“Twafiq,” he cries out again, the word having two syllables punctuated by gasps.
I’ve had enough of this. I draw a long knife out of my boot and again advance. “Say goodbye to your cock…”
“Amir al-Fadi! It was Amir al-Fadi,” he screams, and finally we’ve got the truth, and even if it’s what we expected, it’s not what we wanted to hear.
“Where’s she now?” Jasim asks, the urgency in his voice making me look at him. “Where the fuck is she now?” His voice has risen in pitch.
I’ve never seen him loose control. It shocks me. “Twafiq?” I query, a cold feeling shooting through me.
“Bad fucking news, Sheikh.” A look at Nijad shows he’s just as concerned as his brother.
Roaring, I approach Germaine again. He shuffles back as fast as he can until his progress is stopped by a heavy armchair. Approaching ominously, with absolutely no mercy on my face, I ask again. “Where. Is. She?”
“The helicopter took her to his yacht. She’ll be there by now. It was anchored in Lochaline, but his plan was to set sail. I don’t know where she is now. That’s the honest truth.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see Ben heading out with his phone in his hand, Jon by his side. Although I suspect Nijad and Jasim already have a very good idea, I’m still in the dark and need Germaine to spell out exactly what’s going on here. “What do you know, Germaine? Why did Amal al-Fahri want her kidnapped, and why did Twafiq buy her?” I ignore the fact he must have been payed twice. That thought alone makes me want to pull his fingernails out.
“I can’t tell you. He’ll kill me. You’ll know soon enough. You won’t be able to find her to stop it.”
“To stop what?” Rami asks, his voice shrill. As he starts to rush at Germaine I hold him back. He’s mine.
“Amir al-Fahri wants to destroy Kadar.”
“And where does Twafiq come in?” My voice has dropped an octave. I’m barely able to speak through my rage.
When the answer doesn’t immediately come I grab him by the neck, lift him up and dangle him, shaking him violently again.
He speaks fast, knowing it’s the only way to get out of my hold. “He wanted a slave. He’s going to fuck her and film it, and Kadar will get the tapes. He’ll threaten to kill her if Kadar doesn’t halt oil production…”
Again I throw him on the floor, ignoring the oomph of pain behind me. I turn and look at Jasim and then Nijad, my raised eyebrow asking a silent question.
“I know of him by reputation,” Jasim starts. “He has slaves. They’re never seen or heard of again.”
“Why hasn’t he been stopped?”
“No evidence. Or none that will stick,” Nijad informs me.
Jasim nods at Nijad. “He wanted membership to Club Tiacapan when I still owned it. I denied it to him. Wherever he has played, he’s been thrown out.”
And my Aiza’s with this monster now?
Ben and Jon return. “Coastguard’s going to look for the yacht. The helicopter is one of Twafiq’s, and luckily he’s not a trusting sort. He’s got tracking on it. Cara’s managed to hack into the system and confirmed it’s landed on the yacht.”
“Can we keep tracking it?”
“Not much point. It landed then flew off again. All we know is where the yacht was when it did so.”
Jon pushes past and stands hovering over Germaine, his face black as thunder. “What’s the name of Twafiq’s yacht?” he roars.
Germaine doesn’t hesitate to spit out, “Master of the Sea.”
Jon’s got his phone out again. It only takes him a few seconds to google. When he turns back, he’s shaking his head. “Shit.” He pushes back his dark hair. “It’s no small boat. It was only recently built for him. It can house 80 staff and 20 guests. Fuck knows how many people will be on board. It’s close on one hundred metres long.”
Fuck. It’s hard to prevent returning to Germaine and kicking him, just to let my frustration out. Getting into this house was a doddle. Getting onto the yacht? That’s going to be something else entirely.
Chapter 13
Aiza
As he stands there and lists the depravities he’ll want to put me through, for his entertainment, something inside me shrivels. Hope. Hope that I’ll get out of here and that rescue is coming. Or that it will arrive in time before he succeeds in what he wants to do. The things he said, they’d destroy me. When I cease providing him with amusement he’ll kill me. And enjoy doing it.
He’s the devil.
He’s still studying me, still got me gripped in his thrall. He chuckles again. “You might think silence is your weapon, it doesn’t bother me. I don’t mind that you’re not using words. Your screams, your cries, your pleading will be music to my ears. And you will scream, you will cry, and you will beg.”
“Who are you?” I whisper, for some reason wanting to know the name of the man who intends to abuse me.
“Your Master.” He steps closer and rips of my hijab, my long hair flowing loose. Then he moves back and snaps. “Take off the abaya.”
I don’t move a muscle.
He smiles and moves to the wall where he presses a button. In seconds the door opens, and two men enter. “Strip her.”
They’re rough, burly specimens, both looking like ex-heavyweight boxers, one’s nose broken so many times it’s gnarled with bumps. The other has a scar drawing down his mouth, giving him a permanent scowl. Automatically I flinch. I struggle as they grab hold of me, quickly finding I’m not strong enough to fight them. One holds me tight, the other doesn’t bother gently undressing me, using his strong hands to rip the abaya right down the middle. The other slides it off.
I’m standing in front of three strangers in provocative underwear that hides nothing. Even though I keep repeating to myself I’m a princess, it’s hard to remain composed.
The man who calls himself Master, who I’ve named the devil, imperiously waves his hand, and the two men step back. As if they’ve done this before, each take hold of one of my arms, stretching them out to the sides.
The devil comes closer, too close, invading my personal space. His breath, landing on my face, carries the mixture of mint and alcohol. His hands reach out, each touching a breast, circling over the flimsy material of the bra. He finds the convenient holes and widens them, encouraging my nipples to poke out. Then he pinches them, so hard tears come to my eyes, and it’s all I can do to smother my cry.
Before I realise what he’s doing, one hand shoots down and finds the open slit in the gusset of my inadequate underwear. His fingers slide inside, his touch on my dry folds making me cringe.
All the time he’s been watching my eyes, seeing there the expressions I’ve no chance of hiding, however hard I struggle to compose my features.
“Oh, I’m going to enjoy deflowering you.”
Then he moves quickly, ripping away my bra and pants in two quick movements. The men holding me seem completely impassive as he tells me, “You’ve no need for clothes. Now kneel.”
I’ll kneel at the feet of no man. But as I raise my chin defiantly, my captors push on my shoulders, applying such pressure that my knees fold. Knowing what’s expected of him, Scarface puts his hand on the top of my head, forcing me to bow.
“Remember this pose. Whenever you see me, this is how you greet me. You stay like this until I give you a command.”
Staring at the floor, I hear him addressing the men holding me. “You know what to do.”
I’m pulled to my feet, and Broken Nose and Scarface pull me outside. Relief fills my body that I’ve been removed from the devil’s presence, then I feel afraid again, as I’ve no idea where they’re taking me. To his bedroom?
I’m led through the yacht, my position made clear to me as I pass uniformed sailors, staff who look like stewards, both male and female. They greet the men holding me in a friendly way. Once or twice my escorts even stop to make small talk. Not one person looks at me or acknowledges my nakedness, emphasising that I’m nothing here. I
t’s as if I don’t exist.
I try to seek a glimmer of sympathy, someone who might have enough compassion to help me escape. But there’s nothing. Total loyalty, he’d told me. From what I’ve seen, he’s apparently right.
We descend a staircase, heading into the bowels of the ship, the sound of engines louder here. A door is opened, I’m pushed inside, and I hear a key turning in a lock.
I look around where they’ve brought me. There’s a window in the door, the only other light in this bare room coming in from the bulb screwed into a cage on the ceiling. It’s dishearteningly like a prison cell. There’s an uncomfortable looking cot, a toilet, and basin. Nothing else. No porthole so I could see outside.
My situation, my fear, and the movement of the ship combine, and I rush to the toilet and am violently sick. Wiping my face on the supplied paper, I sit back on my bare haunches, wondering what the hell I can do.
A sound from the hallway gets my attention. I turn quickly to see the devil standing there, staring in at me through the glass window. I wait for the door to open, relieved when it doesn’t. Ignoring him, I search for a light switch to dim the room, soon discovering there’s not one here, and that cage around the light is bolted to the ceiling. The smirk on my enemy’s face shows me this is part of the degradation. Nothing I do will be private anymore. He, and anyone else, can stand and watch me whenever they want.
With no way of measuring time, I’m not sure how long he stands there without moving. Having given up looking for what isn’t there, I face him and hold his stare, forcing myself to keep my hands to my side, standing brave and tall despite the circumstances. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being the one to look away first. In the end he turns and leaves. In no way do I feel I’ve won.
Going to the bunk I sit down and put my head into my hands. I could dissolve into sobs, they’re not very far away. I could cry, could scream and beat my hands. It would be too easy to sink into despair, to imagine the devil actually doing the things he’d listed out. To envisage Kadar’s face when he sees the videos, or Nijad or Jasim. Whether I’ve only got a distant relationship with them or not, they’re my family. Knowing how I’d be distraught myself at the thought of any one of them being tortured, I can only imagine they’d be beside themselves, and moving heaven and earth to save me.
As they’ll be doing everything they can now. It’s only a matter of time until they find who’s taken me, and where I’m being held. I just have to remember the resources at their disposal—Hunter and Grade A will be helping, and the authorities. No stone will be left unturned. The kidnapper I’d last seen at the house will be made to give up his secrets. Of that there’s no doubt.
A strange clunking sound interrupts my thoughts. When it stops the engines become louder, and the movement of the yacht changes, becoming smoother. The anchor’s been pulled up and we’re moving. All the kidnapper will be able to say is where we were. Is it possible to find a yacht in the wide ocean?
Yes. It is. It has to be. Otherwise, just like the yacht, I’ll be lost.
I wait. No one else comes to spy on me. I have no way of knowing the time. Eventually I lie on the bed, noticing there’s been no blanket or sheet left for me, nothing to cover my nakedness, and the light remains on. Though it’s warm enough, I feel so exposed. Everything I do, every time I do something that’s normally mundane, like simply relieving myself, somebody could stroll along and watch me.
That knowledge means all my senses are on high alert. I can’t sleep or even relax, just toss and turn, shutting my eyes momentarily then immediately opening them again to look at that window, unnerved by the feeling of people able to observe me when I’m at my most vulnerable.
I wait. And I wait. And I wait. Wanting an end to my isolation while equally hoping no one will come. I’m hungry and thirsty, forced to drink water from the tap over the basin, hoping it is suitable for drinking. In case it’s not, taking only enough in my cupped hands to wet my parched throat.
Eventually the key turns in the lock and the door opens again. In steps Scarface and his mate, Scarface moving quickly to restrain me while Broken Nose fastens something around my neck. I hear a snick, then Broken Nose moves back. In his hand he’s holding a leather leash.
Sliding my hands up to my throat, I find I’m wearing a collar. It’s so tight it makes me gag, but there’s no buckle that I can immediately find to loosen it. I don’t get a chance to investigate further before there’s a tug on the leash, the pressure he’s applying making me fall forwards.
Scarface catches me, laughing at my discomfort. Another fierce tug, and I have to move or fall down. Knowing I can’t do anything else or be strangled, I let them lead me along the corridor, up the stairs, and eventually into a dining room where the devil is sitting as though waiting to be served. Again no one’s acknowledged me as I’ve passed them, and Broken Nose has been rough, jerking the lead hard even when it wasn’t necessary. By the time I reach my destination, my neck is sore.
The devil waves and indicates a spot on the floor by his feet, and the lead gets me moving closer.
“Kneel.”
I don’t.
Broken Nose and Scarface make sure I do, pushing me down hard while yanking hard on the leash.
A waiter appears, and a plate of something with a wonderful aroma of bacon is placed in front of the man who thinks he owns me. Food is put on the floor in front of me. It doesn’t smell appetising and being served in a dog bowl puts me right off, even had I wanted to eat at that moment. Another bowl is lowered, this one of clean-looking water.
“Get used to it,” the devil tells me, and then proceeds to dive into what I assume is his breakfast.
A few minutes pass, then he wipes his mouth on the serviette. “Food is a luxury to be earned,” he says casually. “I’ve been generous offering you sustenance when you haven’t done anything to deserve it. And what do you do? You ignore my generosity.” He takes a cup and sniffs at it, then takes a noisy sip. “Mmm.”
The smell of coffee assaults my nostrils, making my mouth water. Don’t beg. I clamp my teeth together to stay quiet.
Suddenly he stands, so fast his chair rattles as though it’s going to topple over. Taking hold of the leash, he pulls me to my feet, and with his free hand swipes his used plate and utensils off the table, sending them smashing onto the hardwood floor.
Then he grabs me roughly and bends me over the table, his upper body holding me down as he fastens the end of my leash to an eyelit he’s pulled seemingly out of nowhere, and produces handcuffs, which, while I flail my arms, he easily forces around my wrists and attaches to other fastenings. Held down by my throat and my wrists, I can’t move.
Allah! He’s not going to…
I feel him leave me, hear a cupboard opening, and then there’s warmth at my back again. Then I scream as something hits me hard over my backside. The next time I’m better prepared and press my lips together, trying not to let the cries out. But he continues, my buttocks, my thighs and my bum, continuing until I can’t help whimpering, and then I’m begging him to stop. A few more strikes, and then, at last, my torture ceases.
He must have summoned them, because Scarface and Broken Nose reappear.
Out of the corner of my eye I see a crop land on the floor. Then hear the words, “Take my pet for a walk and get someone to clean this place up.”
I wait to be untied, unable to move until I’m free. There’s a delay before I feel a hand stroking across my bruised arse. I cringe at the unwanted rough touch.
“Her arse marks up well, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. I’m looking forward to fucking it. Reckon he’ll let us break her in tonight?”
“He might. He’s an impatient sod. Fucking love my job.”
Broken Nose laughs. “Wouldn’t have got it if we weren’t such ugly buggers. The Sheikh loves the contrast, beauty and the beasts.”
Scarface is chuckling too. “Specially when we both go at her at once. Will make for a great film. Migh
t get some money from it too.”
“D’reckon she’ll bleed?”
“All the better if she does.”
I feel a weight pressing into my back. “I’m a big chap,” Broken Nose says straight into my ear. “When the sheikh’s ready, I’m gonna rip this arse right up.”
Chapter 14
Rami
For most of the proceedings I’ve stood with my mouth open, watching as the others expertly get information from Germaine, trying to take in all that he’s telling us, trying to cope with my crushing disappointment. When we had landed in Scotland I’d honestly thought it wouldn’t be long before we found Aiza. We’d have freed her, then I’d have comforted her. I had even been thinking of how to begin to prepare my suit—depending on what state we found her in, of course. Ready to lend a shoulder to cry on, arms to make sure she felt safe, soft words to soothe her. Yet we’ve been foiled. Again. She’d been swept away from under our noses. All my hopes shatter. Will I ever be able to tell her I love her?
Now she’s apparently been sold as a slave and is on a billionaire’s yacht somewhere out on the ocean, being subjected to Allah knows what treatment.
I observe the hive of activity in front of me, not knowing what can be done or what to suggest, appreciating my role is staying out of the way and letting others determine what to do next. I might be a prince of my country, however I’ve not had the same type of military training as was imposed on the ruling sheikhs of Amahad, a deficiency I’ve only just realised. When I have a son, I’ll need to do all I can to prepare him to cope with the kidnap of his future wife.
Yeah, and the prospect of Aiza and I ever having a child is diminishing by every passing minute. I hate this feeling of uselessness. My hands shake with the frustration there’s nothing I can do.
“You got everything you need?” Rais has walked behind Germaine. I watch Rais with a sense of admiration. He got results, the man he was questioning too terrified to do anything other than tell us everything he knows. I’d have approached it in a far more gentlemanly way and would probably have got nowhere. My skills lie in negotiation. The rough, rugged, uncivilised sheikh got the outcomes that I wouldn’t have been able to. For that, he gets all my respect.
Hard Choices (Blood Brothers #6) Page 12
