He lunged at me, roaring with rage, but came up short as I leveled his own gun in his face.
"If you move," I said, "I'll put your brains all over that wall."
That got his attention, and Omar slowly raised his hands, glowering at me.
Without taking my eyes off him, I pulled the USB drive from its hole. "Since I don't have any clothes, I will assume you brought something for me."
He scowled, his eyes full of hate and rage. "A robe, by the elevator."
My eyes narrowed with anger. Omar had intended to make me walk naked all the way down that long corridor. Well, I would, but he would be in front of me, not behind. "Here's how we're going to do this..."
Twenty minutes later, Omar opened a small service entrance on the east side of the palace. The hot evening air rushed into the corridor, bringing with it the sour smells of an overcrowded city.
"Go," Omar told me. "But when I find you, you will die."
I smiled. "Omar, you're coming with me," I said, pushing the pistol against his ribcage. "Unless you'd prefer that I leave your body here."
Omar might be a fanatic, but he wasn't crazy. He nodded, then led the way as I gestured with the pistol. I kept it close to my body, the muzzle pressed against his spine. He understood that if he so much as sneezed, I would empty the clip first and ask questions later.
I guided him by memory across the square and into the warren of streets. My pale skin stood out, but I'd wrapped my head in the black scarf that Nazari had used to blindfold me. Omar and I disappeared into a warren of streets, taking turns seemingly at random until I wasn't sure I could even find the palace again.
He laughed as we turned into a marketplace. "Fool woman, you're going to get us both killed. Where do you think you're taking me?"
I kept my mouth shut and tried to remember which way to go. We took the third left after the first cross street, and I held my breath as we turned a corner.
A battered gray van blocked the alleyway, and my heart sank. I'd been sure this was the place where Cal had signaled me. My mind reeled as I tried to decide what to do now. I couldn't return to the palace. Could I make it to the American Embassy without alerting the Prince? And what to do with Omar?
Then the van's sliding door burst open, and Cal Turner popped out, grinning. "Audrey! You made it!"
Omar turned on me, his face twisted with rage. "You're a spy!" he shouted, lunging at me. I raised the pistol, but Cal was faster. He wrapped an arm around Omar's neck and brought him to the ground faster than a snake's strike. I gaped, the gun in my hand trembling. I'd known Cal was dangerous, but to see him in action was something else entirely.
With Omar subdued, Cal chuckled. "So you brought us Omar Tarik? Why do you have to be such an overachiever, Audrey? Information on the Wolf would have been enough."
I pulled my necklace from beneath the robe I wore and waggled it in front of him. "How about the contents of Prince Nazari's private laptop?"
"You're an amazing woman, Audrey," he said, laughing. A couple of special operations soldiers slipped out of the alley and Cal directed them as they bundled up Omar in duct tape and burlap, then dragged his struggling body back into the vehicle.
Cal's jovial nature faded, and his blue eyes gave me a penetrating look. "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?"
"I'm fine," I lied. How could I tell him that I'd come close to staying, to giving myself fully to Prince Nazari? "Can we go?"
"Sure," Cal said. "There's a C-17 waiting for us at Eskan Village Airbase. They weren't counting on an extra passenger, but I'm sure the guys at Guantanamo will be pleased to meet Mr. Tarik here."
Cal put an arm around me and helped me into the van, and all my illusions vanished as suddenly as a bubble bursting in the dry desert air. For all that Prince Nazari's mysterious allure and his exotic pleasures, he could never match what I felt in Cal's simple, protective touch. Love.
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About the author:
Fannie Tucker is a horny woman of indeterminate age who likes driving too fast, cussing too loud, and writing stories that would make her grandmother keel over dead.
She first discovered her talent for writing naughty stories while passing dirty notes to her boyfriend during English 201. When her professor confiscated one of the notes, he kept her after class and recommended a new and interesting line of work, and she never looked back. She lives in California with her husband and a Dachshund who rules them both.
She is the author of over eighty works of erotic fiction ranging from the kinky to the downright weird. If you enjoyed this story, check her out online!
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
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Submitting to the Enemy: In the Prince's Harem ( Page 5
