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His brows tug in confusion.
“You can’t. You don’t have the capital or the power. I’m not God. You’re not either.” I salute him and back up a few paces.
The space prompts the vultures to close the distance between themselves and the two harpies. Once the screaming commences, I head back toward the truck.
Something compels me to view the harrowing and graphic scene through my rifle.
I pull it out of the trunk, dragging the two bodies out, then head back over.
“You’re so loud!” I shout.
The birds turn their heads, momentarily caught off guard, then they’re engrossed in tearing the flesh of Al Rafi and Noor.
Like I had as a young lad with my father, I glimpse through the scope. Silas had a black eye for me anytime I was too fascinated with nature to address his designated mark.
“Wow,” I mutter as a buzzard tosses a piece of skin in the air, only to open its beak and devour it whole.
Where I had painted Noor’s mouth in her own blood, a bird caws at her there. Through the sniper rifle, I observe its neb puncturing her top lip. Its beak shears the area clear off, delighting in the taste of her.
Soon, both the princess’s and her father’s cries run dry from exhaustion, dehydration, or death. I pick them off with my sniper rifle—clean, marvelous shots straight through their eyes.
26
Luxury
Idon’t sleep. Not anymore. Insomnia has rid me of nightmares. I spend this time in contemplation and harassing Burt when another idea comes to fruition, such as inputting Victor’s photo in some sort of facial recognition software or hacking all the satellites in Saudi Arabia.
He shoots every suggestion down.
“What if Al Rafi becomes aware that someone’s searching for Victor in his territory? It would put Victor in danger.” All of Burt’s what-ifsvastly diverge from mine.
My what-ifs are hopeful.
What if Victor’s somewhere with amnesia.
What if Vic has moved on and this house was a peace offering.
At least, that what-if spares his life.
Tonight, I’ve holed myself up in the bedroom that Victor and I shared for a brief time. A gorgeous room where neither of us touched each other.
Not once.
I locked myself in tonight and placed the dresser in front of the door. Pathetic. Yup. Convenient. Yes, definitely. It will stop me from ruining Burt’s sleep with anotherwhat-if.Or interrupting calls with his great-aunt. He hung up quickly during one instance.
I’ve stepped out and now lean against the stone balcony railing. I laugh softly at myself, sipping Chianti. In the distance, the Atlantic Ocean merges with the shore.I’ll never visit the ocean again without Victor—even if I live here, within walking distance—for the rest of my life.
Seconds later, my thoughts fuck with me again.What if Vic was shipwrecked?I sip the wine and mutter, “You’ve officially lost it, Lux.”
A deep chuckle is followed by the sound of a voice that’s pleasing to my soul. “I told myself you’d go mad at some time or another, Little One.”
Barely capable of repressing the giddiness charging through me, I whip around.
From across the balcony that spans at least thirty feet, I set eyes on my Victor.
Oh, I did lose it.
This is déjà vu.
