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“I am still—”
“Get aerial coverage of the vehicle I’m following!” I growl, glancing in the rearview mirrors at the trucks in hot pursuit.Just in case I lose her again.
11
Luxury
Apulsing throb rouses me from a slumber darker than death. I’m lying on my back, a hard metal slab beneath me. The ceiling and four walls crowd me in. Seized by anxiety, I shuffle in a lung full of stagnant air. Two guards border each side of a door. One’s familiar—the guy who had stood just inside of the elevator, waiting. Waiting for telephone confirmation totakeme.
Weary eyes peer over me. Thinning, white hair escapes the woman’s hijab. Her hands clasp my bare belly. My t-shirt has been pulled up; my pants removed. I don’t know how I got here.
Think, Luxury. I was in the hotel. I-Imurdereda woman. As soon as I stepped out of the hotel room, the elevator guy was waiting. He put a gun to my head. He didn’t take me back up to Al Rafi, though.
God, why do I keep thinking of Victor?I had been delusional as the Arabian forced me onto an elevator. I saw the man I love before being coldcocked over the head. Now my vision’s furrowed at the edges.
As the elderly stranger speaks, a young girl about ten years old repeats the words in English. “Are you with child?”
“No,” I say quickly.
“This whore’s lying,” argues another woman. I expect the venomous tone belongs to none other than Wasim. From my sedated position, I latch eyes onto a woman whose aura puts Al Rifi’s to shame. A woman who, by God’s given hand, is even more beautiful than any of the sheikh’s wives. Black marble eyes bore into my soul, those eyes . . . they remind me of none other than the devil himself, Al Rafi.
Shit, Princess Noor. Which means . . .I . . . murdered . . . an innocent woman.It hits me; I’m not David when he slew Goliath.
The elderly woman proceeds in Arabic. Her tone weaves into a chant. This time the child does not repeat the words. The girl hands her a mortar and pestle, and the old woman grinds a powered concoction while lacing together the same utterance.
I will my body to move.
First, my fingertips.
Next, my hands.
Life slowly floods through my veins and cuts into whatever toxins they may have given me.
The powder’s dusted into a glass filled with red liquid. The elderly woman mutters something to the youth.
“It’s tea,” the child translates.
“Drink, girl!” Noor shouts.
Fusing my lips tightly, I scream a silent cry, which rips through my soul.
The old lady’s hands frame my belly again. I slap them away and put all my energy into a single act—swinging up into a seated position.
“She just wants your seed,” Noor chides as if we’re the closest of friends. “Just Victor’schild. That’s all. I promise. I’ll return you to my father. We will keep the baby between us. You’ll have your wedding, sweetheart.”
“Why?” I sob, glancing the other way. Another two men with large submachine guns are on either side of the door. Even along the corridor, I can hear more armed guards. This is what Ahmad warned me of. He said that Noor would be a worse fate than Sheikh Al Rafi.
The servant child’s eyes stay cast toward the floor as what I must assume is her grandmother hands me the drink. The glass is cool to the touch and smooth to my lips.
“Just Victor’s child oryouand Victor’s child,” Noor murmurs.
Before the liquid can touch my tongue, I toss the glass against the wall and spit in her face. Noor strikes.
I clasp her wrist, squeezing as I yank her arm behind her, coming to my bare feet. “You areevil!”
The butt of one of the guard’s guns slams into my stomach. Three times in succession, hard blunt, but stabbing, hits. Each vicious attack’sangledat my uterus. The swift strikes take me by surprise and cause my abdomen to throb like it’s on fire. Air explodes from my lungs as I unhand the princess.
In seconds, a tightening in my abdomen sends my piercing cry slashing through the room. The scream is so raw that I don’t even know if it’s mine. Warm wetness trickles down my legs. The old woman swipes a hand over my inner thigh. Before darkness takes me, she holds up crimson-stained fingers.
