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Suddenly my two-hundred-pound, all muscle frame soars back as the earth shakes.
I hear a constant ringing in my ears as I’m blown back on my arse. Burt lands a few yards away, face bewildered and suit caked with soot. His leg twists at a ghastly angle.
As debris flies around us, my mind is a rush of vivid images of Luxury. My phone, still clutched in my fist, buzzes again. My previous answer must’ve detonated the explosion wreaking havoc before my eyes—one not intended to kill me but to prompt my attention.
I answer with a growl. “Whothe fuck isthis?”
“Ah, well, hello, Victor Tudor. Have I finally gotten your attention, friend?”
Older male. Possibly seventies.
Farsi . . . no Arabic. “Who the bloody fuck are you, mate?”
“Al Rafi.”
Blooooody . . . Fuck.
My eyes close as my worst nightmare comes to fruition. He cannot have Luxury. There’s no way. She’s in New York.
Sheisin New—
“Those little fireworks. Did they cool you down from your current search?”
A liquid-like substance, I haven't felt stream down my face in forever, burns my eyes. “Luxury belongs tome!”
“At one time, I would be inclined to agree. But my hands are tingling as I patiently wait for my newest piece of propert—”
“Property?” I snarl. Every obscenity detonates in my head. However, no matter the promises I made to Luxury, the way this morning has transpired, I've molded back into the conniving bloke who handles his shite.
“You see, I thought to myself. I invited this man to my country. Though, I did not know you were a mutual billionaire, as your association with X-Member offered anonymity. Still, I gave you money to complete an assignment,” Al Rafi pauses, “and you helped yourself to what wasn’t yours. My innocent child!”
“Noor?” I quickly jump in after his pretentious monologue.
“Do not insult me.”
“Full disclosure, mate?” I spit back. “Noor was not innocent, and I never laid a bloody hand on her.”
“Blasphemy!” The sheikh collects a bit of composure. “You attempted to sully my most prized possession, my beautiful daughter. Now it's only fair that I touch what is dearest to your heart. What once belonged to you is nowmine.”
1
Luxury
Five hours before . . .
An explosion bleeds into the dark, empty field. Flames engulf Ahmad’s get-away car. While shivering in my pajamas, I stumble over the unkempt land as Ahmad tugs me toward a Learjet.
Offering a pointed glare at the zip ties binding my hands, Ahmad asks, “Will you behave?”
Although my throat’s so dry that it feels cracked and swollen shut, I don’t trust myself to respond, not even a subtle nod.
“As you wish,” he hisses, waving a hand for me to ascend the staircase and into the jet. An Arabian flight attendant stands at the plane's entrance. With much of her face concealed beneath a veil, her impassive eyes sweep over my thin, silk sleepwear and the ashes peppering my mass of copper curls.
Her look of disdain warns that I have no voice.
Woman-to-woman isn’t an option.
They exchange words in a different language. The woman disappears behind the curtains as the jet's door closes, taking my last bit of hope with it. Ahmad escorts me down two aisles of plush white leather reclining chairs.
