Not retaliating or trying to defend himself, he stands, bemused, stunned, and shakes his head as if to clear it. “I don’t know what fucking happened, Sheikh. It went down so fast. One minute we were coming into land, next we were told to circle as there was a fire at the terminal building. The plane landed on a different runway.”
Where security wasn’t waiting for them. Or at least, not all of them. No, they’d been diverted to help the civilians. A decision someone would suffer for.
“Why the fuck didn’t you wait until security changed position?” I’ll give Hunter this, he knows how to do his job. He’s been working down in the southern desert for months overseeing the security on the oil pipeline while it was being constructed. I’ve never seen him at such a loss, and never before today have known him to make a mistake.
His eyes narrow. “I’ll tell you one thing, Sheikh Rais, this wasn’t a couple of people snatching her for a ransom. This was a well-oiled machine. It would have taken some planning. They diverted half the waiting guard, must have overpowered the others. Two helicopters came down, one taking her, the other taking their men who weren’t injured or killed.” He pauses and looks at me. “And their injured men who couldn’t walk had headshots put in them, and only then were they left behind.”
Like a light bulb going on, things start falling into place. I elucidate them aloud. “That was the plan all along. They wanted to drive her back here.” I spit on the ground in my disgust. “They wanted to laugh in Kadar’s face. Taking her off a street in the UK was too easy. This sends a message about how powerful they are.”
Hunter nods. “It was well orchestrated, that’s for sure. Amir al-Farhi has the organisation and the manpower for something like this. And he’d delight in thumbing his nose at Kadar.”
Which reminds me. “Kadar?”
“First thing I did. I’ve contacted him and told him what happened.” The twist to Hunter’s face shows how that conversation went.
My mind already focused on getting the woman I’ve decided will be mine, back, I’m finding it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Only now do I notice the blood running down Hunter’s arm. “You need medical attention.”
“That can wait.” My suggestion is dismissed.
As I look around I see two guards dead, and about ten wounded. As Hunter had said, any of the enemy left behind are dead, and I doubt will have anything on them that’s useful or would give the identification of their employer away. No, the person who organised the abduction would be far too clever for that.
The flight attendant’s tending to them with a first aid kit in hand. She’ll be military trained just like the rest of the crew, even if she seems to think providing extra services to her passengers is in her resume. I’ve been on the receiving end of her offer many a time. Declining, of course. The old emir used to fly often.
Turning my mind back to the task in hand, knowing security at the airport will be doing everything they can, and that I’ll only get in the way if I try to help or obliterate clues. I’m a fighter, not an investigator, and seeking answers from this mess will be up to them now.
I’m a man of action, and here I can take none. My hands curl into fists, wanting to take my fury out on the man standing in front of me. The man who, in my opinion, was responsible for allowing my woman to be taken. I want to take Hunter by the shoulders and shake him until he tells me exactly what happened here today. However, Kadar will be waiting, and Hunter, looking weak from the loss of blood and shock, will only want to go through this once.
We appropriate the car that’s at last drawn up, and which was going to take Aiza to the palace. Now, instead, it’s taking two men back to explain to the emir just how his sister was kidnapped the moment she touched down in the country where she had come to be safe.
Chapter 7
Aiza
Earlier
I found last night to be awkward. I had a bed, Hunter didn’t, and I wasn’t going to offer to let him share mine. That kiss in my flat, that state of arousal he’d had difficulty hiding when he’d seen me in my fet wear, his refusal to consider me playing with anyone else but him all gave away that he was attracted to me. Any little encouragement and he might want more from me than I would be prepared to give. Although he was a perfect gentleman and didn’t push. That’s not to say I wouldn’t, in the right circumstances, be interested. He’s a good-looking guy, has an obvious zest for life, and if he toned down the Dom in him I’d be tempted to take a chance. Like me, he can’t seem to switch it off. I can’t see myself acting the role of a sub, no matter how good the Dom is.
When I slip between the sheets there is another reason sleep evades me, what I try to put out of my mind without success. The events of the afternoon come back to me each time I close my eyes, with a force that jerks me fully awake. The thought that someone’s been tracking me, listening to me. While I’d had company I could downplay the effect, but now I’m alone I can’t stop thinking about it, nor wondering why, or to rid myself of the feeling of wanting yet another shower to wash the filth off, their actions making me feel dirty. What’s their reason? Why am I being targeted? Is it for money? To get at my family? Which is more likely?
Of course, the final reason I can’t rest is that tomorrow I’m going to be putting my head back into the lion’s den and return to my family. It’s not that I don’t want to see my brothers—as a result of growing up as I had, they’re little more than strangers. On my brief visits home I get on much better with their wives than I do them. Nijad’s the closest to me in age, and even he’s eight years older. As I toss and turn I go back to the perennial concern that both my father and brothers blamed me for the death of my mother at birth. Of course, no one comes right out and says it was my fault, but the stark truth is, if I hadn’t been born she may still be alive. It’s a burden I’ve carried with me all my life, and one which will stay with me until the end.
Oh, how I’d longed for a mother’s presence growing up. My father never showed me any love or even affection, but then he never did to my brothers or anyone else. From the beginning I was viewed as a commodity, my marriage arranged before my first birthday. A marriage, which I hope, is no longer on the cards and won’t be brought up while I’m in the palace.
A union between myself and Prince Rami of Alair would be beneficial to both countries, but I’ve lived too long in the West. I’m not prepared to give up my life for political gain. Having no idea what Kadar’s view is now he’s emir, I’m worried he might still think it a good match, and about the pressure he’ll bring to bear on me to do my duty. Of course, I can always enlist the help of Zoe, his wife. Now I suspect she’d be on my side if I refused to marry Rami.
If Prince Rami was anyone else, and not the person I had been promised to, I might have wanted to explore a connection I’d felt between us at Nijad’s wedding. With so many guests, I hadn’t had time to find out anything about him other than he was good looking and seemed kind. It’s not the man himself that puts me off, it’s the thought that the match was arranged. If he tried to court me it would always be at the back of my mind that I wasn’t really the woman he wanted, but one that was his duty to bed.
I like to hook up with men when there’s no expectation of a relationship. That’s why I enjoy playing in clubs. An enjoyable liaison with no strings attached. If I’ve ever thought about finding a serious partner, it won’t be with a man who wants to control me or my life. Even within a marriage I’d want the freedom to do what I please, and don’t consider that selfish. I’m committed to doing some good in this world, and wouldn’t want anyone to expect me to stop. I hate that I’ve led a privileged life for no other reason than accident of birth when I see so much poverty and hardship around me. A man who wants a trophy wife would be disappointed.
I can’t deny I’ve benefitted from the advantage that my family’s wealth has brought me, except money isn’t enough by itself. I’m sure many people less well off in financial terms hadn’t been forced to live in an emotion
less desert. I’m not even sure I know what love is. Or how to love. None has ever been given to me.
After tossing and turning all night, when morning arrives I’m irritable and tired. My sleeplessness, my fears about returning to Amahad putting me in a sour mood. Unable to help myself, I’m short and almost rude. Hunter reads me well, and after the first couple of attempts at conversation leaves me to stew by myself.
The journey to the airport is uneventful, our progress to the family jet relatively unhindered thanks to the diplomatic immunity I possess. Boarding the flight, I notice the flight attendant checking her uniform is fully buttoned up, as today a female passenger is on board. It’s a moment of light relief as I recall she’s been flying with us for years, and I’m certain the male members of my family have probably made use of her personal services in the bedroom at the rear of the plane. Hmm. Perhaps I should ask them. Or then again, maybe it’s best not to know.
As we take our comfortable seats I stretch out in readiness for the six-hour flight, allowing myself to enjoy the luxury for once. Normally when I flit between countries it’s on a commercial airline, in economy class, packed like sardines with little more than room to breathe. Sometimes I’m lucky to get that.
Take-off is smooth, and the flight attendant approaches once we’re at altitude. “Princess, can I get you some refreshment? The chef’s preparing breakfast.”
Princess. I hate my title. It hangs around my neck like a millstone. Composing my features into a friendly smile, knowing she’d be horrified if I defied protocol and asked her to call me by name, I nod. “Coffee and an omelette would be lovely, thank you.”
Hunter doesn’t hold back, ordering a full breakfast which I think would feed a whole army.
“Really?” I raise an eyebrow in his direction.
“I’m a growing boy.”
Boy isn’t the word I’d use to describe him. His comment leads me to examine him, his long legs stretched out, t-shirt hardly containing his bulging muscles. No, he’s not a boy at all. Hunter’s all man. I look away fast before the blush appears and reveals my feelings. If he wasn’t a Dom I might be interested.
After I’ve eaten I feel less out of sorts. I visit the bedroom where I find, as I’d remembered, some clothes that I’d left here. I finger the material of the delicate tunic and shalwar kameez, the loose cotton trousers that will be comfortable and cooling in the high temperatures I’m heading into, then move my hand along the rail, selecting instead a lightweight, long-sleeved tee and capri trousers. I avoid dressing in the Amahadian clothes, believing that would signal an acceptance I’m not yet ready for. A small sign of rebellion. There’s little else I can do to show my reluctance I’m being forced home.
Returning to my seat, feeling relaxed, I rest back my head, and the sleep that eluded me last night at last catches up. I drift off, waking only when the plane is starting its descent.
“Feeling better?” Hunter grins as he asks, making me scowl.
While I’m still nervous, the nap has refreshed me, so relenting, I chuckle. “Much.”
I detest coming back to Amahad because I’m pushed into a role I hate playing. But it is the place of my birth, and I do have an inborn fondness for it. It’s that that drives me to look out of the window and admire the desolate while beautiful desert passing underneath, growing closer as the plane loses altitude.
“I love the desert.” Hunter’s surprised me. He nods to the ground flashing past below us. “I’ve spent many months in the south, overseeing security while the pipeline was being constructed. Got to know the tribespeople well. I have tremendous respect for both them and the land. It’s a harsh existence.”
I hadn’t known that. I had assumed all Hunter did was provide close protection for myself and other members of the royal family. I didn’t realise he got his hands dirty. Then I remember a tidbit I’d overheard once. “Don’t you work for MI6 or something?”
The turn of his head and his evasion of an answer suggests that he does. Hmm. There’s more to this man than I had thought.
He does give me something. “The oilfields and pipeline are important to more people than just the citizens of Amahad, Alair, and Ezirad. The West needs oil.”
It’s more than likely the British government would have a vested interest in making sure the project is a success.
I’ve flown back and forth so many times, the sudden change of direction as the plane veers away from its normal approach to the airport registers fast. “Hunter?”
“Report.” He’s pressed the button to communicate with the pilot.
“Sir, Princess. There’s a fire in the terminal building. We’ve been directed to land on the second runway. Sorry for the abrupt turn. We’re circling, then will be coming in to make our approach on the next pass. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. We were only redirected at the last minute.”
“Anything that will affect us?”
“My instructions are to land. The fire is contained in the main terminal. Security has assured me there’s no risk to this plane. They’ll divert the escort to the correct runway.”
His brow furrowed, Hunter’s pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like it,” he mutters half under his breath.
“The pilot and co-pilot are both ex-military,” I try to reassure him. “They’ll have liaised with security on the ground. If they say there’s no problem, there probably isn’t.” Looking around I see the Amahadian guards who’ve been discreet and almost invisible up to now have moved to seats close by.
“Probably isn’t good enough.” Hunter doesn’t seem at all reassured. “Not when it’s your life at stake, Princess.”
The plane has started its approach again. “It’s too late to divert now,” I observe.
“Do what I say, Aiza,” Hunter warns me with a frown. “I know you object to anyone else telling you what to do, but please let me take the lead when we land. You stay behind me, okay?”
He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun. I’m surprised, and it confirms my earlier suspicions. He must have brought it on the plane, and due to the strict gun laws in the UK, a run of the mill bodyguard isn’t allowed to carry one. Not unless he was employed by the military or in the armed police.
His preparedness starts me worrying. Sure, a fire requiring a last-minute change of plans is unusual, but surely there won’t be danger awaiting us? Still… Pointing to his weapon, I ask hopefully, “You haven’t got another one of those, have you?”
“Nope. And you wouldn’t know what to do with it if I had.”
While I can’t help pouting, he’s right. Unlike my brothers, I wasn’t sent into the military or given any sort of physical defence training.
The plane touches down. A limousine can be seen with outriders waiting and a number of soldiers and security guards standing around. All seems normal. The steps are wheeled up to the plane, and I collect my handbag.
Hunter pushes me behind him as he stands at the top of the steps. Military men outside stand in two lines either side, waiting for my arrival. Hating all this pomp and circumstance, wishing I was descending instead in the midst of a horde of three hundred other passengers, I follow Hunter down the stairs. We’ve passed through the escort when the limousine pulls up to us.
A man gets out, Hunter steps back to let me in first, and before I realise what’s happening the stranger has grabbed my arm and pushed me inside, following me in so fast he falls on top of me while slamming the door shut behind him. The driver pushes down hard on the accelerator and I’m driven away. As shots start sounding behind us my brain takes a split second to catch up and realise I’ve been separated from Hunter, and these are no friendly men taking me to my brothers.
“Let me out!” I screech, reaching for the opposite door handle, finding it locked. I struggle, but the man forcibly holds me down. It can’t be more than a minute or two before the car comes to an abrupt halt, and I automatically clutch at the stranger to avoid being thrown off the seat.
The driver opens t
he rear door and pulls me out, the other man taking hold of my other arm. Protesting, trying to get loose, fighting to shake them off, I’m dragged to a waiting helicopter. I make it as hard for them as I can, though my feeble attempts count for nothing, and I’m again thrown inside, the two men accompanying me.
A harness is forced around me, one of my hands cuffed to the side of the seat, and then we’re airborne. It can’t be more than a couple of minutes ago that I was safe on the plane.
As the chopper rises quickly into the air I look down below, seeing the airport and the plume of smoke growing smaller.
Oh fuck.
“Who are you? What do you want with me?” I scream to make myself heard over the sound of the rotors. When the man at my side just looks at me blankly, I try again, this time using the language I’m rusty in. “Min 'ant wa'ayn 'ant takhudhuni?”
He understands me, I know it, as a slimy grin crosses his face. He doesn’t deign to answer.
Chapter 8
Rami
I had two excuses to stay at the palace of Amahad rather than returning home to Alair. The first being the ongoing oil negotiations, and the second, and more personal reason, Aiza. The woman who’s arriving later today. I can’t wait to start courting her, optimistic of winning her over, of convincing her I’ll be the best man for her, leaving her no choice other than to become my wife. That’s what I’ve long dreamed for.
From my earliest memories my father had spoken to me about marrying Princess Aiza, and almost from the same time I had been determined I’d prefer to make my own choice. Why couldn’t my older brother Ghalib do his duty and form an alliance through marriage? Or, for that matter, my younger brother, Nasir. As for my sister, Aazeen, she’s been doted on since birth. Sometimes I think my father would run a blade through any suitor who tried to take her away, whether suitable or not. But it wasn’t any of them. No, it was me who was promised and groomed to be a political pawn.
Hard Choices (Blood Brothers #6) Page 7
