Second Chances (Blood Brothers #3)

by Manda Mellett

  I think back to the revelations about his previous girlfriend, Clara, and her very nasty death. I doubt I’ll have much chance to escape the gruesome fate he’s described, but I make an attempt, denying my night with Kadar, “No, Ethan. You think I’d want another man after what you did to me?”

  “Whore!” Spittle flies from his mouth as he shouts the word at me. “Kadar was seen coming out of your bedroom. Don’t fucking try to deny it!” Dropping his hand from my face, he turns to call loudly over his shoulder, “Hamid!” A man strides confidently into the tent. I recognise him as one of the servants in the desert palace, the one I had thought particularly surly. Ethan signals him to stop just inside the doorway. “Hamid was a witness to your adultery.”

  Once! It was once. But it was obviously enough. How Hamid knew what went on between the emir and myself I didn’t know, but he’d apparently been spying. And even if he was lying I know that Ethan would take his word against mine.

  “Ah, pretty Zo. Shall I tell you what’s going to happen to you?”

  “Jesus H Christ! Take your hands off of her and leave her alone! Haven’t you already done enough to hurt her?” Sean’s anger and disgust are palpable.

  Without looking his way, Ethan nods towards one of his men at his side and the gun lifts threateningly.

  “No!” I shout out, relieved when no shot comes.

  Ignoring my outburst, he moves his hand back again, cupping my chin in a parody of a lover’s touch. But Ethan long ago lost any resemblance to that description. “First I’ll tie your delicate hands behind your back and then I’ll blindfold you. You’re a woman so we’ll bury you in the ground up to your chest. If you can escape I’m afraid I’ll have to be merciful, and accept it as Allah’s will that you live, but don’t get your hopes up of that. It’s nigh on impossible. Of course, these brilliant Muslim laws always favour the stronger sex. If you were a man, it would be slightly easier to get away as you would only be buried up to your waist. I’ve been reading up on it, you see, it is a fascinating practice. But then again, these Arabs know the proper place for women, don’t they?” He pauses as if I should congratulate him on his diligent research. “Well, in some countries they do. Amahad is a little different, but Abdul-Muhsi is going to change that. Once Kadar is dead—and yes, my dear Zoe, I’m going to kill him for touching what was mine—once he is gone Abdul-Muhsi will become emir, and he has plans to return Amahad to the dark ages. Frankly, my love, I do not give a fucking damn. You will be dead, and Kadar will be rotting in his grave.”

  I gaze at him in horror, I should have realised, but hadn’t thought that as soon as Hamid had betrayed his ruler, Ethan would want him dead as well. “Please, Kadar has nothing to do with this. With us!” If I can’t save my life, maybe I can save his?

  Ethan grins cruelly, again ignoring me. “Now where was I? Oh yes, the stoning. Now, Hamid here, as the witness, will throw the first stone. Technically, of course, there should be four witnesses, but Abdul-Muhsi has agreed to act as Judge and has decreed in the circumstances, Hamid will suffice.” Ethan’s voice is cold as if he’s reciting the weather forecast. “Then we’ll all join in. I think Hargreaves is particularly looking forward to it. As, I have to admit, am I. The stones can’t be too large, or they might help the process along too quickly. And neither can they be too small or they wouldn’t be effective. It usually takes up to an hour before your skull is crushed and your brains turned to mush, and all the time you’ll be screaming and begging for mercy. To no avail, I assure you. I’ll be enjoying every one of your pleas. A fitting punishment for an adulteress, don’t you think? You will be dead. And here, in Ezirad, all perfectly legal.”

  I want to tell him my brains are already mush. How can he stand there and be so cruel? I’m shaking. I feel Sean tense and wonder if he’ll try to make a move. I hope he doesn’t; I don’t want anyone else to die. My death’s certain, but if there’s a chance he’ll survive I want him to take it. I hope he won’t try to be heroic.

  While the horror of Ethan’s plans for me sinks in, a man I know only too well enters the tent. Ethan turns his head. “It’s done?”

  Hargreaves has a manic smile on his face, his eyes glowing with excitement as he enthusiastically pronounces, “The hole’s dug.” Of course, he’d have taken responsibility for that.

  “Ethan…” I cry out, wanting to plead with him.

  “No! Silence, bitch. I’ve enjoyed our conversation, but it’s the last we’ll be having. There’s no need for further delay.” He removes his hand so abruptly I stagger and almost fall. “Bring her! And the pansy can come along as well.”

  Two of his men cross the tent and taking hold of my arms, undo the cuffs and chain linking us together, ignoring my ineffective struggles. Four days of no nutritious food has made me weak. Behind me, I can hear the other men pulling Sean to his feet. It’s the chance he’s been waiting for. His legs come out taking down the men trying to restrain him; he’s using the same kind of karate kick I’ve seen him use before. Two men are already down, but that still leaves too many left standing. I hear a gunshot and then another and see the smoke rising from the barrel of the gun Ethan is holding. I daren’t look around, fearing Sean is dead.

  “Bring him!” Ethan sounds furious. “Drag him. He can witness her death before he dies. Unless he bleeds out first. We can start a book as to who lasts longest.”

  Amongst the cruel laughter of the men who seem to find Ethan’s suggestion entertaining, I hear a muffled groan and heave a relieved sigh. Sean’s hurt, but still in the land of the living for the moment at least. Two men pass me dragging Sean along, blood trailing in his wake. They’ve shot him in both legs and have left him completely helpless, and have again cuffed him with his hands behind his back.

  “Now you!” Ethan instructs his men to take me outside.

  I kick, bite, scream, but I can’t get away from them, suddenly finding energy fuelled by self-preservation but there are too many of them and even on one of my best days, they’d be too strong for me. They laugh at my feeble efforts, discussing what’s going to happen as if they’re looking forward to the show. Ethan directs Hargreaves to start taking bets on how long I’ll survive. And as the men begin calling out anything from a matter of minutes to hours, I heave and retch, but there’s nothing in my stomach to bring up.

  Once outside I blink rapidly in the stark brightness of the desert sun, my eyes needing time to adjust after living in relative darkness for days. So it’s a few moments before I’m able to take in the sight in front of me. When I can, I see men everywhere, a variety of Arab and Caucasian, dressed in tribal clothing or military fatigues. Everyone’s rushing to and fro, but even to my untutored eyes, there seems a lack of organisation. In addition to his bodyguards who were in the tent, another group of surround Ethan, apparently the men he brought with him, his personal army. Everyone’s brandishing weapons.

  Waving on the men who are holding me captive, Ethan watches as I’m hauled over to the other side of the makeshift camp. Not one step do I take willingly; I struggle and fight, using my teeth, getting at least one good bite in that makes one man clasping me swear and drop my arm, but his place is immediately taken by another who holds me slightly further away at arm’s length. They’re overpowering me, but can’t subdue me. This is my life, such as it is, and I’m not going to make it easy for them to take it.

  Suddenly a man appears, and I recognise him as the leader of the attack on the harem. Sheikh Abdul-Muhsi’s approach causes our small procession to come to a halt. For a second, I hope for a reprieve until he spits in my face. “English whore!”

  Ethan laughs, “Your judgement?” He’s asking as though to make it official.

  “She has committed adultery. The offence is punishable by stoning!”

  “I haven’t committed adultery!” I scream at him. How could I? I was never Ethan’s wife!

  “Take her away. And carry out the sentence.” He ignores my outburst.

  Once more they’re dragging me
, this time to the middle of the camp where there’s a deep hole in the ground. I stand above it, looking down in dread.

  “Abdul-Muhsi! Sheikh!” A voice I don’t recognise calls out.

  “Sheikh Tamir!” Then they lose me as they speak rapidly in Amahadian.

  “What’s the delay?” There’s anger in Ethan’s voice. “Let’s get on with this.”

  Abdul-Muhsi addresses him in English, “There’s an army coming towards us. Tamir feels we should start preparing and avoid any distractions until we’ve been victorious against them. Put the woman back in the tent; you can deal with her punishment later.”

  I hold my breath, hardly daring to hope for a reprieve.

  “No, we do this now.” I readily recognise the anger in Ethan’s voice, his tone showing he will not be moved. “I’ve financed this operation, Sheikh, so I’m fucking going to do what I want and when I want. Now leave me to do this, or I’ll take my money back. Then where would your little coup be?”

  Why am I the only one to hear the madness in Ethan’s voice? Can’t the sheikh see he’s a raving lunatic? But the sheikh says nothing; clearly the threat of removing his funds holds sway.

  Ethan grabs hold of my arms, pulling them to my back and tying them together then roughly fastens a blindfold over my eyes. He pushes me over the burning hot ground until my feet falter on the edge of the hole. I struggle, but it’s futile. His strong arms surround me, with ease he picks me up, and though I kick out with my legs, Hargreaves grabs them, and they both manoeuvre me and have no problem dropping me into the body shaped pit. Immediately Hargreaves takes a shovel and starts filling in the void around me. I scream for help in absolute terror with no hope that anyone who would or could save me will hear, scrabbling wildly but in vain with hands tied behind and feet unable to gain purchase on the loose sides of the deep hole as the more of Ethan’s men come up to shovel sand in around me.

  Chapter 33

  Kadar

  It doesn’t matter what Zoe wrote in that note to me. On first reading it was hurtful, but I knew she could have worded it no other way, or I would have immediately tried to dissuade her, even while knowing it was the wrong thing to do. And it’s obvious whatever her brain told her to say; it wasn’t what was in her heart. Although she’d told me in her own sweet way to get lost, there is no fucking way I’d abandon her now. I love her. The realisation only hit me when I knew her life was in very real danger. What can happen between us when I save her—and I have to save her—I don’t know. But she’s become my world, my life; she’s stolen my heart. How will I go on if I lose her?

  When the intelligence comes in that Abdul-Muhsi has pulled together a small army now hiding out in the enemy state of Ezirad, though it goes against the grain, I know it’s important to refrain from acting impulsively. As much as I want to have her back safe, as emir I also have a duty to my country, and for everyone’s sake, the uprising has to be thwarted quickly and swiftly. And that means waiting for the sheikhs to gather their men so I have a sizeable army behind me.

  Over the last two days, my brothers have joined me; Jasim having flown back from England, bring some of the guys from Grade A. Hunter, Ben’s explained, is best left to oversee security at the oil field development. My heart warmed when I saw one person in particular who he had brought with him, and I couldn’t help stepping forwards and grasping his hand.

  “Jon!” I pulled him to me, my arm slapping his back, “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’re here.”

  He returns my greeting, then steps back, “I couldn’t stay away, Kadar, Mia understands. You’ve got a hostage situation here, so I’m here to give you my help.”

  With all his years of experience in the elite SAS extracting people held captive all over the world Jon Tharpe’s skill set will prove useful to us.

  “We’ll get the woman out, along with Sean. Grade A don’t leave men behind.” His confidence that we’ll be successful is heartening, and just the encouragement I need at the present moment.

  “Our team will focus on the extraction as that’s our area of expertise,” Jon continues, and I give my response as a nod of agreement.

  While it means I won’t have an active role in her rescue, I’m comforted knowing if it’s possible to bring her out alive, these men—and in particular Jon Tharpe—have the skills and knowledge to do so. Being able to leave such a vital job in their hands enables me to concentrate on putting down the insurgents who threaten my country. With Grade A, my brothers and my loyal countrymen beside me I start to feel more positive.

  Hourly we continue to scour maps and aerial surveys. The drones go up time after time, feeding us back valuable information. Between us and Abdul-Muhsi’s base, we know there are pockets of the Amahadian rebels hiding out in the primitive villages. We need to proceed with caution, putting down the revolt while not endangering civilian life. I’ve spoken to Sultan Qudamah of Ezirad and have received his frantic assurance that his army will not be involved in any official invasion of Amahad. In fact, he seemed terrified Abdul-Muhsi might push his country into a full-scale war for which they are unprepared and would surely lose. However, knowing his tentative hold on the stability of his country I wouldn’t be surprised if some of his military will be supporting Abdul-Muhsi without his knowledge.

  Qudamah seems a frightened man, deeply concerned that the full force of my far stronger country of Amahad might turn on his untrained and much smaller army. The unspoken threat made him eager to agree to talks once the uprising has been put down. And I have no doubt that will be the outcome; the support of the men I have behind me is overwhelming, my army growing in numbers by the hour as more and more tribespeople join us. It seems it’s one thing to moan and criticise a leader, but quite another matter to find an acceptable alternative to put in his place.

  If I weren’t so concerned about Zoe, I would be on a high at this point, my future as emir seems assured, and we may even be able to improve our relationship with Ezirad at the end of all this. But despite the positives, the certainty that I’ll lose good men in the battle ahead and the feeling of dread in my gut about the woman I’m so desperately hoping to save, means I’m hard put even to find a smile of encouragement for the troops assembling and being given their orders all around. I’ve already ruled out the obvious option of aerial strikes on the insurgents’ base. I can’t put Zoe’s life in any more danger than it already is.

  At last, the final preparations are completed, and we start making our way across the border. Quickly we become engaged in fierce fighting in the villages closest to that imaginary line in the sand that divides the two countries, but conquer them swiftly and soon we make slow but steady progress to the interior. It’s difficult to distinguish friend from foe as Amahadians fight Amahadians while the Eziradians hide in their tents and houses. Hastily laid land mines delay our progress; luckily most so amateurishly deployed they are easy to spot. But Ghalib loses two of his tribesmen in a horrific explosion. It’s the first time I’ve seen him with tears in his eyes, and that, more than anything, brings home to me, that other than dealing with border skirmishes, Amahad hasn’t had anything like a war since my great-grandfather’s time, the last civil uprising long before that. I harden my resolve to finish this fast.

  In one village I’m shocked to find young Caucasian men speaking English, who have no business being here, radicalised youths fighting what they think is a religious war. I couldn’t save them; they were determined not to be taken alive.

  Saddened by the waste of such young lives we continue. Our progress is slow, but after two days we are nearing the main camp. We split up now, Sheikhs Jibran and Sofian staying back to mop out the pockets of Abdul-Muhsi’s men who are still trying to snipe at us, as they continue to fight a war, any sane person must, by now, know they can have no hope of winning. They are unorganised and undisciplined, more of an annoyance to my seasoned troops than any real threat. It will be different when we reach their base, though; I fear that there they will be much
better prepared for us.

  Fierce fighting men surround me, their sole job to protect their emir. The deserts sheikhs are wary—if I’m taken out of the picture, then it will be a free for all as to who my successor will be—and wish to keep me alive to maintain the Amahadian freedoms and way of life. My blood lust rises each time I’m held back from joining the fray, but I know the sheikhs are right. I’m the figurehead holding it all together.

  I’m forced to watch as Nijad proves his worth in hand to hand combat time after time, as Jasim takes a sniper position, picking off our adversaries one by one in the villages we pass through. The Eziradians, on the whole, seem well rid of our opponents, offering them no support or opportunity to hide.

  I have to watch my men die, each waste of life fuelling my anger and sorrow. I feel like I’ve aged half a century in just a few days.

  The drones feed back information, and, to our surprise, the terrorist camp seems quiet. It doesn’t appear that there’s an army coming out to confront us, which strengthens our suspicions of their state of readiness when we eventually reach their base, suspecting their most experienced fighters will be dug in and waiting for us. Our tanks roll and foot soldiers march on, arms at the ready as hour after dreary hour we make our way across the barren desert.

  Then the call comes which spurs us all on, St John-Davies, accompanied by around a dozen men, had left England the evening before on a commercial jet headed for Dubai. From there the flight plan lodged for his private plane shows he’ll be heading to the airport in Ezirad where one of his company helicopters is already fuelled and waiting for him. Fuck knows how Cara managed to hack into the right systems to find all that out, but thank Allah she did.

  Now it is a race against time; a feeling in my gut tells me Zoe will have been kept alive until his arrival as he’ll want to deal with her personally, but how quickly he’ll then take his revenge is anyone’s guess. She’ll be lucky to measure her life in hours, let alone days. Or he might whisk her away in his helicopter as soon as it sets down. Unless we get to her before him, I’m likely to lose her forever.