The Secret, the Shifter and the Sex- Slave Shanghai

by Melanie Thompson

  Alex took the pill. When Qismah left, Alex fished in her pocket and found the amulet. She pulled up the mattress and shoved the piece under it as far as she could reach. Emotionally drained, physically exhausted and now sedated, it took only seconds for her to fall into a deep sleep.

  She awoke when Qismah tapped her on the shoulder. “It is time for you to be presented. Sit up and let me brush your hair.”

  Alex allowed Qismah to fix her hair and freshen her makeup. Then she stood up so Qismah could slip a black and white sheer silk robe over her shoulders and draw up the hood. The drape of the hood covered most of her face and her hair, and the silk floated around her ankles. Qismah tied the garment around her neck and helped her put on a pair of very high black heels.

  “Where are my friends?” Alex asked as Qismah led her out of the room and into the service elevator.

  “Forget them. You will never see your friends again. They are each being prepared for sale. You will be presented shortly and the bidding will begin. I believe there are six buyers here tonight. The wealthiest men in the world send their representatives to buy pleasure slaves here at our exclusive facility. After the sale is complete, your new owner will take possession of you and you will leave immediately.”

  Alex was led down a long corridor, her diaphanous robe swirling around her ankles. Qismah opened a door at the end of the corridor and led her inside a dark circular room. There were ten doors placed in a half-circle with a raised stage at its center. Alex couldn’t see what was on the other side of the circle. Qismah opened one door and pushed her inside.

  The room was tiny, containing only one velvet-covered bench. “Sit on the bench. Someone will come for you when it is your turn. Remember, behave and do exactly as you are told, or the punishment could be severe, perhaps even deadly.” Qismah briefly touched her ruined mouth.

  Alex sat in the dark room, her heart hammering, and waited.

  Chapter 24

  Alex only sat in the dark for a few minutes before a fat Arab threw open the door to her cubicle and reached for her. He reeked of body odor and garlic, his greasy hair falling to his shoulders. Grinning, he took her hand and snatched her to her feet, spun her around, pulled her hands in front of her and slapped a set of steel bracelets, well-padded with fur, on her wrists.

  Fear clawed at her throat, and she felt sick again. Apparently the sedative she’d taken earlier was still working, because she couldn’t find the energy or the impulse to resist. The Arab pulled her up on the stage, removed her cloak and fastened the bracelets to a hook over her head. She could barely touch the floor with her high heels.

  A spotlight came on, blinding her with bright light. Spinning helplessly, suspended by her wrists, she fought to keep her footing. The Arab began to display her as a sultry female voice over a loudspeaker asked for the bidding to start at one hundred thousand.

  The amount being offered for her rose swiftly. The Arab forced her legs open. He ran a stick up the inside of her thigh and opened her sex. The bidding escalated.

  The Arab spun her around so her rear faced the spotlight and spread the cheeks of her ass. Alex felt her face flame. She could feel the hot stares of the bidders as her price reached five-hundred thousand.

  He spun her again, lifted her breasts and pulled her nipples until they were taught. Tears leaked out of her eyes, tracing a slow path down her face.

  “Open her legs wider,” the voice over the loudspeaker said.

  The Arab moved behind her, picked her legs up and forced her to blatantly expose herself. The bidding went to six-hundred and stopped. The voice announced her sold to bidder number four.

  When the Arab released her wrists, she fell into his arms, sobbing, and he carried her back to her room.

  He left, and she heard the door lock behind her. As she collapsed on the bed, a tall, beautiful woman stepped out of the shadows. Her white skin glowed. She looked carved out of marble. Her black hair fell down her back and across her naked breasts in little braids. Alex was shocked when the woman grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

  “What have you done with Antonio?”

  “I’ve done nothing, I swear. Who are you?”

  “My name is Africaisi.” She held Antonio’s amulet out for Alex to see. “Antonio would never part with this if he were alive. It’s too important for his survival. Where is he?”

  Alex wiped her tears away with the back of her hand and sat up straight. “He was coming to save me, him and his friend Baine. The Russians who captured me blew his boat up.”

  Africaisi sat on the bed next to Alex and took her hand. The woman’s skin was cold as ice. “Tell me this story. I think I know some already, perhaps even more than you.”

  Alex related all the events of the last two weeks. For some reason, she trusted this strange woman. Alex knew she told the truth, and if she was a friend of Antonio’s, she couldn’t be bad.

  When she finished her part of the story, Africaisi patted her hand. “You have suffered much, my child. I must leave you to find Antonio. He is my heart, and I fear he is in grave danger, or perhaps even dead.”

  Power emanated from Africaisi in a blanketing aura. Alex knelt at her feet. “Please don’t leave me and my friends here. Take me with you. Help us.”

  “Do not worry, my child, I will come back for you and your friends. And if I am unable to, I will send help.”

  Africaisi touched her forehead, and Alex was filled with warmth and a sense of peace. She knew Africaisi would not abandon her.

  * * * *

  Baine landed the Skyhawk on a small strip near the coastal town of Salalah, Yemen just after dark. While Antonio handled the refueling, he went in search of a phone. He needed to call Interpol and find out what happened and what they planned to do.

  Baine entered an office where two Arabs dressed in traditional white thobe with Jambiya daggers hanging from ornate belts around their waists sat at a table drinking from small cups. Baine noticed an AK-47 leaning against the table beside each man. They looked up when Baine entered.

  No amount of pantomiming, hand gestures or English explanations made the two understand what he wanted. When Antonio showed up, Baine had reached the end of his patience. He was seconds from turning into a mountain lion and tearing both of them to pieces.

  Antonio spoke fluent Arabic. He spent several moments bowing and introducing himself. Baine watched as Antonio wheedled a cell phone out of the older man, handed it to Baine and presented his credit card.

  Sighing with relief, Baine punched in Inspector Lefevre’s number. As usual, the Interpol agent answered after one ring.

  “Inspector, this is Baine.”

  “This cannot be true. I thought you were dead. I saw the boat blow up and no Baine, no Antonio to appear, I thought surely you both had died.”

  “It was close. Listen, I know where the Russian took the slaves. We found one of his men washed up on shore, and he told us everything.”

  “Tell me, please. We lost the Russian. He took off in a small boat with several of his best slaves and even though we searched, he eluded our efforts.”

  “He’s taking them to a sale in Dubai at the Burj Al Arab. Some Saudi prince runs it twice a month. I’m flying there right now, but the sale is scheduled for this evening. If anything goes wrong, I won’t be able to make it.”

  “Aaah, Dubai, yes, yes, I have heard rumors of this sale. But the Dubai officials are very hard to deal with. And I too may have difficulties preventing my promptness. I am still in Adan.”

  “Give it your best, will you? That fucking Russian has my friends with him. I was told once they’re sold that’s it. Recovery is impossible.”

  “Yes, oui, so true. Once they change hands, finding them will be very hard indeed.”

  “I’m getting ready to fly out of Yemen right now. If everything goes as planned, I should make it in time. I’m gonna try to avoid the Dubai folks altogether. We’ll see how that goes.”

  “Good luck. I will attempt to be there
as well, perhaps by eight this evening, or even nine.”

  Baine erased the call from the phone’s memory, snapped it shut and handed it back to the older man with a gracious smile. “Thanks so much,” he said as he bowed and nodded his head. The Yemeni returned the smile and the bow.

  Antonio grabbed his arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Baine had no problem with that suggestion. In minutes, they were taxiing down the runway in the Seahawk.

  They covered ground rapidly, crossing first into Oman and then into Saudi Arabian airspace.

  “Keep your eyes peeled for fighter jets or any planes,” he told Baine. “I’m keeping us low. Hope we can fly under the radar.”

  They sped across the open desert and into the Persian Gulf. Baine checked the time and saw they were pushing it. “It’s almost ten,” he said to Antonio.

  He spotted the unmistakable artificial island of Palm Jumeira. The island was man-made, built in the shape of a palm tree. Under the spreading fans of the palm fronds were several lagoons.

  “Strap yourselves in. This is gonna be a rough landing,” Baine warned as he prepared to ditch the plane in the lagoon.

  Baine dropped the flaps and fought to keep the plane’s nose up as he deliberately lost elevation and slowed the engines. They hit hard, the wheels catching water. Baine struggled to hold the craft steady, but it flipped, bounced twice on its back and stopped.

  “Everyone out!” Baine yelled as he unhooked his seat belt and dropped to the roof of the plane which was now the floor.

  “Nicholas is unconscious,” Antonio said.

  Together they unbuckled Nicholas and manhandled him out of the slowly sinking plane.

  “Did you plan this whole upside-down thing?” Antonio asked as they dropped into the water. “I’m only asking because the plane seems to float rather well on its back.”

  “Fuck no. I was planning to survive the landing and that’s about it.”

  “Mission accomplished, then.”

  They climbed out of the water and onto the man-made island. Baine hot-wired an older black Mercedes and sped out of the subdivision and onto the long spit forming the trunk of the palm tree that connected the islands to the mainland.

  Nicholas moaned from the backseat. “What happened?”

  Baine grinned. “We landed.”

  “Feels like we crashed.”

  “Same thing. Where do they load the girls into the hotel?” Baine asked Nicholas as he pulled the car into the lot in front of the Burj Al Arab.

  “They take them in and out through a service entrance in the back.”

  Baine checked the time. “Fuck me, it’s almost eleven.”

  “Don’t worry, sometimes the bidding doesn’t start until midnight. It depends on how good the party is, how many buyers there are and how many pieces of merchandise.”

  Baine growled. “Never call them merchandise to me again. They’re people, helpless women. Don’t you have any feelings at all?”

  Nicholas’s gaze turned blank. “Yes, I have feelings. I love one of those pieces of merchandise. I’m here to rescue Lyle.”

  Chapter 25

  Africaisi slipped silently around the floors of the hotel used by the slavers. Slavery was a very old condition the world had tolerated for centuries. Africaisi had never accepted slavery and was not going to tolerate it now.

  As old as she was, few emotions remained to her. She could love, but did not experience the emotion as humans did. And she could hate. Africaisi’s hatred was a far more terrible thing than any human could imagine. Pure, raw hatred for these slavers who had injured or killed Antonio filled her heart. They would pay.

  She swept down the steps and entered a long hallway covered in luxurious Persian carpets. Two guards stood in front of the elevator. They were dressed as Arabs, all in black and gold. Rifles rested on their crossed arms.

  Africaisi moved like a shadow. She smelled the guards, smelled their blood. Slipping up behind one silently, she grabbed him by the neck, bent his head back and tore out his throat with her fangs, all in a matter of seconds.

  The second guard looked up, his eyes wide as Africaisi leaped on him and pushed him to the carpet. He was dead before he hit the floor.

  Floating six inches off the carpet, she opened a set of double doors. Inside the room, she heard the voice of the auctioneer. A young man was suspended by his wrists in the center of a stage. A spotlight illuminated him in intimate detail. The bidding was slow. As she listened, she only heard two bidders competing for the sale.

  The bidders sat in dimly-lit cubicles arranged in a semi-circle around the stage. Each reclined in comfort, a drink at their elbow. Several had young nubile slaves kneeling in front of them.

  Africaisi slid into the first cubby and broke the man’s neck with one blow. The man in the next booth had his clothes open. His female slave knelt at his feet, sucking his exposed organ. Africaisi pushed her aside, grabbed the man’s penis in one hand and covered his mouth with the other. He struggled wildly, but his strength was no match for hers. She tore his penis off, flung it to the floor and then she smothered him.

  There were five more bidders. It took only minutes for her to dispatch them. But these buyers were not her intended prey. She wanted the Russians and the prince who had orchestrated this affair.

  * * * *

  Baine and Antonio climbed out of the Mercedes and surveyed the area. The Burj Al Arab was like a small fortress. The rear entrances were barred with high privacy fencing and a locked gate. There was no way of getting the car back there.

  Nicholas moved slowly as he climbed out of the car. Holding his injured arm, he joined Baine and Antonio as they surveyed the fence.

  “How do we get over this?” Nicholas asked.

  Baine grinned. “Don’t worry. This is a small obstacle for us, right Tonio?”

  Antonio’s brow furrowed. “I feel something. There is a very powerful member of my tribe lurking somewhere around this hotel.”

  Baine knew Antonio was referring to a vampire. “Can you recognize him?”

  “The scent is familiar. I’m thinking it’s Africaisi, but how could she know to come here?”

  Baine shrugged. “There’s no telling. Do you think Interpol has arrived?”

  “If they were here, this gate would be open and the place would be a madhouse,” Nicholas said.

  “I wish I had my phone.”

  Antonio tore the gate off its hinges, and the three of them walked into the enclosed area behind the hotel. The blacktop drive went downhill, taking them to a lower level and an underground unloading area.

  “The slavers use this entrance,” Nicholas said, leading them past the loading docks to an alcove with a locked metal door. “This door leads to a service elevator. They take the slaves in and out in that.”

  “Duck,” Baine snapped.

  They all stepped into the shadows.

  At the other end of the enclosure, the gates swung open and a BMW limousine slowly pulled through.

  “That car is here to pick up an order,” Nicholas said. “The sale must be over.”

  Suddenly, the locked door burst open and an Arab flew out. He crashed into Antonio, who hissed and snapped his neck. Nicholas just stared.

  “How’d you do that?”

  Antonio didn’t answer. He bent over the Arab, rifling through his robes. He pulled out a cell phone and tossed it to Baine. “Call Interpol.”

  Sirens wailed in the distance.

  “They sound like they’re headed this way,” Baine said.

  * * * *

  As Africaisi walked through the auction area looking for a control room or a door out, she felt something whisper across her consciousness. She stopped. It felt like Antonio.

  She stared at the ruby-studded piece hanging around her neck. Suddenly, the ruby lit from the inside and glowed. Antonio! He must be close by.

  Torn between killing the Russians and the prince who ran this travesty, and finding her love, Africaisi hesitated. A hai
l of gunfire blew the door open and peppered her. Grunting, she fell back with multiple holes in her chest and torso. The wounds were devastating. It could take hours for her body to repair them, hours she didn’t have.

  Two men holding automatic weapons shoved through the destroyed door. Paralyzed and helpless, Africaisi closed her eyes and played dead. The men ran by her, checking each of the bidders’ alcoves. She heard them speaking in Russian, a language she knew well.

  “We’re fucked. The prince is going to think this is our fault.”

  “What do we do?”

  Africaisi noticed one of the men spoke Russian with an atrocious accent, as though it were a learned language.

  “The authorities will be here shortly. Our only option is to run.”

  Strength slowly returned to Africaisi’s body. Her recent feeding coupled with the Anubis amulet made recovery faster than she’d anticipated. She flexed her hands and legs. In a few minutes, she would be strong enough to kill.

  Another man entered the room. He was tall and dressed in black robes and a black gutrah with a gold agal tied around the head scarf. He possessed the bearing of royalty. This must be the prince. Africaisi wobbled to her feet. She’d allowed the Russians to escape, but the prince would not.

  “Royal master,” Africaisi whispered.

  Prince Fahd bin Abdul-Mishaal looked down over his hooked nose at Africaisi. “Get out of my way, woman.”

  He pushed her. She recoiled and leaped on him. Shock registered on his swarthy features as she bore him to the thick carpet. Africaisi easily held him pinned.

  “Get off me, woman.” His voice was full of disdain for her sex.

  Africaisi smiled, revealing long canines.

  The prince screamed. “Evil djinn, remove yourself.”

  “You have raped and tortured your last woman. You have sold your last human into slavery. I sentence you to death for your crimes.”

  Africaisi forced the prince’s head back. As she ran a long fingernail down the length of his exposed throat, he squealed. The high-pitched sound reminded her of a pig in the slaughterhouse. She nodded her head. “Yes, you will now die at the hands of a woman.”