by Bex Dane
"Those are all good signs. But I'm not sure. Maksim's a fairly common name in that region. There may be a thousand Maksims working for NB Oil. Seems odd for a women to wear jewelry with oil company logos as a fashion statement. It's possible they had her wear that necklace while she was in the States as a way to claim ownership of her."
"Yes. That's what I'm thinking since her roommate wore the same one."
"I wouldn't be surprised. Did she have any tattoos?"
"No."
"I'm gonna ask you something personal, man. But all information is helpful here."
"Shoot." I'd tell him anything if it would help.
"She have any genital mutilation?"
Oh thank God, no. "No."
"Mmm. She could be royalty. Subject to whatever rules they have for their women. Or she could be being forced into some kind of servitude, working for NB Oil."
"Like slave labor?"
He grunted. "Did some research for you. Veranistaad is a tiny country in no-man's land between Russia and Saudi. It's a former Soviet republic. If she's royalty, she's not in the limelight. No pictures of her at social events. But it's not uncommon in that region for women to be bought and sold as property. Forced to work in the sex industry or labor camps."
"If she were a slave, why would her uncle send her to the States for an education?"
"That's why I'm leaning more toward royalty. Sending wealthy children to exclusive private schools would be something they would do."
"Okay so if she is royalty, or being forced into slave labor, could I go there, get her, and bring her back?"
"If you were able to make contact, which would be challenging, I doubt she'd be allowed to leave, especially with an American stranger."
"Yes. This is all making sense now. Shit. How do we reach her?"
He cleared his throat. "I have to step out here. I can't probe into foreign affairs. I walk a thin line with the US government. I keep a low profile, and they leave me to my business."
What? He was backing out on me? How the hell would I get her out of there? "So that's it? You can't help me?"
"No. But you have two other options."
"Okay."
"You can hire Dallas Monroe." Dallas Monroe? Why did that name sound familiar? Was he the big guy who pulled the gun on me the night Rogan hauled me out into the alley? Yes. He said he owned Siege.
Rogan continued. "He runs a private military contractor operation. He could send a team over to find her. It would be expensive, and they may not be able to penetrate their security."
Wow. Dallas was a busy man running a nightclub and a military contractor business. I'd pay his fee though, whatever it took to get her back. "What's the second option?"
"NB Oil has an active request for construction proposal posted on their website."
"A request for bids?"
"Yes. Click on current projects. There's a job for American contractors only."
"Hold on a second." Took me a while, but I found a page called current projects. "I see it. Holy shit. Eight million for a palace on a hillside?"
"Yeah. I hear you're working with Torrez Lavonte."
"Yes. You know him?"
"He's an associate of Dallas. Word is Torrez Lavonte could pull off a job of that size and might even be welcomed there by the Sharshinbaev Clan."
Why would the Russians welcome Torrez, the Brazilian from Boston? "Really. Why's that?"
"I can't tell you Lavonte's business. You gotta talk to him. He can advise you whether it would be better to hire him or to go in yourself. My gut's telling me infiltrating as a contractor is your best bet. Dallas and Lavonte might confirm that if you give them all this intel."
So Torrez knew Rogan and Dallas. And I met Torrez right after I showed up at Siege. And Tessa worked at Siege, so she must know Dallas. Rogan wouldn't have sent Torrez to help me, but Dallas might have done it if Tessa asked him. Tessa would absolutely do something like that for me too. So maybe me meeting Torrez wasn't such a coincidence after all.
"I'll do that. Thank you. How much do I owe you?"
"I did this free of charge. My woman asked me to do it and so I did. But I draw the line at crossing borders."
"Appreciate the favor."
I disconnected and called Torrez.
"Zook. Wassup?"
"Rogan tells me you know a man named Dallas Monroe at Siege." I wasn't gonna mess around. I got straight to the point.
The construction sounds in the background became muted like he'd gone inside a room and closed the door. "I know him. Why?" he answered cautiously.
"By any chance did Dallas ask you to hunt down a sorry lookin' schmuck wearing a cowboy hat at a pub in Boston and offer him a job?"
He laughed. "You figured that out, did you?
"I'm thinking Tessa asked Dallas, Dallas asked you, and you needed a foreman anyway, or maybe you owed Dallas something, and you came down to the pub and shot the shit with me for an hour then offered me a job." Jesus, how could I not have seen it before? I was a total charity case. Tessa sent Cecelia to tutor me and Torrez to give me a chance. Well shit.
"It might've happened that way. I'll never admit. But it doesn't matter. I'm happy to have you on the team. You're reliable, smart, and you do good work fast."
This was true. And I liked the compliment.
"You've become a friend too, Zook," he added in a softer voice.
A gust of air zoomed through my throat and I couldn't breathe for a second. I guess I had made a friend in Torrez. "You've become a good friend too, Torrez. At a time when I had none. Appreciate it." I took in a deep breath of air.
"Welcome."
Okay. Now that I got him warmed up. "As a friend, I need a favor."
"What's that?" He sounded distracted and the background noise returned.
"Have you done international work?"
"Some," Torrez answered.
"Ever been to Central Asia?"
"That's a huge region."
"I found a request for proposal in Veranistaad."
"An RFP in Veranistaad? No. I haven't been there." He still sounded indifferent.
"A palace for an oil mogul. Naibu Brahm Oil. You interested?"
"What's the budget?" His voice perked up and the door closed to the noise again. Guess oil was the magic word.
"Looks like about eight million. We get it done Zook style, we could each take home two point five million." I let my excitement show in my voice. It was an amazing project.
"Do we have a chance?" he asked.
"He wants an American contractor," I said. "Don't get more American than a cowboy from Idaho and a retired Navy SEAL." Fluffing his ego a little should open his mind.
"Is there an ulterior motive here?"
"No." I lied.
"Nothing to do with a girl?" He figured me out.
"CeCe is from Veranistaad. Or she may be."
"And you think you'll find her through this job?"
"Her pendant matches the company logo."
"That's all you got?"
"Yeah."
He huffed out a disbelieving laugh. "We're flying across the world to bid on a project because the girl who dumped you might know this guy? And then? We build him a palace, she decides she made a huge mistake and comes running back to you?"
"That's the plan."
He sighed. "So, we're putting our current projects on hold and flying to butt-fuck Egypt for some pussy that may reject you on sight?"
"Yes."
He was quiet in a way I knew he was counting to ten to calm himself. "I'll have Blythe start a proposal package."
"Thank you."
Chapter 19
Torrez and I gathered our bags as the plane touched down in Portul, the capital city of Veranistaad. After a full-day on airplanes when I'd never flown in one before, I was anxious to get out of my seat.
My first breath of Veranistaad air clogged my throat with super-heated air and a fine layer of burnt sand. The middle of July was the worst time to
travel to this region and the air here tasted like poison.
With that breath, I knew one thing; I would not leave this country without CeCe by my side. I could never leave her behind in this desolate place while I flew to freedom and fresh air in America.
A taxi cab shaped like a shoebox took us to the NB headquarters outside Portul. A small man wearing sandals and a white headpiece escorted us into a conference room. "You may leave your hat here."
"Nah, thanks. I'm good." I wasn't taking off my hat for no one.
Torrez smacked my bicep. "Take off your damn hat." He spoke under his breath so only I could hear.
He was right. Anything for her. I set my hat on a small table near the door.
"Prince Maksim will be with you shortly. It is customary to bow to him as he enters the room. You will refer to him as Your Highness."
Memories of bowing to Jeb and calling him Father flashed through my mind. I bow to no one. I honor no self-proclaimed titles. But this was for Cecelia's freedom, so I would grit my teeth and bow to the man.
My eyes scanned the room for any sign of her. White marble covered the floors and purple velvet curtains hung from the windows. Giant swords were crossed in an X over the mantel. No women. None.
This was futile. How could taking off my hat and bowing to a prince lead me to her? Impossible.
But if she were here—and she needed me—it would all be worth it.
"No jokes today, Guthrie. The sense of humor is very different here." Torrez had warned me of this many times.
"Got it."
The man I assumed to be Prince Maksim Sharshinbaev walked in and stopped before us. He wore a black suit with a white button-down shirt. Slicked-back dark hair, brown eyes. He looked a little older than in his pictures, but I knew from my research he was twenty-eight. He didn't seem like a bad guy. In fact, he appeared to be pleasant and personable. But looks could be deceiving.
He looked at us expectantly. Torrez and I bowed.
We straightened and he held out his hand to Torrez. "Torrez Lavonte?" Torrez stepped forward and shook his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Your Highness."
He nodded. "Is this your foreman?"
"Yes. Zook Guthrie. Most skilled contractor you'll ever find." He held out his hand to me. I stepped toward him. I knew assholes like him. A power trip to get me to take the step. Fine. I did it and shook his hand. Soft skin. Weak. The man never worked in the sun a day in his life.
"We have made arrangements for you to stay in a guest apartment at one of our palaces near the site. Electricity has been turned on, and you'll need to drill for water until you connect with the main in the major street." He spoke crisp English with a thick Russian accent.
"Not a problem," I answered. I'd drilled a well for water before. No idea how deep we'd have to go here, but I could handle it.
"You must finish the project in four months. We have a three-day wedding celebration planned there on opening day. You are welcome to stay and attend. It will be a glorious evening."
Four months. I had four months to build this palace and find her. Hopefully it would be before the four months passed because now that I was here, I wanted to see her right away.
But what if the four months passed and I never found her? This whole trip would be such a failure.
Or what if at the end of all this, I found out CeCe was going to be his bride? And I had built the palace he would marry her in and live the rest of his life with her? The odds of it being her were slim. If Ivan Sharshinbaev was her uncle, wouldn't his son, Maksim, be her cousin?
"Fasul Dareem will be your interpreter." Maksim tilted his head toward the man who had escorted us in. The man bowed again. "He can get you any materials you need and relay any questions to me or my father."
Right. So. First order of business, befriend Fasul Dareem and find out who is getting married in four months. Second order, pray like hell it's not Cecelia.
"Come, let us share a drink to seal the deal." He motioned for us to follow him into a room set with platters of ripe fruit, cheese, stews, meats and sweets. He poured us each a shot glass of vodka.
Yes, let's toast, my friend. I keep my enemies close. Tell me all about your little oil company and wedding celebration.
Torrez patted my back with enough pressure to signal I needed to get it under control. I forced my shoulders down and loosened my stance as the clear liquid burned my throat.
Let the games begin.
Chapter 20
Four months later
The night of the wedding, the pinned colt inside me was bucking so hard he dented the rails. Four months—no sign of Cecelia. No sign of any women at all associated with the Sharshinbaevs apart from a few servants who cleaned the palace and prepared the interior for tonight.
Fasul confided in me when I asked; the couple getting married was Pavel, Maksim's youngest brother, and a woman named Nariam. I didn't know what name Cecelia went by here, and I couldn't ask Fasul too many questions without drawing attention, but the fact that her name wasn't Cecelia gave me the shred of hope I needed to get through tonight without busting up the walls.
Torrez and I strode through the pristine grand foyer of the palace—the palace built for Maksim by our hands. And holy shit, they'd transformed the thing into a flower garden. Big purple and white puffs covered the walls, the ceiling, and all the surfaces. We walked past a giant white cake as big as my prison cell.
"Take off your hat, Zook." Torrez nudged my arm, still trying to impress Maksim. No way. I'm done with that shit. Maksim wanted American craftsmanship? Well, this American cowboy wears his hat indoors. Deal with it.
Torrez and I wore tailored tuxedos Maksim had arranged for us. My first time in a tuxedo and I was carrying a loaded Sig Sauer nine millimeter in my jacket pocket. One good thing that came out of this trip was the shooting lessons Torrez took me out on every Sunday. I could shoot Maksim from fifty yards if I had to. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that. But just in case, Torrez made sure to prepare me.
My fists tightened into rocks as we entered the great hall. Mostly men in tuxedos, some wearing a folded white cloth secured with a black rope around their foreheads. Four men sat in a long row of ornate gilded thrones on the stage we had constructed at the front of the room. Ivan presided at the head, looking over the festivities. Maksim, next to him, held a smug grin on his face as he sat next to an empty chair. His brothers, Yegor and Pavel, also had empty chairs next to them. Feminine purple sashes with golden tassels draped under the lapels of their jackets and crossed their bellies. You'd never see me wearing lame shit like that, royalty or not.
But I wasn't here to look at the men. Women topped my priority list tonight. One woman in particular. If Cecelia wasn't here, Torrez and I would be on a plane tomorrow without her. It would cut me to the bone to have made all this effort and go home alone, but if she didn't show up, I had no other leads. Do or die time.
As I scanned the room casually, my hopes plummeted. She didn't fit in with this scene at all. The few women among the crowd wore tacky beaded evening gowns in bright colors. They had fake curls shaped into beehives attached to their heads. Diamonds hung from their wrinkled necks and dipped into their vulgar cleavage. Just goes to show all the money in the world couldn't buy beauty.
She wasn't here. I didn't sense her. My skin didn't come alive like it did when she was near.
"Valued guests!" The murmuring of the crowd quieted and everyone turned their eyes to Fasul holding a microphone and standing at the corner of the stage near King Ivan. "Welcome to the evening all of Veranistaad has been waiting for. Let the celebration commence with the presentation of the bride to the groom!" He spoke in English first, then Russian, then some language I'd heard a few of the staff speaking but didn't catch more info on, but I assumed it was Veranistaadian.
Here we go.
God, if Maksim was marrying Cecelia, Torrez would have to hold me down.
But Maksim didn't stand up. His brother did. Pavel walked to the center of the st
age.
"Princess Nariam Ranakova is presented to the His Royal Highness Pavel Sharshinbaev!"
The string quartet in the corner played a grand entrance song, and the crowd clapped and cheered as a girl walked out.
Thank all the fucking stars in heaven. Not her. Much shorter than CeCe and a fairer complexion. Her fluffy white dress looked like it weighed a ton. Her blonde hair stuck up in a shiny ball out of her crown. Heavy makeup concealed the real girl behind all that crap, but she wasn't mine. I was sure of it.
As the wedding couple took their seats, the next brother stood and walked to the front of the stage. "Next please welcome the wife of Prince Yegor Sharshinbaev, back from a long stay in America to finish her master's degree from Hale, Princess Soramina."
Princess Soramina? Soraya? Yes, that was CeCe's friend and her old roommate. I held my breath and the caged colt inside me went ballistic. Torrez shot me a look to remind me of the strategy he planned during our shooting lessons. Be patient. Wait for the right moment to act. Strike when least expected. At the party, security will be high. We find her and return for her when he's not prepared.
Soraya's sparkly scarlet dress hugged her figure, a long silver sash hanging from her shoulder. Her lips, painted a bright red, did not smile. She took Yegor's arm, and he guided them to their seats.
Maksim stood and walked to the center of the stage. After a pregnant silence, a collective gasp filled the room as the most captivating creature you've ever seen took the stage. My heart stopped at the first sight of her in six months.
Gorgeous. Cecelia.
My CeCe. I'd found her.
She walked up behind Maksim. I knew what was coming next.
"Also back from the States after earning her master's degree, please welcome the wife of Prince Maksim Sharshinbaev, Princess Celiana."
An avalanche of wet sand slammed down on my head, cutting off air and blinding me.
She's married to him. She's a fucking princess, and she's married to Maksim.
Fucking hell. The worst-case scenario was unfolding before my eyes.
How long had she been...
Was she married when she was with me?
Of course she was.
