by Sophia Lynn
Sheikh's Purchased Princess
By: Sophia Lynn
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright 2016 Sophia Lynn
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
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Sheikh's Kidnapped Bride
Chapter One
The echo of Emily's song died down, only to be met with the enthusiastic applause of the coffeehouse audience. It wasn't much, she thought with a grin, but it was better than it had been last month, and it was far better than it had been a year ago. She was improving, her venues were improving, and over all, things were looking up.
She hopped down from the tiny stage to collect tips, smiling at the people who liked her set and turning away from the men who thought that perhaps they could get a little bit more.
Emily Dorne was a small woman, but she liked to think that she walked tall. Her mother had always called her no bigger than a minute, and while it was true that she was barely over five feet tall, her short fluffy blonde hair and her nearly black eyes made her a striking woman, even in New York.
“Where does someone even get looks like yours?” a drunk in Times Square had asked once.
“From the fairies, I guess,” she’d replied as she ducked away.
It was true in a way. She had never looked a great deal like anyone in her family, and when she was seventeen, she had packed it all up to run away. Now, five years later, the little fairy changeling was finally beginning to thrive.
Right now, though, she wasn't thinking about any of that. Instead, she was thinking about how many tips she was getting, she was handing out cards that told people where to buy her music online, and she was trying to figure out if the man who wanted to record her was legit or a scam.
Scam, she decided, when he gave her a residential address in Bed-Stuy as his studio location. Emily made her excuses, introduced the next musician, and slid towards the door.
“Hey, you want to take some day-olds with you?” asked Josh, who worked behind the counter.
“I would love that,” she said with a grin.
He held out a bag of slightly stale but entirely edible bread products, his grip lingering on the bag for a moment.
“If you were interested, there's a band playing up in Manhattan…”
“I'm not,” she said crisply. “If that's your price for pastries…”
To his credit, Josh looked embarrassed, letting go of the bag immediately.
“Aw, hell, get out of here,” he muttered. “You think way too much of yourself, girl.”
“If I don't, no one else will,” she said, and she ducked out.
I should probably keep an eye on that, she thought, walking out into the warm fall night. He's been getting a lot pushier lately…
Still, it was difficult to think of threats and asshole baristas when the night was so lovely. The street was emptier than it might have been. Most of the people who were out and about during the day had retreated inside, while the hard-drinking crowd was not out in force yet. It was a pleasant walk back to her apartment, her gig bag slung over her shoulder and a bag of food in her hand. She had certainly had far worse days.
In fact, it sounded as if the woman in the alley was having one of those far worse days.
Emily paused for a moment. The woman was crying, a high and panicked wail that made the hair at the back of Emily's neck stand on end. The few other passersby ignored her, and she didn't really fault them. New York was so crowded, so densely packed with people, that if you didn't learn to keep a good wall between you and everyone else on the street, you could get overwhelmed very easily. Of course, that wasn't a comfort to anyone who was crying like that.
Emily almost walked on. She’d had such a good night, and she was starving. Then a memory struck her of being just that frightened and just that upset on one of her first nights in the city, and after that, it wasn't really a choice at all.
She walked into the alley cautiously, approaching the woman who was slumped against the wall, her hands over her face.
“Excuse me? Excuse me, miss, what's going on? Are you all right?”
The woman was a tall, gaunt thing, her clothes threadbare and slightly torn. Emily wondered if she had been attacked, and her protective instincts rose up.
“Can you hear me? Can you understand me?” she asked gently, coming close.
The woman's shoulders only shook harder. Her sobs got louder. Emily bit her lip. There was only so much help she could be after a certain point. She resolved to give it one more shot.
“Excuse me, miss, but…”
She touched the woman's elbow gently, and the woman looked up.
The first thing Emily realized was that the woman hadn't been crying at all. Her face was utterly calm as she reached out and grabbed Emily's wrist with a bruising grasp.
“What the hell—!”
Emily's startled exclamation was cut off by someone grabbing her from behind, one arm wrapping around her to hold her still, and the other bringing a foul-smelling cloth up to her face. Panicked, Emily took a deep breath to scream, filling her lungs with acrid fumes.
Her entire body grew suddenly heavy and helpless. She couldn't think, but she was still aware of the two people lowering her to the ground. She heard the distinct sound of her gig bag, containing her precious guitar, hitting the ground, and then, heart-stopping, the splintering of wood.
Emily should have been terrified out of her mind. She should have been livid with her attackers, afraid of what came next, but in her mind, all she could think of was her guitar and how cruel it was that it had come to be broken.
***
Adnan al-Mahsi looked up from his work as the slender man in black entered his office. In Nahr's tallest skyscraper, the upper floors were exclusively for the use of the sheikh and his enterprises. The number of people who had access to them was strictly limited, and very few could come all the way up to Adnan's private office and penthouse apartment. This man was one of them.
“Roja,” he said with a smile, rounding his desk to greet him. “They didn't tell me that you were coming up.”
The man's smile was like a knife blade. “They didn't know. Your security is disturbingly lax, old friend. It's almost like your loyal subjects want you to be assassinated.”
“Are you the one doing the assassinating?” asked Adnan, a slight glint in his dark eyes. “If so, I am not really that worried.”
“Still you should be on your guard…”
The last words were barely out of Roja's mouth before he was lunging across the room, his hand empty but driving straight for Adnan's throat. Or at least, it was driving straight for where Adnan's throat had been before Adnan had ducked and dodged, grabbing his friend's hand and pulling him off balance.
Roja swore as Adnan dragged him back, pinning his arm behind his back and pushing him against the wall.
“Satisfied that I am safe?” asked Adnan with a smile.
Roja made a sound of grudging satisfaction as the sheikh let him go. “I suppose I must be,
” he said with a shrug. “If your people cannot defend you, at least I can be pleased that your instincts are still good, if not as sharp as they were once.”
“I blame the matter of actually having to perform my duties as sheikh now, rather than being able to play spy versus spy with you and the others,” Adnan said, stepping back to his chair. “Is there something you actually need, or are you merely here to test my defenses?”
He had expected a light joke, or perhaps some small favor or other. Roja was the head of Nahr's secret service, a man Adnan trusted completely. He usually operated with autonomy, as he was beyond reproach, but sometimes when things got particularly dark, he would come speak to Adnan.
Today, however, Roja's eyes were as dark as black diamonds, as hard and glittering. He sat in the chair across from Adnan, and there was nothing cheerful or amused about him now.
“I have come to ask for a favor,” he said. “He's back.”
For a moment, Adnan had no idea who he was talking about. Roja's job made him chase after some of the most powerful and evil men on the Arabian Peninsula. Once it had been Adnan's job as well, but when his father died, he had been called upon to serve his country in a different way—by ruling it.
“He…you mean the Razorback.”
Roja nodded curtly, his black eyes fixed on Adnan's.
“I do. He has finally resurfaced, and he is up to his old tricks again. This time…this time, I will not let him through my fingers, and I need your help.”
Adnan nodded immediately. “Anything you want and more,” he promised. “Tell me what it is.”
Roja relaxed slightly, but Adnan could see that he was eager to begin the operation.
“My informants tell me that he has appeared in Mirago and that his operation is bigger than ever. He has broken his old rule of never letting his face be seen, when the prize is great enough.”
Roja paused, and Adnan realized what his friend was asking him to do.
“He would appear…if perhaps the prize was a sheikh who wanted to see his wares?”
Roja gave another terse nod. “Yes. I understand that this is a risk for you. You would need to be involved. You would be in danger…”
“I think my time away from the shadow games has blunted your memory,” Adnan said, rising. “Of course I will help you. Only let me know when we will begin.”
Roja, a man not given to emotion, looked for a moment as if his eyes might brim with tears.
“Soon,” he said, standing. “Very soon. I will notify you as soon as I can. Thank you, sheikh.”
Adnan came around his desk to clasp his friend's arm.
“No need to thank me, or to call me sheikh,” he said warmly. “I am your friend…and perhaps after all this time, your sister can rest easy.”
Roja took Adnan’s hand, the grasp of a friend and comrade. “Perhaps.”
When he was gone, Adnan pondered the operation to come. He felt a bit guilty for being so eager to abandon his duties as sheikh to go play the shadow game again, the games of espionage and battle that he had been so good at just two short years ago. He couldn't deny, though, that it would give him the excitement that he had craved for what felt like far longer than two years.
It will be fine, he thought, turning to face the skyline of Nahr through his broad windows. Of course it will be fine.
Nahr was his city, his homeland, but he was not so foolish as to disregard the fact that there was a darkness to it. Mirago, a lawless city close to the shadow of the mountains, was one such face of darkness. He had only gone once or twice, but he knew what a dangerous place it was.
He should be pondering the seriousness of the endeavor, thinking about what it meant to be so in danger. Instead, he could only feel a rising excitement inside him.
Chapter Two
Emily came awake by degrees, and every single degree was unpleasant. First she was aware of a terrible ache in her shoulders, and then she realized that her mouth tasted terrible. As she crept closer to consciousness, she realized with a start that she was lying on her side, her hands bound in front of her.
“What—?”
She jerked up into a sitting position, making her head swim as she did. When the swimmy feeling had passed, Emily looked around in confusion. She had memories of being grabbed on a New York street. Now she had awoken in what looked like a basement room. A naked bulb illuminated the room, offering her no illusions at all about what kind of place she had come to. Other than a drain in the middle of the floor, she saw nothing but concrete, which explained why she was so sore.
Just as she noticed the security camera high in the corner on the wall, the door at the other end of the room opened and a woman walked in. It was a strange source of shock for Emily that the woman was dressed normally, in a long swishy skirt and a soft shirt. She was perhaps five years older than Emily's own twenty-two, and there was something both motherly and sad to her demeanor. In her arms, she carried a large box.
“I don't know where—”
“Be quiet now,” the woman said, her voice soft, and she set down the box and came to sit on the hard floor next to Emily. Emily's mouth snapped shut, and she watched the woman warily. The woman nodded in approval at Emily's quick obedience.
“Good,” the woman said. “You might last until we get to Mirago after all.”
“Can I ask…?”
“You may not,” the woman answered grimly. “Questions…knowing too much, this is the way that you will end up dead and buried in the shifting sands. It has happened to others just like you.”
Emily’s heart beat faster. What the hell had happened to her?
“I am Oma,” the woman continued. “It is my job to make sure that you are presentable, but believe me when I say I want the best for you. I want you to survive, and if you do exactly what I say, you can. Do you understand?”
Something about this woman told Emily to trust her. Indeed, tied up and locked in a concrete room, she had little choice. She nodded.
“You are silent; that is good. Silence is obedience, and that is what the men here like.”
Men?
“Whatever life you had before, you must forget it. It is an old woman's saying in my country, ‘a woman's past is pain, and her future is trouble. It is only here and now that we may have some joy.’ There will perhaps be some joy for you, but first…first there is this.”
“What happened to me?” Emily asked, her voice as soft as she could make it. She kept her head tilted so that the camera could not see her move her lips, and Oma nodded approvingly.
“You have been taken,” she said bitterly. “You have been kidnapped for your good looks and your youth, and you will be sold to the highest bidder when we come to Mirago in a few days.”
“Sold?” Her voice became no more than a breath, and she could feel a panic clawing at her throat. This wasn't real. It couldn't possibly be real. This was something that happened in the movies—it couldn't happen to someone like her.
“Yes,” Oma said. “Sold. You are quite the prize for the Razorback, and he will collect a great deal of money for you. Do not think that will protect you, however. If you are disobedient, if you do something to embarrass him or to hurt your value…you will disappear like so many girls before you.”
“So I will be a slave, or I will be dead,” Emily said, still incredulous.
“Think of it instead as being alive or being dead,” Oma replied. “Where there is life, there is hope, after all. Right now, girl, I want you to choose. Life or death?”
“Life,” Emily said, some strength coming back to her voice. She had to survive, no matter what. She had been hungry and in danger before. She could survive this.
Oma smiled, and it transformed her into a beauty. Suddenly Emily wondered who this woman was, why she was here. Before she could ask, however, Oma reached over and cut her bonds. Her hands tingled as the blood rushed to them, but she was so grateful to have her hands free that she could have cried.
“Good. Remember that
survival is not always easy. You are not allowed what free people are allowed. You have no dignity. Nothing belongs to you, not even your body. Right now, you need to take off your clothes.”
Emily had thought that she was prepared for anything, but her brain short-circuited at Oma's calm words.
“What—?”
Oma's hand lashed out and caught her a stinging slap on her cheek. She bit off a yelp and turned to the older woman, shocked by the betrayal.
“The first lesson is to follow orders without question,” Oma responded. “That slap is the gentlest treatment you will ever receive. If you had defied your master in that way, he might have had you dragged out and beaten with a whip until your blood ran down to the sands. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Emily whispered. The enormity of her situation finally struck her. She clamped her mouth shut against her rising screams.
“Then take off your clothes.”
Biting her lip hard enough that she was surprised it did not draw blood, Emily stood slowly. Oma watched her with eyes that were dark and sad, but she gave no support. She would have to do this herself.
Slowly she stripped off her clothes, trying to keep her mind away from the terrible reality of what she was doing.
It's just like changing at the gym, she told herself. It's just like a bunch of people getting ready for the showers after a game or a swim or some exercise.
That helped a little. Her clothes were limp and filthy, but when she finally shed them, she had never felt more bare. She started to ask Oma what she should do next, but the other woman stood as well.
“Turn towards the camera,” she said. “Drop your hands.”
With a soft cry and her eyes tightly shut, Emily did as Oma said. Suddenly she could feel a thousand eyes on her, running over her like insects. It seemed like an eternity before Oma spoke again.
“Good. Lie on your back.”
Emily wondered if she was in shock. It was as if the past few minutes had been too much, and now she was only a doll that moved when she was told. Everything felt distant, even when Oma spread her legs, her touch gentle but unyielding.
