Dark Horses: (Blood Brothers #5)

by Manda Mellett

  Ryan welcomes me, then after presumably assessing there’s no immediate threat, he quickly ushers me inside the limo.

  “Sheikh.” He greets me formally. “Are any of your companions coming with us?”

  I eye up the empty seats, and shake my head. “No.”

  He waits for no explanation, just says a word to the driver, and the limo starts to move off.

  Noticing the way he greeted me, I don’t want any distinction from him, “No formality, Ryan. Call me what you do in the club.”

  He chortles, “I’m not going to call you Master.”

  I laugh back, “Jasim will do.” I grow serious, and give him a sharp look, “Have you sussed out what’s going on? Whether there’s anything I don’t know about why they want me back?”

  A shake of his head. “Nothing more than has been said. Kadar’s emphasized it’s a statement to the country who think you’ve deserted them. A chance to show you’re doing excellent work, albeit from abroad.”

  “And my brother’s got no nefarious plans? Nothing’s going on behind my back?”

  “If the emir has, I haven’t been able to pick anything up. And I’ve been staying in the palace, enjoying your brothers’ hospitality. They’ve not let anything slip.”

  Many Grade A employees have become close to the royal family, having previously laid their lives on the line to keep us safe, Ryan amongst them. It doesn’t surprise me that they’ve extended the hand of friendship to him. Only a few months earlier he’d played a part in my older brother’s wife’s rescue. “I’m relying on you,” I begin, and then pause to brush back my hair, “I can’t stay in Amahad. I’d suffocate, Ry. Any hint of my unwilling detention, and I expect you to have my back.”

  “You can rely on me, Jasim. Kadar wants you to use the palace security, but seems to have no issue with putting me in charge. I’ll get you out of here, if necessary. My reading of it is they want you to stay as long as possible, but wouldn’t resort to using anything other than verbal persuasion. And if there’s a sniff of that changing, I’ll get you away. It’s my job.”

  Normally a man of few words, Ryan has reassured me. To anyone else my fears would be unrealistic, but then other people haven’t experienced my father’s rule, and the Amahadian ways. If Ryan thinks I’m overreacting, at least he keeps it to himself.

  For the rest of the journey we sit in silence. Driving on into the city, and especially as we approach the palace, I again start to feel uneasy, wondering about the ploy to get me back, still having suspicions that now he has me here, Kadar won’t allow me to leave. Has my brother something up his sleeve to entice me to stay? He wouldn’t resort to actual incarceration, would he? Of course not. But as kidnapping isn’t unheard of in our family, I’m not ready to let go of my suspicions just yet.

  And as the limousine comes to a halt at the main palace entrance, where two men are waiting to greet me, I relegate my second thoughts about the wisdom of my return to the back of my mind. Ryan nods as he leaves me, knowing this is a private reunion.

  “Jasim.” The unexpected tone of that voice, that one heartfelt word, smashes my foreboding into smithereens and gives me a sudden and unanticipated feeling of being home. An emotion I hadn’t expected to feel. Unlike the cold greeting my father would have given me, Kadar, my older brother is stepping forward, sentiment making his eyes glisten as if he’s holding back tears. His robes waft around him in the warm breeze as he walks forward and envelopes me in a full body hug, his mouth pressing against first one cheek, and then the other. I’m held tight for a few seconds, an embrace which expresses how much I’ve been missed.

  “Welcome, brother,” he tells me, when finally, he eases his hold, but keeps his hands on my arms. “You look well, but pale. You need some sun on your skin.”

  “And you, Kadar. You look well also. Fatherhood must agree with you.” His warm welcome was not what I would have predicted, and so totally different from the one I would have received from the last emir.

  A smile softens his naturally stern expression, “It certainly does, Jasim. My child gives joy to me every day.” Just looking at him it’s easy to see how marriage to the woman he loves has transformed him. The woman who almost sacrificed her own life to save his, her unselfish action earning her the respect of the tribes.

  “Good to have you on Amahadian soil, Jas.”

  “Nijad.” I clasp my younger brother to me, then release him. “It’s not been that long…”

  “You were here for just a few hours last time, brother. Hardly enough time to say you’d even been home.”

  “You know my problems, Ni. And you, Kadar. When father was alive…”

  “But he’s alive no longer.” Now Kadar interrupts. “His influence is gone. Amahad is moving forward. And we need you to help us proceed on that journey.” He pauses, and then his next words blow all my fears out of the water. “We’d prefer to have you here, Jasim. I won’t deny that. But I also can’t refute the tremendous work you’re doing for us in London. Having you, in that position, working for Amahad is extremely beneficial. Wherever you’re based, you remain a son of Amahad.”

  I nod, well aware of the responsibilities I can’t shelve, however much I might want to do so. Even though Kadar now has an heir, should anything happen to him, I would be named regent.

  “Come.” Kadar stands aside, and indicates the way into the palace. “We need to speak with you, and bring you up to date on what’s going on.”

  I laugh, Kadar hasn’t changed. I’ve barely got my feet on home soil and he wants to talk business. “Where are my lovely sisters-in-law? And my niece and nephew?” I glance around, surprised they’re not here ready to greet me.

  “Time enough to catch up with them later, we’ve a family dinner planned.”

  But for now, I’m the meat that’s going to be grilled. Typical. With a slight shake of my head, I follow them into the palace and down corridors that have been familiar all my life. When Kadar leads me into the emir’s office, I falter on the threshold, memories of unpleasant meetings with my father echoing in my head.

  “Jasim, you’re letting the family down.”

  “Jasim, you disrespect our country with your manner of dress.”

  “I hold your fate in my hands, Jasim. You do what I say.”

  Another shake of my head to try to clear the memories, and then I take that first step, into my past. Realising I’ve closed my eyes, I open them, and this time view the changes. The desk’s still the same monstrosity from another age, but on the leather clad surface sits the equipment of the twenty-first century, an open laptop and two screens, and underneath a PC tower. A router sits to the side with lights flashing, Then I notice the conference table has been replaced with a more modern type able to accommodate wires and laptop chargers in front of each of the seats.

  My eyebrows rise at Kadar’s modernisations, and a small smile plays at my lips at the thought of the coarse desert sheikhs sitting around, laptops open in front of them, gnarled fingers tapping at keys. The technology shows me time hasn’t stood still and, rather than taking a step back, Amahad, like myself, has moved forward. The transformation helps ease a little more of the worry that I hadn’t been able to shake.

  “Here.” Kadar indicates a smaller table, one with comfy chairs around it, a coffee jug and cups already in place. As I take my seat, he pours out refreshment.

  The first sip of the thick sweet coffee makes me appreciate not everything about my Arab home is bad. I’ve missed the bitter tang on my taste buds, the West just can’t make the same drink that our Eastern country can.

  Nijad’s mouth has turned up, “This brings back memories.” He waves at my suit, purchased on Saville Row, and then indicates his robes. “Nothing’s much changed, has it, Jasim?”

  I’d taken to western dress to offend my father, and hadn’t seen reason to change just because I’d stepped foot on the Amahadian sand. But already I feel the shackles of history falling from me, so I throw my younger brother a bone, “If m
y robes are still here, I might wear them when I go to the desert.” They’ll certainly be more practical.

  Kadar raises a brow, and exchanges a look with Nijad. It might not seem like much, but it would be a momentous step for me to take, and would be a sign that I’m no longer making a protest against my heritage. He nods, then lifts his own cup.

  “Jasim, first, this harem business. I was intrigued by the suggestion. And I agree with you. If the band’s as good as you say, it will be good publicity for us.”

  I’m glad he sees the benefit in it. Interested about the modifications to the harem, I enquire, “How’s the hen party business going, Kadar? Has it got off the ground?” I can’t resist chuckling, it seems such an unlikely venture for the royal family to have become involved in.

  The emir considers for a moment, “You’ll have to ask Zoe and Cara about the details, but we’ve hosted a couple of parties so far and the venue seems to have been well received. Like any new enterprise, it needs time to take off and we must be able to reassure people there’s no terrorist risk. But we’re working on that.” He pauses, to give a smile, “And next month we’ve got Vanessa’s party booked. But of course, we won’t be getting a penny for that.”

  I chuckle, a few months ago it would have been impossible to imagine Sean Cooper, an employee of Grade A, Master Dom of Club Tiacapan, and a man we all called friend, unexpectedly becoming a parent and now planning to get married. The consummate bachelor, or so we’d all thought. Hosting his fiancée’s party was the least Kadar could do to repay him for his contribution to the country.

  “I still can’t believe Sean’s walking voluntarily into the marriage trap,” I tell them, speaking my thoughts aloud.

  Nijad gives me a sharp look, “Only because you haven’t found the right woman, yet, brother. When you do, you’ll understand.”

  “Not likely,” I respond quickly with a smirk, “I prefer variety. And I’ve got a choice, unlike you.” Nijad had been forced into marriage, and Kadar had had to marry the woman the country had chosen for him. The fact that both delight in their partners is a matter of chance, and not a little luck.

  “I could find you a wife. A nice virgin.” Kadar’s grinning at me, “I could dictate that you marry.”

  A threat the old emir would have made, but one I hope my brother wouldn’t follow through on. “Fuck off.”

  My response makes both men laugh.

  “It’s good to have you back, Jas.”

  I nod my thanks toward Nijad, realising with surprise that it is satisfying to be home. Home. It’s been the first time for many years that I’ve given the palace a description approaching anything like that. It gives me cause to wonder whether I was wrong to suspect some kind of entrapment. I refill my coffee cup, taking a moment to enjoy the sweet nectar. And then to get to the point.

  “Kadar,” I wait until I’ve got his full attention, “What gives, brother?” As he shifts as though he’s uncomfortable, I know I’m on track, “I could have made this visit at any time, but why was it so important to ask me back now?”

  “How are the negotiations going with OPEC?” he counters.

  “Fine,” I reply shortly, my brow creasing, “But it’s still not been decided whether we’re to be part of that group. Kadar. Don’t stall.”

  His eyes flick to Nijad, and then back to me, “Okay, Jasim. Yes, I particularly needed you to come home.” He brushes his hand across his short beard, “We’ve received information. After the attempt to sabotage the oil fields, Amir Al-Fahri’s going down a more diplomatic route.”

  My eyes widen, “Information from who? And what exactly was it?”

  The emir’s eyes scan the room, as if making sure we’re alone. I know the room will have been routinely swept for bugs, but his unease signals what he is going to say will be of utmost importance. I watch as his hands go to his ghutra, smoothing down the sides, his unconscious action helping him come to a decision.

  “We had Danielle Smith in custody?” His voice rises at the end, as though posing it as a question. I nod, showing I’ve kept up to date with information sent through the diplomatic bag, the contents unopened even by British Security. Danielle, the mother of Sean Cooper’s child, died in prison in Amahad before she could be questioned by the British Secret Intelligence Service, the CIA, or any other interested party.

  Kadar allows me a moment to digest the name, and I glance at Nijad, to see him staring at me intently.

  “Her death must have been a relief to Sean.” Vanessa, Sean’s fiancée had killed the son of Amir al-Fahri, the world’s most renowned terrorist, and Danielle Smith had been the sole witness. With Danielle’s death, there was no one who could implicate Vanessa in the shooting.

  There’s a moment of silence, and then it sinks in. I smack the palm of my hand against my forehead, “You arranged it.” I don’t look at my brother as I speak, but do raise my eyes just in time to hear his response.

  “It had to be done.” Kadar waves his hand in dismissal, but those five short words are sufficient to confirm she had been killed to keep her quiet.

  The world thought her secrets had died with her, a fight between inmates, a shanking no one could have prevented. But now I’m reading between the lines. I look at each of my brothers in turn, and quickly reach my own conclusion. “You interrogated her first.”

  Their nods are all the confirmation I need. I stand, walking over to the windows, looking out at the glorious garden outside which should be wilting under the hot sun, but instead is blooming, irrigation pipes hidden under the paths keeping it well watered. This is why I didn’t want to come home. It’s not the view, which reminds me how we squander the country’s precious water on keeping plants alive so the wealthy can look at them. No, that’s bad enough, but the fact that my brothers were responsible for having a woman debriefed—and probably quite brutally—and have kept the resultant information to themselves, before ordering her death. Something my father would have done.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder.

  “Brother, if we’d let her live, al-Fahri would have found out about the true circumstances surrounding the death of his son. And that would have planted a huge fucking target on Sean’s fiancée’s back. And, on ours. Vanessa has value to the world, Danielle had none. And what if he decided to take Kadar’s son in retaliation? I would put nothing past him.”

  “Who are you to judge someone’s value? It’s something our father would have done without flinching,” I tell him, through gritted teeth.

  A mirthless laugh is huffed behind me, “Believe you me, I flinched. I fucking felt sick. But as a Dom I had to protect a sub, even if she wasn’t mine to protect.” My older brother’s voice is filled with self-doubt, and at once I recognise the pain he’s feeling, and that my reaction, my comparison to our dead father, is only adding to it. Our father wouldn’t have felt one iota of remorse.

  Turning my back on the garden, I consider what I would have done in his place. Vanessa is the sub, and soon to be wife, of a friend to Amahad, a man who took bullets to protect Kadar’s wife. He’s right, any one of us would do anything to keep a sub safe. Would I commit murder in an analogous situation? As a theoretical question I find it impossible to answer. I shiver, grateful down to my bones I’m not the emir. I look toward him, “I’m sorry, Kadar. I’m looking for ways to prove this place hasn’t changed, where instead I can only find improvements for the good. Forgive me. While you might have taken the same route as our father, your reasons for doing so hold merit. Unlike his.”

  Kadar stands, and lifts his chin toward me. “Thank you, brother.”

  “Now, can we get back to the important part? Leaving aside how we obtained it, the information Danielle had is what’s important for us to discuss, Jasim.” Nijad’s hand is encouraging me back to the table. I take my seat, unbuttoning my jacket as I do so.

  “Okay. Hit me with what you’ve got.” If they had found out something that would affect me and my work, the quicker I know about it, the sooner I can de
al.

  Kadar’s nodding, his fingers steepled under his chin, “Al-Fahri’s attack on the oil fields was little more than a test of our security in the desert. He knew all along he might fail. The direct attack was a distraction.” He pauses to take a breath, “Unfortunately we have discovered his real ploy is to discredit us. He’s fabricating documents as we speak which will put doubt on the amount of oil under our sands, and those of the adjoining countries of Erizad and Alair. The information will be leaked by ‘reliable sources’.”

  I smooth my hands down my face. Damn. “That’s not good news, Kadar. My negotiations are in a sensitive stage, and heavily depend on oil being there in significant quantities. If there’s any distrust or hint that we’ve been untruthful, it could set us back years.”

  “That’s why we need you back, brother. You work with the right people, with governments eager to buy our oil. You’ve made the contacts, and people value your opinion.” Sitting back again, Kadar’s dark eyes stare into mine, “We need you to be visible, to publicise the truth from the very region. Hiding back in London, it could be presumed that you are being kept in the dark about all the facts.”

  I might not like living in the country, but my roots are in Amahad, and would do anything not to see it harmed. Or caught up in red tape for years. “And you see that taking…?”

  “One, two months at the most.” As Kadar keeps to the original timetable, I feel myself starting to relax, and when he adds, “I wouldn’t want to keep you away from all those subs at your club for too long, else you might forget how it works.” And as he waves down toward my genitals, I give a genuine laugh.

  “Brother, he’s got his hand for that.” Nijad adds slyly, as though recognizing the atmosphere has lightened.