Dark Horses: (Blood Brothers #5)

by Manda Mellett

Cutting short as much as I could, I’d rushed through my initial tour of the oil fields, managing to shave a day off the time I was meant to be away, eager to return to Z̧almā and see Janna again. And to put some of those ideas into practice.

  We needed to talk, to work out the boundaries of our forced relationship, how it would work and how we’d present it to other people. I was thinking of temporarily moving her into my apartment, giving her everything money could buy. Dressing her in lavish designer clothes. And having her in my bed. Every fucking night until our attraction to each other started to wane. On the helicopter flight back from the oilfield, the thought of taking her into Nijad’s dungeon, trying out all the equipment I’d originally installed for his use, had the predictable result of my cock swelling against my thigh. Though, in time, it would undoubtedly fade, for now my attraction to her remained as strong as ever.

  I’d rushed into the palace, only to find her gone. She’d left without a word. The absence of even a note, showing she’d gone back to her old life, her loyalty stronger to Anarchy Rules than to her temporary husband.

  The sudden burst of anger took me by surprise, a vase was thrown and smashed against the wall. But even before the pieces had reached the ground, I’d started to calm. I’d promised her nothing, and what’s more, had nothing to give. I couldn’t commit to a relationship, she was right to disappear. I would have ended it after a short while, if she hadn’t initiated the break herself.

  After issuing a short press release announcing to the world Janna had returned to England to continue her career, and a resolve on my part to keep up some sort of pretense when I eventually returned home, I then had to explain our swift separation to my brothers. I was short when I spoke to them, and, after simply exchanging glances, they probed no further. The marriage had served its purpose, no blood had been spilt on Amahadian sands.

  But she was still under my skin. Inexplicably missing her, and fearing further rejection, I didn’t go back to England immediately, wanting time and distance to get her out of my head. I spent longer than planned revisiting the oil fields, riding the length of some of the pipe line, encouraging the workers, and gaining an understanding of the trials they were facing on a daily basis. I gave interviews confirming the estimated amounts of oil that we’d found, putting paid to the rumours that they had been over reported. I threw myself into my work.

  Ryan told me I was becoming reckless, I disagreed. I making sure I was a visible presence in the region. Never admitting any risks I was taking were only trying to fill the vast hole left inside by the woman who’d gotten away. The woman, who, by some quirk of fate, I remained officially tied too.

  “How much longer are you going to grace us with your presence?” Nijad, having just flown back in from Al Qur’ah, enters the sitting room of his suite, the suite I’m still staying in. The one that reminds me of my wedding night, but which I’m loathe to move out of. He throws off his headdress, and sinks onto the low cushions in front of the table where I’ve got maps spread out.

  I glare across at him, “I’m doing exactly what you and Kadar wanted me to do.”

  “I appreciate that, brother, but aren’t you needed to wheel some deals? Not much point extracting oil if we’ve no one to sell it to.”

  My eyes narrow, to think that I was once afraid when they’d got me here, they’d force me to stay. Now they want to get shot of me. “I said I’d give you two months.”

  “It’s coming up to that now. You should go home to your wife.”

  “She’s not my wife. Not in any real sense.”

  He shrugs, “Kadar wanted you to keep up appearances, you can’t do that from three thousand miles away.”

  “Butt out of my life, brother.” I stand, unwilling to face him, “Tell Kadar he can stick what he wants up his arse. When I get back to London, I’ll be seeking a divorce.”

  “You can’t until a year’s up. Either under the marriage contract or English law.”

  “I can get it annulled.”

  Nijad laughs, “I suppose you could try. It would be entertaining to see. Let’s see, what reason will you choose? I suppose you could try to say you were forced into it, but I doubt Kadar would agree to that story coming out. You didn’t drug her, or get her drunk. Or are you going to say she did that to you?” As I scowl at him, he continues, “I’ve got it! You can get her to say you had an STD that you hadn’t disclosed.”

  “Club records won’t support that.” Like all members, I have regular check-ups and it will be on record that I’m clean.

  “Say she had the clap.”

  “She was a virgin!”

  Now he starts chuckling, “Was. That there was your admission the marriage was consummated. Seems you’re out of options, brother. You’ll have to wait until the year is out.”

  And have the thought of her hanging over me for twelve months? Without being able to reap the benefits of being married to her?

  “You’re enjoying this too much, Nijad.”

  He beckons me back to my seat, “You went into this with your eyes open. You knew what it would mean.”

  Slumping down, I put my head in my hands, “That was before she left me without a word. I thought we could have fun for a time until whatever it was between us wore itself out. But it ended up she didn’t want that. I didn’t have a chance to work her out of my system.” Yeah, it must be that.

  His piercing eyes see everything, “You still want her.”

  I shrug, the gesture indicating I don’t really know what I want.

  “Have you even spoken to her?”

  I answer with a shake of my head, “I’m leaving her alone. She’s made no move to contact me so that’s obviously what she wants..”

  “Does she? Or is she just waiting for you to make the first approach?” All mirth gone, he’s watching me intently, “Why don’t you?” He taps his fingers against his mouth, and then gives a nod, “Ah, you’re afraid she’ll reject you.”

  How can I talk to him about it, when I don’t understand what’s in my own mind? When I’ve spent lonely sleepless nights trying to convince myself the only reason I can’t get her out of my head is because she left me before I was ready to let her go? What good could come of me re-opening the wound? She’d only brought forward the end which would have come in time. Is it only because there’s a legal document tying us together that I feel responsibility toward her?

  Tapping the map in front of us, I point to a spot, “There’s a delay with the pipeline, here. I’m heading out tomorrow to see what it is.” I hope changing the subject will get him onto something else.

  “It’s not your job, brother.”

  But I’ve made up my mind, “You wanted me to get involved, to get my hands dirty. Smooth things along. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

  His eyes sharpen, “What does Ryan say?”

  My bodyguard has told me visiting that particular spot is a bad idea, “He’s got nothing to do with my plans.”

  “He’ll be going with you?”

  I nod at that. Not that I particularly want him to, but he wouldn’t let me go off alone.

  Nijad’s brow furrows, “I know this girl has got you twisted in knots, brother, and don’t try to deny it. But you haven’t a death wish, have you?”

  “Oh, for fucks sake, Ni. It’s not that dangerous.”

  “You forget.” He pulls his back up straight. “I know the desert.”

  I don’t need the reminder that he thinks I don’t. Forcing down my annoyance, I make a conciliatory gesture. “This one last inspection, and then I’ll go home.”

  “Back to your wife?”

  I open my hands, palms facing toward him, “Who knows what the fuck I’ll find. She could have moved on.”

  “Or she could be waiting for you.”

  Having made the decision that this is to be my last day in Amahad, the next morning, I join Ryan at the helipad as we wait for our ride to one of the areas where construction of a pipeline has stalled. Laying hundreds of miles of
pipe to take oil from underground to the port where it can be shipped is the major part of this project, and currently the one giving us the most headaches. Where we’re headed today is an area where the sand has a particularly high chloride level, which is highly corrosive to the metal pipe. There have been couple of options proposed, and the method chosen could affect the financial viability of the project as a whole. Valid enough reason to justify me being present for the discussion, though in truth, that could have just has easily taken place in my office.

  An hour later we arrive, and are greeted by Sheikh Ghalib, one of the older rulers in the desert, and members of the Hagra, his tribe. They’re all heavily armed, reminding me of the dangers that are always lurking anywhere near the pipeline construction sites. But there’s nothing of concern I can see at the moment, just a range of mountains to our rear, and in front of us, the vast expanse of the sand that’s causing us the problems.

  We’re joined by a couple of engineers, their skin leathered and weather-beaten from spending so much time in the sun. They’d arrived by Jeep, coming down from one of their other sites further along the pipeline. After making introductions and exchanging greetings, I make a start, getting straight down to business.

  “Tell me our options again?”

  The engineer who seems to be taking the lead taps his pen against his teeth and begins, “The cheapest is raising the pipe on a platform. But it will be at risk of exposure to the elements. A sandstorm could easily cover it. And our problem would return.”

  Though there’s only a slight breeze now, sand is already building up against my shoes. I tilt my head toward Ghalib, “Will the Hagra be able to monitor any damage?”

  He doesn’t look convinced, “It’s an isolated spot here. No oasis to make it a base. I can send out patrols, but how frequently, I can’t say. Certainly not enough to keep sand off the pipeline.” I know his tribe are farmers, eking a meagre living from what fertile land there is. Taking the men away for these extra duties would hit him hard.

  “What else could we do?” I nod toward the lead engineer.

  “There is a way to set up electronic protection. But we’d need a generator, and a monitoring operation to ensure that it functioned at all times.” And a way to get a qualified person here quickly to fix the fault if anything went wrong. The last thing we’d want is the pipeline to split, spilling precious oil onto the sand.

  As I begin to comprehend the difficulties involved in the construction, digging the wells themselves seems to be the simplest part. The engineer clears his throat, getting my attention.

  “There’s another option. It’s expensive.”

  “Go on.”

  “There’s a new type of polyethylene coating that could protect the metal from corrosion caused by the chloride. It’s costly though.”

  “You’re proposing we use some specially coated pipeline for this section?”

  “Given the environment, I think it would be wise.”

  I nod, “Get me some figures.”

  The engineer smiles and nods, and I think I was right to sweep aside objections for me to come here today. Seeing the isolation of this particular spot, meeting Ghalib, who’d be providing the manpower for whatever is necessary for protection and maintenance for this area, and speaking to the experts on site gives me a much clearer idea of the issues than reading a dry report from my desk back in London. As the wind blows, whipping up sand around us, I get a better impression than I would from afar. And a greater desire to be involved in discussing the solutions. Already, I’m working out how to divert funds from another part of the project to enable the extra expense here. If it isn’t too much.

  “The polyethylene coated pipes sound the best way to go. But if the cost is prohibitive, we’ll have to work out some way of maintaining the electronics solution. Ghalib?”

  The elderly sheikh shrugs, “We will have to make it work. We’ve ventured too much to let it fail now.” The desert tribes, wanting to cash in on the liquid gold running under their sands, had each made a hefty investment. Which means all tribes will commit to making it a success.

  Just as I turn to thank him, gun shots ring out. The firing coming from the mountains to our rear. We’re out in the open with nowhere to run. The only option is to make a hasty retreat.

  Ryan races up to cover me, a semi-automatic in his hands.

  “Get back to the helicopter, Jasim.”

  The pilot’s not stupid, the rotors are already turning.

  “Ghalib?” Fearing for the older man, I see him gun already in hand, surrounded by the men from his tribe with automatic rifles in theirs. They lay covering fire as the sheikh is bundled toward his transport.

  “Jasim, get moving. You’re the fucking target!”

  I know that, but the engineers will be as well. “Wade 'asfal tughatti alnnar lilmuhundisin.” I call out my instruction for the engineers to be given protection. Making my way toward the helicopter, I watch them as they race for their Jeeps, breathing a sigh of relief as they safely get away, dust blown up by the spinning tires helping to hide their escape.

  “Jasim! Move!” Ryan’s screaming at me, as bullets hit the ground all around. Seeing everyone else is safe, I start to run. My guard tries to put his body between me and the shooters, hidden like cowards in the mountain rocks. I’ve just time to admit it may have been a mistake coming here today, when Ryan falls to the ground, taken down by a bullet to his chest.

  Automatically, I turn my body to protect him, devastated by the amount of blood already escaping from the wound. My medic instincts kick in, trying to assess him without causing extra damage. I’m vaguely conscious Ghalib’s signaling his men to come back to help, as I feel a sharp pain in my back, then I stumble and fall, hitting my head hard on a rock.

  Chapter 30

  Janna

  As the days pass, I’m glad I confided in Sunny. Now her twisted relationship had ended, and without causing ructions with the band, we’ve returned to sharing everything with each other again. The only one to know the precise state of my relationship with Jasim, she has my back. When I zone out, my thoughts returning to the desert, she covers my slips and diverts attention from me.

  When the video is posted on YouTube, it becomes a massive hit, generating new interest in Anarchy Rules. Our gigs are full to bursting, and we start to attract serious attention from wannabe agents and managers. A record contract is offered, and we jump at the chance. Arena gigs follow, and slowly days turn into weeks, and weeks into months. And still, no word from Jasim. Before I know it, almost quarter of the year has gone by.

  I play like I used to, but my heart isn’t in it. Sometimes the only way I can perform is to imagine he’s out there in the audience, and every note and riff is for him. I encourage Ben to fly on his own, stepping more into the background as he takes the lead. I’m pulling away from the band, and I think everyone knows it, but no one wants to mention it aloud. Neither do they gloat on the fact my husband seems to have abandoned me, apparently putting the marriage down to a temporary aberration caused by the desert heat.

  Three months and one day later—not that I’m counting—when I’m starting at last to move forward, my phone rings.

  “Hello,” I answer cautiously, not recognising the number, ready to end the call as soon as I’m questioned about a non-existent, not-my-fault accident that I’d apparently had.

  “Janna?” The deep velvety voice stuns me.

  “Um, hang on.” Taking this call when everyone’s sitting around listening is not what I want. I get to my feet and hurry to the privacy of my own room. “Jasim! I didn’t expect you to call.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you after all this time. I hope you are well?”

  After I murmur something non-comital, he continues, “I need to ask if you’ll to do a favour for me.” Even though he can’t see me, I nod for him to go on. Just the sound of his voice makes memories slam into me. His scent, his touch. I shiver. At the other end of the line, he clears his throat, “I’
ve been following Anarchy Rules. You’ve got an amazing number of hits on that video. It came out well, didn’t it?”

  “Yeah, the band’s doing great.” I’m surprised I can get words out of my mouth, I’m so stunned to be talking to him. As he hadn’t kept in touch, I just expected divorce papers to arrive in the post.

  “Look, the thing is, I hate to bring it up, but we are still married and Kadar’s up in my business, reminding me of my promise. That we make this look real, at least for a reasonable time.”

  Really? I thought he’d forgotten and had just let matters drop. What’s he going to suggest? “Jasim. I’ve picked up my life, I can’t walk out on the band.” And the last thing I want to do is to see him. To re-open the wound that’s only just started healing.

  “I got that message when you left without talking to me. Don’t worry, Janna. I’m not going to interrupt your life. It’s only a small favour. I just need to ask if you’ll come to an embassy function with me. People are asking questions why my wife’s not around. Janna, will, can you, come and put on a show? Just be my escort for the night, to stop tongues wagging? I’m not going to ask you to move in with me or anything. Just be seen by my side for a few hours.”

  Could I do that? Pretend he’s my loving husband just for the night? War waging inside me, I recall exactly what I’d agreed to when it was a ruse to rescue Sally, but can I do it all these weeks later, when I’ve begun to get him out of my mind? Have I? Have I really? It’s not actually possible, is it?

  I’ve been silent too long, he fills in the gap, “I’m sorry, I’ll tell Kadar to go fuck himself. Not like I haven’t done it before.” He laughs, then the mirth disappears and his voice deepens again. “You’ve moved on, haven’t you, Janna? Have you found a new man? Do you want me to initiate the divorce?”

  There’s no one else. Despite Sunny’s machinations to set me up, I’ve not had the faintest interest in anyone else I’ve met.

  “No,” I deny it. “I’m still a free woman.”

  “Not a free woman, not when you’re tied to me.”