And there had been no word of the Sheikh. Not that the Regents had any way of searching for him—indeed, the whole point was to not be directly involved. But now the Sheikh was probably in hiding, and there was the bigger danger of another enterprising American Muslim hearing about the fatwa and trying to game the system by sending in hired guns! No. They had to reverse course before this got out of hand.
Longbeard had considered rescinding the fatwa so they could regroup and decide what to do next. He had argued that perhaps they needed to swallow their need for revenge and simply accept that the exile was all they could do, that the fatwa would not work, certainly not without it hitting the news eventually. Not that the United States would invade Kirwaan for something like that, of course. But it certainly would not cast the little nation in a good light. Indeed, now that Zaal was in exile and could not be Sheikh, the Regents wanted Kirwaan to keep its reputation of being a relatively progressive little kingdom that didn’t cause any trouble and didn’t need to be on anyone’s map—certainly not the CIA’s. It would have been the other way around if Zaal was indeed going to be Sheikh: that was the point of the schools. The plan had been to make Zaal look bad, to leak photographs and videos of those young Islamists with swords and Qurans just as Zaal took over as Sheikh. Make Zaal ashamed to face his friends and contacts in England and the West, his “chums” from Oxford and whatnot. Make him feel shame where it would register. Make him look like a fool, feel like a fool. Shame!
But now it appeared a solution had presented itself to the Regents, and Longbeard looked at his fellow Regents and raised an eyebrow, waiting for their agreement on whether to take this American Muslim up on his offer, an offer that had made its way to the Regents via an intermediary connected to one of the Islamic publications that had printed the fatwa ordinance.
“There is an American Muslim who says he knows of Sheikh Zaal’s woman in America, that he will guide you to her if you so desire,” the intermediary had told the Regents just over an hour ago.
“If he knows where the woman is, then he should be able to find the Sheikh himself,” Redbeard had said. “So tell him to be a good Muslim and finish the job and take the full bounty instead of trying to negotiate for something in between.”
“The man says he has neither means nor desire to track the Sheikh himself. Not after what happened to the man he sent. He will give us the name and location of the woman in exchange for a fee, and then his work is done. He offers no more,” the intermediary had said.
“So we wait,” Goatbeard had said. “Someone else in America will rise up and take the job. That is the mechanism of a fatwa. It is like capitalism itself: the market will decide who gets the spoils, yes? If this man is too weak and cowardly to—”
“No,” said Longbeard, pulling on that long beard. “Tell the man we agree. Get the name and location of the woman, and pay him what he asks.”
“What?” said Baldbeard. “Why?”
Longbeard shook his head again. “We are better off taking the woman to draw the Sheikh out.”
“Draw him out of hiding?” said Goatbeard. “We do not even know if he is hiding! He may just—”
“Not out of hiding. Out of America. We use her to draw him out of America. We miscalculated with the fatwa, underestimating the danger of it blowing up in our bearded faces. But if we bring the Sheikh out of America, then the work of the fatwa can be done quietly. This is a boon from Allah, my brothers. We cannot risk hiring an assassin in the United States. But it will be far easier to take a woman alive and bring her here. We have the resources and connections for that. Yes, we take the woman, and the Sheikh will come to us quietly.”
“Take her where?” said Baldbeard, frowning across the table.
“Here, my brothers. To our holy desert!” said Longbeard, smiling and spreading his long arms out wide.
“Ya Allah, you are mad,” said Goatbeard, laughing incredulously. “Kidnap an American citizen and bring her to Kirwaan? We might as well invite the Navy SEALs to board the private jet with her!”
Baldbeard snickered and Redbeard scratched, but Longbeard shook his head and smiled calmly. “Who besides Zaal will even know where she has been taken, or even who has taken her? So long as we take her quietly and efficiently, even when she is reported missing the police will not imagine that she is now an international hostage, bait for an exiled Sheikh to return home where he can die in the same desert that gave him life!”
“Zaal will know, and he will contact his CIA connection,” Goatbeard said. “And then we are done for.”
Longbeard exhaled. “Perhaps. But perhaps Zaal will not take the risk. Perhaps Zaal will calculate that by the time he is able to convince his CIA connection to send in the cavalry, his woman could be killed ten times over. Perhaps he will not take the risk that we have her throat sliced open the moment we hear an American Blackhawk approaching.”
Goatbeard slowly nodded, pulling on his goatee and glancing at the others before nodding again. “Perhaps it will work. But it all hinges on whether the Sheikh, the great womanizer, the man who has brought us to this point by treating our wives like whores to be used and tossed aside . . . yes, this plan hinges on whether Zaal actually cares for this woman enough to follow her into certain death! After all, he will understand that we are basically asking him to trade his life for hers! We are asking that he quietly surrender to us and we will send his woman back to America in one piece after we have chopped him into a million pieces and scattered his parts over the land!”
“Will we be sending her back to America in one piece?” Redbeard asked now, looking knowingly at Longbeard. “Where she can calmly tell the world what happened, who did it, and where it took place? Do not be foolish. We start down this road and it ends in just one place, my brothers. So let us take a step back and take our bearings. Are we ready to kill two people, one of them an American citizen and the other a Sheikh of royal blood? Think hard, brothers: Are we truly ready to kill two people, risk the ire of the United States government, endanger the future of our kingdom, possibly risk our own lives, the safety of our children should the United States eventually invade us . . . just because this man has taken our wives to his bed?”
The room went quiet for a moment, and Longbeard glanced at each of them as he considered his own response to Redbeard’s question. The silence lasted for almost a minute, and then they spoke.
“Yes,” said Goatbeard.
“Yes,” said Baldbeard.
“Yes,” said Redbeard.
And Redbeard was smiling, eyes gleaming almost red with the madness of their collective shame. He looked over at Longbeard, who was beginning to show a trembling smile as well, the sickness in the air clearly infecting him in a way that made him feel delightfully alive.
“What about you, head Regent? Are you willing to have blood on your hands because a man has touched your wife? Are you ready to risk going to war with a vastly superior military power simply because another man has taken your woman?” Redbeard asked as all eyes turned towards Longbeard.
“From the beginning of time man has gone to war for no reason other than his woman,” said Longbeard. “When all is said and done, we are still animals at the core, still beasts who grunt and growl, bare our fangs and stomp our hooves, fight for the right to claim our mates. And when we take our woman, she belongs to us. We own her!” Longbeard rose now, those dark creatures of fantasy rising up off their magical seats and applauding the fire of his performance as he raised his long arms like a wizard declaring war on the weather. “So, my brothers, my answer is this: A man touching my taken woman is not simply a good enough reason for murder and war, but it is the best reason, the only reason, the reason that proves we are men, that we will burn the world to ashes to avenge a slight on our manhood, that we will burn along with the world if we must, that we will prove our potency any way necessary! That is my answer, my brothers. That is my answer.”
“Inshallah,” said Redbeard, drinking the last of his sweet tea a
nd slamming the empty cup back to the heavy table. “So be it. Let us take his woman and bring her to Kirwaan, no matter what hellfire follows with her.”
“Inshallah,” said Longbeard, his body shaking with adrenaline and passion, his face glowing with delightful madness.
“Inshallah,” they all said together as the curtain came thundering down to raging cheers as the cosmic audience waited for the stage to be set for the climax, the dark gnomes and gnarled goblins glancing across the theater-aisle at the cherubs and pixies, each side wondering which way this would turn, whether it was a love story or a tragedy, both sides knowing that in the end they would all walk out the theater arm in arm, ready for the next fantasy, the next cosmic drama, the next act in the universe’s neverending play.
36
“Ya Allah, that hurt! Bloody hell, woman. Are you a doctor or a butcher?”
Fran shrugged as she put in the final stitch and dabbed away the last of the blood, tossing the bloody gauze into the bin and standing back from the Sheikh, arms folded across her chest, just under her boobs which were still a bit raw from how the Sheikh had pinched her nipples as he took her from behind.
“Sorry,” said Fran, not in the least bit sorry at jabbing him with the needle. “I got distracted when you told me that all this is happening because you slept with another man’s wife.”
“Four men’s wives,” the Sheikh said quietly, blinking and looking like a sheepish schoolboy as he sat atop that metal examination table, long legs dangling off as he avoided eye contact.
“Right. Four men’s wives. All four of their wives? So four times four, which is sixteen? That’s a nice number!”
“Francine,” he said slowly. “I am only being honest, because I do not want to—”
“And even if you are willing to stoop so low as to use your position as Sheikh to seduce other men’s wives, I still don’t—”
The Sheikh frowned, glancing at the stitches and looking up at her, almost indignant. “Are you saying I pressured these women into sleeping with me? That I used my position to coerce them into my bed? I will have you know, Miss Francine, that—” He stopped himself, shaking his head and forcing a smile as Fran folded her arms so tight across her chest her white arms looked almost colorless.
“Go on,” she said, tapping her foot on the stiff blue carpet as she glared at him. She wanted to be angrier, and in fact was mortified that she couldn’t summon up the indignation she wanted to project. She could barely keep a straight face now, clenching her jaw as she watched him squirm under her exaggerated glare. Knowing of his past didn’t make her in the least bit uncomfortable for some reason. It didn’t shake the unshakable confidence that he had chosen her, that she was his and he was hers. It was almost scary, in fact. Downright scary. God, she loved him! She really did! And he loved her too, pure and simple. Time be damned, space be damned, common sense be damned. He had asked for her and she had given herself. They were bonded. She was a taken woman. His semen was still in her, and God, it felt clean and natural, not filthy and wrong. Yes, his seed was in her, and she wanted it in her. In five days the topic of protection hadn’t come up, and it didn’t seem unusual in the least, though it was fucking crazy. All of it was fucking crazy!
“So these four head Regents, wise, capable men who basically administer the kingdom . . . these men engineered all this just for . . . what, revenge? To get back at you because you slept with their wives? When they knew you were about to become Sheikh, they built these schools so you’d look like some crazy extremist king and eventually get . . . what, assassinated by the CIA or something? That was their original plan?”
Zaal shrugged. “Something like that. At the very least it would embarrass me.”
“Embarrass you? They were willing to risk getting their country invaded just to embarrass you? Not to mention setting up teenagers to get brainwashed and recruited by extremist groups. Like those four kids who got killed in Syria! Are all of you insane? Is every man insane? Is the male ego so goddamn fragile that murder and war seems worth it just because . . . because a man slept with another man’s wife?!” Fran was almost livid with disbelief, choking on her own words as she blinked and shook her head and blinked again.
“Clearly you have not read enough history,” the Sheikh said matter-of-factly. “About half the wars in the history of civilization were started because of women. And the other half were started because of the lack of women, where men wanted to capture the wives of the neighboring tribe. It is not about the fragility of the male ego. In fact it is the reverse. It is about the deepness of the male instinct, that ancient drive to claim a mate, to take her as his own, protect her with his life, burn down everything and anything that stands in his way. Yes, I completely understand why they would do it. I would do it myself.”
“You’re a fucking lunatic then!” Fran shouted, taking a step back and glaring at this man even as a part of what he said rang true. It was horrible, yes. But it did ring true. Still, just because something was true didn’t make it right. And this was wrong. All wrong.
“Perhaps,” he said. “And you are the chosen mate of a lunatic caveman Neanderthal. If my arm was not so damned stiff I would drag you to my cave and make you pregnant like I was born to do with my caveman cock, make you carry my caveman babies like your womb is designed to do, make you—”
She turned away from him so he wouldn’t see the smile breaking on her face, wouldn’t see that through the seriousness of the situation she couldn’t help but laugh, smile, her heart light with joy that bordered on madness, gaiety that danced on the edge of insanity. She gathered herself as he raised his voice and went on for a while, and then finally she took a breath and turned.
“Finished your lunatic rant?” she said, letting a small smile break on her cheeks that felt like they were glowing.
“For now,” he said gruffly. “To be continued.”
“Great. I can’t wait for the encore. So now can we talk about what the hell we’re going to do about this goddamn fatwa or whatever?”
“There is no we, Francine. You are not in danger. Nobody knows about us, and I will soon be gone.”
“What you mean gone?” she asked, a real frown coming on and chasing that glow from her cheeks, a sudden hollowness sinking in as she saw the seriousness in his eyes.
“Francine, there is no end to this. There is no time limit, no expiration date. Police are not a solution for me. Even bodyguards pose a threat, because one of them could turn on me. I have no choice but to run, hide, disappear and hope that when Yusuf comes to power and is able to replace the four head Regents, then perhaps the committee will end the fatwa, if not the exile.”
“But your cousin isn’t even going to be Sheikh for almost another year! So you’re going to hide for a year?”
The Sheikh took a breath. “If I have to. Right now there are not many other options.”
“What about the CIA? Talk to your contact. Maybe he can get the US government to put pressure on your Regents, get them to drop the fatwa.”
Zaal shook his head. “I am not even a US citizen yet, Francine.”
“So then we’ll get married and make you a citizen, and then the government will have to intervene!” Fran said, the words coming so quick she almost swooned in shock when she realized what she had just said.
“Is that a marriage proposal? Ya Allah, you are a true romantic,” he said, a gleam in his eye as he teased her, now getting off the table and going to her, reaching for her arms which were still crossed firmly under her boobs. “But you know that even with marriage there is a three-year waiting period before citizenship is permitted. Still, a nice thought. I am flattered.”
“Zaal, stop joking around! This is serious! I’m willing to do what it takes, and if you won’t even take me seriously, then I—”
“I am damned well taking you seriously,” he snapped now, stepping to her and pulling her hands away from her body so he could embrace her. She tried to push him back but his strength was impossibl
e, even with a bullethole in one arm. “I am taking you seriously, Francine, and that is why I must go as soon as possible, go underground until a better solution presents itself. Even you cannot know where I am, because that will only put you in danger. Fran, listen to me. I love you, and I have no doubt about what we have, about the depth of our bond. Caveman proclamations aside, you are my goddamn woman, you are my mate, my lover, my princess. You are my queen and we will be married when the time comes. You are my queen and I will make it official when the time comes.”
Fran felt her heart jump as she struggled to look up at his face as he held her close to his chest like a goddamn caveman protecting his stolen mate, his taken woman. “Is that a marriage proposal?” she asked, trying to make it sound like a joke but almost choking up as she realized that God, it wasn’t a proposal at all. It was a statement. A proclamation. A declaration. Just like that first declaration of love, he had simply said the words, like saying the words made it true, like perhaps it was already true.
“There is no proposal, because in my mind the marriage is complete. It was complete when we chose each other that first night. And our vows get renewed and strengthened every time we touch, every time I touch you, every time I touch my rabbit, my princess, my queen.”
“God, this is so . . . so . . .” she started to say as she felt chaos reign in her head, the room spinning now as she clutched him like she couldn’t let go, held him like she wouldn’t let go, kissed him like she knew she had to let him go. For now at least.
She kissed him again as she tried to think, tried to get that smarty-pants brain into gear, tried to come up with an option that wouldn’t tear them apart.
“Your CIA contact,” she said half-heartedly. “He got you a green card, so he can get you citizenship right away, yes? And then the US government will have to intervene and get the fatwa lifted.”
“The CIA will not touch me now that the word rape has been mentioned in the fatwa,” the Sheikh said quietly. “Not a chance.”
Untouched for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 6) Page 16