Haunted for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 15)

by Annabelle Winters

  “What is happening?” he muttered, looking down at his feet and then up at Liv.

  “Your body no longer belongs to you,” said the older woman, smiling sweetly as she rocked little Caleb in her arms. “You gave it up when you welcomed Antaraksha into your heart, into your mind, into your soul.”

  “Do something,” the Sheikh muttered through gritted teeth as he struggled to even move his eyes so he could look at Liv. “Do something!”

  “I . . . I can’t,” Liv said. “I can’t move either.”

  “There’s no need to move. We’re coming to you,” said the husband. He turned to his wife, both of them smiling. “Come, love. Bring the child. They’ll understand.”

  The wife took three steps and stopped in the center of the room. She looked around, smiling in wonder, her eyes tearing up like the barren walls were the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “Yes. Of course they will.”

  “Understand what?” the Sheikh said, trying to reach out his arms and strangle the woman who was holding his son. But still he couldn’t move. It was like sleep-paralysis, that half-awake dream state where you are conscious but cannot command your body to move.

  “Do you not remember your scriptures?” said the husband. “The binding of Isaac? Though I believe it is Ishmael in the Quran.”

  “Abraham binds his son to the altar and sacrifices him for the glory of God. It is the only path back to the Garden of Eden,” said the wife.

  “What book have you guys been reading?” Liv muttered, blinking as she stared at the insanely smiling couple and then at her son. “And besides, you murdered Steve, your only son. So that means you’ve already done whatever your God expected of you, right? Which means you’re back in the Garden. There. We’re done. Now put Caleb down and walk away.”

  “We are not done until Satan is defeated,” said the wife, still smiling like a lunatic as she went down on her knees and placed Caleb in the center of the floor.

  “God made us his warriors after our selfless sacrifice!” said the husband, and the Sheikh’s eyes went wide when he saw the old man reach into a black duffel bag and draw out a long hunting knife.

  “The Old Testament story is that God stops Abraham from sacrificing Isaac, you morons!” screamed Liv, and the Sheikh managed to turn his head and see that she’d taken a step towards the couple.

  “That is only a metaphor,” said the wife calmly. “The truth is that Abraham sacrificed his son, and God resurrected the child in the Kingdom of Heaven.”

  “You’re insane,” Liv whispered. “You’re both insane. Don’t you see? Your act only drove Satan or Antaraksha deeper into you. Killing my son isn’t going to make it any better. It isn’t going to defeat anyone except the God you think you’re serving!”

  The wife flinched, and the Sheikh saw that Liv’s words had made an impact. He stared at the husband, who was holding up the knife like he’d just drawn Excalibur out from the holy stone.

  “Listen to me,” Hakeem said quietly to the husband. “You will not accomplish anything by killing him. It cannot be you. That is not how the story goes. That is not what God demands.”

  The husband frowned as he cocked his head and glanced back up at the Sheikh. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the story goes that the father has to perform the sacrifice, yes?” said Hakeem, trying to stay as calm as possible. He was still frozen in place, but he could see his words were getting through, just like Liv’s had. Keep going, he told himself. Fight for your son. Fight whatever it is that has a hold on you, a hold on everyone in this house right now.

  Fight, he told himself again as he felt a swirl of dark energy in the room.

  And then he heard it: A voice that wasn’t sound, that wasn’t human, that wasn’t even real.

  “Choose,” it whispered from within him. “Choose.”

  Confusion swept across the Sheikh, and in the midst of it he realized he had managed to turn his head and was looking into Liv’s eyes, brown eyes full of urgency, eyes which were saying something to him, perhaps saying the same thing the voice inside his head whispered.

  Choose.

  Is that what I need to do? Make my choice consciously and deliberately? Is the possession not complete yet? Has the past year simply been the demon breaking down my will and now it is asking for my final submission? Do I need to consciously choose to accept this demon fully, let it enter me, give in to it . . . so I can fight it from within? That is what the exorcist does as a last resort, yes? He brings the demon into himself. Makes his own mind the battleground. Makes his own soul the prize. Yes, that is what the exorcist does. And that is what a father does.

  “All right,” he muttered under his breath as he passed Liv a meaningful look and then closed his eyes and nodded. “All right, demon. Whatever your name is, I am yours. I will make your deal. Save my son, and I will give you what you want. You can have my body. You can have my soul. Just give me the strength to save my son.”

  Hakeem felt that dark energy swirl through the room like an invisible serpent, but then he realized the sensation came from within him, as if that energy, that strength, that demon was always within him. Again he thought back to the ritual his mother had performed when he was a child, and he wondered if this was the completion of that process. After all, complete possession did not occur until the subject made the choice himself, yes? Earlier it had been his mother’s choice more than his. Was this the final stage? Would he be lost after this? Was he being weak or strong here? Was he about to enter into battle or had he already lost the fight because he was afraid for his son?

  “Take me instead of him,” he whispered. “Instead of all of them. I am a king. A sheikh. A man of influence and power. There is so much we can do together. I am the one you want. Come. Take me.”

  And then suddenly the confusion disappeared, and the Sheikh was left with an overwhelming clarity of mind, singularity of purpose, a focus so supreme that he almost fell to his knees and cried with joy. He could move again, and he smiled and looked directly into the husband’s eyes.

  “It is the father who must wield the knife,” he said calmly. “That is the story. That is how the story ends. Come. It is my duty. My responsibility. It is my sacrifice to make. You have done your duty by bringing the sacrifice to the altar, but only I can complete the story. You know it. You both know it. Come now. Hand me the knife.”

  As if in a dream the Sheikh watched as the husband hesitated at first and then slowly held out the gleaming eight-inch blade, handle first. Hakeem took it without hesitation, breathing deep as he felt the gravity of the choice he’d made, the choice he was about to make.

  You cannot fake it, he realized as he thought back to the story of the scripture. Abraham was truly prepared to kill his son, and you have to be prepared to do the same. This only works if you truly allow yourself to go there, to truly make the darkest choice a father can make, a human can make, a man can make.

  The choice to kill your son.

  26

  “What are you doing?!” Liv heard herself say, and only when she heard her voice did she realize she was screaming.

  The Sheikh turned his head halfway, and she could see from the gleam in his green eyes that he was lost, that he’d given himself to whatever dark force lived within these walls, had brought all of them together, bound them all together like Abraham had bound Isaac in the story.

  “I am doing what a father must do to prove himself,” Hakeem replied. “To free himself. To free all of us.”

  Liv screamed as she saw him raise the knife as little three-month old Caleb stared up at his father. She wanted to move, to leap across the room and put herself in the way, but she couldn’t. She gritted her teeth and tried to find the strength, and then she heard it whisper from inside her:

  “Choose,” it said quietly, the voice coming without sound, just for her, from inside her. “Choose.”
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  “I already did,” she muttered. “I already offered myself to you. What more do you want?”

  “Choose,” came the thought again. “Truly choose.”

  Puzzled, Liv looked at Hakeem poised above their son with the blade held high, the smiling, glassy-eyed couple in the background. The scene was frozen, like a picture painted on the canvas of time, a pattern repeated through the ages by the power of human belief, human faith, human love.

  Then the ending of the Biblical story of Abraham came back to Liv, and a chill whipped through her.

  “Oh, shit,” she whispered. “When God saw that Abraham was willing to sacrifice his son, He intervened and presented Abraham with a ram to be sacrificed instead. But that only happened when Abraham was truly willing to do the unthinkable. Which means there’s no faking it. Not for Hakeem, and not for me.”

  She stared at the scene as she swallowed hard. This was what her parents had been preparing her for. It wasn’t because someone else would need her help someday. It was because she herself would need it. The possession would be complete once she made this choice, and then the demon would own her, that darkness would own her. That’s when the battle would truly begin. The battle for her own soul.

  “All right,” she said, looking at Hakeem and nodding. “I understand. I’m with you. I will commit, just like I know you have. I will commit.”

  Liv closed her eyes and swallowed hard as the realization slowly dawned on her that this was the ultimate test of love, the ultimate test of belief: Can a mother truly be prepared to sacrifice her son in order to save her son?! It was a puzzle, a twisted test, a mindfuck thrown down to her by the heavens! Can you truly be prepared to kill your son if you knew that was the only way to save him?!

  “Oh, God,” Liv gasped as tears of joy rolled down her cheeks. Her chest heaved with sobs that racked her body, and she gulped hard as the madness turned her mind inside out. Now it was clear to her what her parents had hinted at all those years, what Hakeem’s mother had hinted at before she took her own life: That there’s no telling someone the answer when it came to matters of faith and love. You had to live it. You had to go there yourself. You had to step into the darkest of places if you wanted to find the brightest of lights. You had to understand that the dark and the light came from the same source, God and the Devil were two sides of the same coin, the opposition and conflict of the same forces that created the universe!

  And so to find God, to find the divine, to find the light, I have to welcome the darkness into me. All the way. Through and through. That’s the ultimate test of faith, isn’t it? The faith that once I’m truly ready to sacrifice my son, God will intervene.

  But is that the demon talking, came the opposing thought along with a flicker of doubt that taunted her. Is that the trickster Satan talking through his minion? Is that the pretender playing God, tempting you to commit the unthinkable, an act from which there can be no going back?

  It was almost too much, but somehow Liv held on, forcing herself to keep breathing as she stared at Hakeem and nodded.

  “I’ll hold him while you do it,” she whispered, and as she said the words she felt a dead calm wash over her. “I’ll hold our son while you wield the blade. I’m ready. I’m willing. I’m here.”

  And then Liv found that she could move, and she took three steps and knelt beside her son, gently holding him down as his father smiled and nodded.

  She looked into Hakeem’s eyes, and she could see that he’d come to the same realization that she had, faced the same paradox of faith that she had, had accepted the demon into himself just like she had—and by doing so also accepted God. Now it was just them and their faith; the faith that once they were truly ready to sacrifice the son, the pattern of Abraham and Isaac would play out just like the book said: God would grant them reprieve and present then with an option, a substitute, a way out. In both the Quran and the Old Testament a ram appeared in the bushes, a gift from God, a replacement for their son on the altar.

  Of course, to complete the pattern you actually have to sacrifice the ram, Liv thought as she calmly looked at Caleb, the Sheikh, and finally over at Steve’s parents, who’d already murdered two people and were sitting on their haunches like little goats.

  Goats? The ram? Wasn’t Satan supposed to have the hooves and horns of a goat?

  Again Liv’s head began to spin from the confusion, and she thought back to what her parents would tell her about how since God was all-powerful, even the demons technically worked for Him, whether they knew it or not, whether they wanted to or not! Which meant even Satan and his minions had a purpose, a mission, something of value to add to the world of humanity . . .

  “Do it,” Liv whispered to Hakeem, her eyes burning because she hadn’t blinked in what seemed like minutes. “Do it, and the ram will appear.”

  Hakeem raised the knife higher and looked into Liv’s eyes. They stared at one another for a long moment, the two of them frozen in time as the innocent babe stared up at mother and father, as if waiting for them to choose.

  “He ain’t gonna do it,” hissed the wife.

  “No, he ain’t,” said the husband, shaking his head and reaching into his bag. He pulled out another blade, this one curved and sharp, and without even a moment’s hesitation slashed downwards towards Caleb’s soft neck.

  “Hakeem!” Liv screamed, but the Sheikh’s protective instincts had already fired up and he put his arm in the way of the blade, roaring as it cut through his flesh.

  And then, as the blood poured from his wound, Hakeem whipped his arm around, the long hunting blade cutting the old man’s throat clean across the middle.

  “You attack my son, you die,” said the Sheikh, his green eyes like cold flame as Liv gasped in shock at the sight of the husband dropping his weapon and clutching his throat as he went down to his knees and then breathed one last, gurgling breath before going still.

  The wife howled like a banshee, and then she was on the Sheikh, clawing at his face. Hakeem still had the hunting knife in his hands, but he dropped it and just pulled the woman off him and tossed her down to the floor. She was old but seemed infused with the energy of a beast, and she snatched up the knife Hakeem dropped and began stabbing the Sheikh with it.

  “Hakeem, move!” Liv screamed as she watched in horror as the knife drove into the Sheikh’s side as if he couldn’t even feel it. “Are you crazy?”

  She didn’t wait for a reply because she knew the answer: They were all crazy. They were all fucking insane. And this was going to end right here, right now.

  So she picked up that curved blade and ducked out of the way of the wife’s wild slashes. But the old woman was out of control, and she leaped at Liv, who stumbled backwards and then fell, holding the curved blade up instinctively. And when the wife descended on her, Liv saw that vein on the side of her neck, the jugular, bulging and ripe, and she smoothly cut at it.

  One cut and it was over.

  The sacrifice was made.

  27

  ONE YEAR LATER

  “What are you doing here?” said Liv. “I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again.”

  “The feeling is mutual,” said the Sheikh, leaning against the doorway to her apartment so she couldn’t close the door on him. “But I am here to see my son. Let me in, or I will let myself in.”

  Liv took a breath and frowned as she looked up into Hakeem’s green eyes. What had happened to them, she thought. But then she forced a smile and shook her head, reminding herself that there had never been a “them” as such. They’d had one encounter under some very strange circumstances, and now they shared a child. That was it. Happened to a million women a year in America and everywhere else: You fuck some hot guy, get knocked up, and that’s it. He shows up once in a while to pretend to be a dad or something. Maybe he feels guilty. Maybe he wants to get his rocks off again. Whatever.

&nbs
p; “Whatever,” she said, sighing and backing away from the door so the Sheikh could enter. “He’s asleep right now. But you can look at him. That should be enough. He doesn’t know who the hell you are anyway.”

  “A child will always know his father,” said the Sheikh with a confident smoothness that annoyed Liv to the point where she almost slapped him across the damned face. “Where is he?”

  “Where do you think, genius? In the goddamn bedroom! It’s a one bedroom apartment. Do the math. Jesus Christ, I hope Caleb doesn’t get his intelligence from his father.”

  Hakeem stopped and turned, taking a long, slow breath and folding his arms over his incredibly broad chest. He seemed to have gotten bigger, more muscular, perhaps even taller in the one year since that surreal night at that old house.

  “Is there a problem?” he said in that calm voice that was irritating the hell out of Liv for some reason. “Have you not been receiving the checks and wire transfers? Do you need more? Would you like me to build you a goddamn palace in downtown Raleigh? A pool where you can swim with the dolphins? Name it and you shall have it. What do you want from me, Liv?”

  I want . . . came the thought, but Liv cut it off before it completed itself in her mind. She swallowed hard and shook her head, not sure if she was going to cry or laugh. The past year had been strange. Not hard or difficult—just strange. After that messed up situation at the old house, she and Hakeem couldn’t face each other again. They’d never even spoken about what had happened there. Sure, they’d given their statements to the police, and the evidence seemed to support their story that they’d killed that couple in self-defense and to protect their child. The attendant had been found dead in Liv’s apartment, and her blood was on the hunting knife. Both the husband’s and wife’s fingerprints had been found in Liv’s apartment, and when they searched the old couple’s home, they found all kinds of relics, props, and God-knew-what-else that seemed to support the theory that the two of them were nutcases who’d finally gone off the rails. Case closed.