the strong arm of our monarchy, you can be the soft hand of martyrdom. My soldiers, the ones I have dispatched for your precious center, will keep your program safe, but make no mistake, Rajaa, do not get too close to the open flame of this kindling fire. Your mother was smart to back away when she did. You would be smart to do the same.”

  He takes a step back and looks at me smugly. “You have forgotten our ways here; too much of the West has consumed you. Tariq warned me about this. Said you weren’t ready. For your sake, I hope you smarten up, or you will be a prince with a thousand enemies, Raj.”

  A haunting thought suddenly rises within me. What if my mother’s bounty had been set into motion by the workings of Tariq and Zaid’s plan? Had they been working together this long while I was away at school? Was she getting too close to the coming storm? Disrupting the kindling fire Zaid and Tariq may be fanning with their plans?

  Zaid glares at me. “That stunt, saving the American woman Ella Wallace, is a risk that can get you burned.”

  It isn’t a surprise he collected her name, but it is disconcerting he has taken the time to connect her and I to each other.

  “Running out of Tariq’s like some fucking imbecile. It was an insult, Raj! That is a risk that can get you and I both burned and I will not get burned, brother! Mark my word, if you try and pull me down with you, I will step away and leave you.”

  His callous statement, leaving me to the wolves if attacked, strips away a layer of hope I held for any lingering sanity in his fucking head. His blackened eyes are fixed on me as he tells me evenly, “I may not be able to send in our soldiers to save you the next time you do something foolish for your precious center.”

  As Zaid backs away, his tone becomes eerily stoic and commonplace. “Our father and your mother have requested both of us at dinner. I would assume they want to speak about the attack on your center since you didn’t report to them once you returned home.”

  I correct his innuendo of my being lax in reporting to the King. “Father was resting. I didn’t want to disturb him.”

  He shakes his head. “His son’s safety would never be a disturbance, Raj, especially with his life being risked irresponsibly. He would want
to know about his safe return, just as you would want to keep both our King and Queen safe from any harm that could come to them if they got too close to a kindling flame.”

  My brother implicating my father and mother in this threatening game he has pulled me into has me right where he wants me: trapped and bound to say nothing about what I know for their sake.

  “See you at dinner,” Zaid says, turning and walking out of my room.

  I am the last to arrive as I walk into the dining room. My brother is sitting to the right of my father, while my mother sits to his left and my sister next to my brother. Tamanna is almost fifteen and resembles the beauty, patience, and demeanor of my mother. She inherited her intelligence from them both. “Rajaa. Thanks to Allah you are safe!”

  She wraps her arms around my waist and rests her head on my chest. I pat her head and hold her close. “Of course I’m safe.”

  I hold her at arm’s length and seek out her downcast, tear-filled eyes. “I am fine, Tamanna.”

  As I sit next to my mother, I notice my father is sitting in his wheelchair instead of a dining chair tonight. I try not to appear concerned but fail, as my mother has already noticed. “It is more stable for him. Today was ... a challenge.”

  I sense the frustration in her voice, but appreciate her choosing words carefully in explaining the challenges. I know one of the challenges was my being caught in the crossfire at the center.

  The dining room is not ornamental or magnificent in a kingly way, but simple and warm as my mother and father intended when they built it together after marrying. Even as the servants deliver the food, it is traditional Jordanian cuisine. Nothing exotic, everything authentic to our culture. I could never tire of the comfort this food brings.

  As the servants leave, we thank them then my father says shakily, “By the name of Allah. We thank you for our food, our family, and the safety of our sons today.”