The Royal Elite: Ahsan (Elite, Book 2)

by Bourdon, Danielle

  Then what would she do? If she pushed him to take another meal, he might get suspicious. Dropping it in a drink was a second option, no less tricky than the first.

  Think, think, think. What to do? She wanted to just grab a car and flee the scene. Get as far away as she could. This was an impossible task, one that made her more nauseated and worried by the second. Now that the time was upon her, she couldn't make her feet go to the door and downstairs to find him. To pretend like nothing was wrong, to dump a toxic addition over his food knowing that with each bite, he would eventually die.

  No. No, she couldn't—wouldn't—do it. There was another way. But what? Wringing her hands, she failed to come up with a single 'out'. As darkness descended in full, the stress to do something became overwhelming.

  After a quick shower to wash away the dust and sweat from the race, she changed into a pair of cool linen slacks of cream and a sage green shirt of silk. The slinky material felt good on her overheated skin. Affixing her newly washed and dried hair half up-half down, secured with a thin barrette, she made her way to the first floor, intending to find Ahsan.

  She didn't make it more than a few steps before a shocking sight met her in the foyer. The women, all of them, were being escorted to the front doors. Ahsan was there, along with several other members of his staff. A running engine beyond on the drive suggested the women were being taken away from the palace.

  Two of the girls glanced Sessily's way, one with a look of calculation, the other with what appeared to be guilt.

  Fear shot straight through her gut. Had the women told Ahsan her plans? Had they bartered for their freedom, as the one suggested they might, if Sessily went back on her word? But they hadn't given her enough time. Ahsan's men might have scared them into confession as well, the truth spilling out in order to be spared any pain. Perhaps the women had no choice, and rather than experience more torture at the hands of their captors, had opted to tell what they knew.

  It put Sessily in the terrible position that she might now be in Ahsan's cross-hairs. What would he do? Would his amiable disposition disappear to be replaced with an Ahsan she'd never seen? Frozen in place, Sessily wasn't sure what to do. Ahsan hadn't seen her yet, there was still time to disappear and escape. Even if she had to go overland through the desert in the dark, it was better than becoming his prisoner. It wasn't better for Iris, however—unless she could come up with some convincing lie about escaping for this reason or that. Bashir couldn't hold it against her, or her sister, if she'd had no choice but to flee.

  Backtracking to her room, intent on retrieving her phone and a couple bottles of water stocked in a small fridge, along with better shoes, she worked on the reasons for the need to leave. Once she'd found shelter somewhere, she would be forced to contact Bashir to explain. The more realistic her plan, the better for her and Iris.

  Ten minutes later, with athletic shoes on her feet, phone in her pocket and the water tucked under her elbow, she made her way back down to the foyer, finding it empty of the women—of everyone. Ahsan wasn't anywhere to be seen, and hadn't come up to her room to berate her, or worse, for attempting to free the women. No one else had come, either, leaving Sessily to believe she'd gotten lucky and found an 'in between' few minutes to get herself gone before Ahsan exacted revenge.

  Exiting out the back door, she traversed the courtyard, nodding to a few security members as she passed, relieved when none stopped her. Ahsan must have thought to handle her himself.

  At the stables, there was one hand working late into the evening that Sessily had to deal with. She pretended to be as nonchalant as she could.

  “Can I help you, Miss?” he asked in halting English. He was swarthy skinned, tall and thin and much less broad than his boss. Young, too, perhaps in his late teens.

  “I just wanted to come say a last goodbye to my horse, that's all. I won't be in your way, will I?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No, no. Please.” One hand gestured toward a far stall where the gelding had been shacked up for the night.

  “Thank you. I won't be long.” Sessily stepped on, brisk strides putting quick distance between them. The gelding's stall happened to be around the corner, out of sight, which would further aid her escape. Sliding the bottles into her pockets now that there was no one to wonder about the odd shape against her thighs, she bypassed the gelding's stall and discreetly let herself out one of the back doors.

  Beyond the first large pasture, Sessily experienced her first breath of hesitation. The desert stretched far and wide an expanse so encompassing and intimidating that she second guessed her decision to march off into the unforgiving sands. If she got lost out here, which was entirely possible, the two bottles of water wouldn't last long. She couldn't follow the road leading toward the private airstrip, either, or someone traveling along it might see her.

  There had to be other roads near the airstrip, though, leading toward towns deeper inland or toward the coast. All she needed to do was reach one of them, call Bashir, and explain that she'd been forced to leave. Unhappy and annoyed, he would likely have to come get her anyway. She knew too much to risk letting her go.

  What happened then, she couldn't guess. Perhaps Bashir, realizing his plot had failed, would send the girls home and start over with some new plan.

  Glancing back to the palace that rose higher than the stables in the distance, she realized that after this, there was no going back to the way things had been between her and Ahsan. If she embarked on this journey, any trust he'd built in her would be shattered.

  Again, she had to ask herself why it mattered. She'd seen the proof of what his real life was like in both text and face-to-face. He wasn't the man he pretended to be. His own brother, for reasons she could only guess at, wanted him dead. The circumstances were far more complicated than she'd expected them to be. If he'd given her any reason at all to believe he wasn't involved in the trafficking of human flesh, she might have gone to him and spilled the whole story. Might have confided in him, trusted him.

  There was a small part of her that still wanted to. A desperate piece that argued there was more to what she'd seen than met the eye. To fall back on their attraction and banter, to go with the gut instinct that said he was not like his brother.

  What her heart wanted, and what her head demanded, were two different things. The reality was that she had to trust her eyes. Trust the proof she'd read and seen. And the cold, hard truth was that it appeared he'd pulled the wool over many people's eyes.

  With renewed determination, she headed off across the sand, marking the place she knew the road to be. Following it with her eyes, she imagined the curves and straightaways, even if she couldn't see them, landing on the general direction she thought the airstrip to be. It wasn't hundreds of miles from the strip to the palace, and she decided that sooner than later, the tall, blinking lights denoting the air strip's presence in the desert should come into view within an hour, two at the most. She would use that as a guide to find the road and follow it the opposite direction, toward the nearest town.

  The walk would give her time to come up with a believable reason for her escape.

  She only hoped Bashir wouldn't harm Iris in the meantime.

  . . .

  With every last ounce of questioning behind him, Ahsan saw the last woman into the back of the second vehicle and closed the door. For the last half hour, he'd stood on his porch and repeatedly assured the women they would endure no harm in leaving. He meant to see them home, or to the location of their choosing, with no gimmicks or tricks. Many suffered extreme paranoia and needed to hear him make promises for their safety.

  Earlier, it had been like pulling teeth to get first one, then the rest, to finally break their silence and speak. The replies, some of them at least, had been illuminating. Bashir's first group, the 'dancers' sent to the gala, had all been given as little information as necessary to do their job. Which had been to 'please' Ahsan and make sure to be seen by as many people as possible upon arr
ival at the party. Afterward, they had been instructed to do as Ahsan asked, or else. Their backgrounds were varied and difficult, but he assured them time and again that he was intent on seeing them safely home. Where ever that may be. The second, newer group rescued by his brethren could give little in the way of detail barring a few blurry descriptions and fuzzy locations after their kidnappings. They'd been hood-sacked or taken in the dark, preventing them from getting a good look at their captors or whereabouts.

  Still. He extracted a few nuggets of information that were worthy of follow up. With any luck, they would eventually lead the Royal Elite members to the center of this new ring, and possibly back to Bashir.

  Inside, he closed the door and pushed a hand through his hair. One major task down, several to go.

  He glanced at the staircase as he passed, tempted to go up and see how Sessily was faring. She hadn't been all that receptive to him earlier, and his previous annoyance still lingered.

  He'd promised to let her drive one of his cars to the airport in the morning, and he set one of his men to the task of digging up the keys to a suitable SUV. Instead of taking them up himself, he had them delivered on a tray outside her door, left for her to find. Allowing her to leave without so much as a goodbye wasn't in his nature as the host of his household, yet he'd had the distinct impression she meant to go without saying goodbye, either. That their exchange earlier was the last he would hear from her before she departed for home.

  Halfway to his office, his cell phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket and put it to his ear.

  “Yeah.”

  “I tracked her all the way back to a little village in Romania. It seems her mother died when she was fourteen. The father left for war in a neighboring skirmish and as far as I can tell, hasn't been heard from since. A sister, Iris Pavel, hasn't been seen in weeks. If this information from locals is correct, Sessily works as a baker's aid and has nothing to do with any stable,” Eli said.

  Ahsan frowned as he walked. A baker's aid? “I knew about the mother, and that the father had been 'away on business' or something. But I thought it had to do with the stables, not war. Are you sure she's not affiliated with a small set up there?”

  “Not that I've discovered. Anyone who knows her all point to a small bakery shop, which I plan to visit soon. Someone mentioned she used to exercise horses for a local, but that was all. She isn't in charge of any stable of any size or note.”

  Ahsan grunted and stepped into his suite, closing the door behind him. “All right, so she works as a baker's aid in a small town--”

  “Village. That's a better description.”

  “Village. If she has nothing to do with horses, or stables, then why the hell did she say so at the gala, and how did she even get an invitation? It's not like just anyone can walk into those gatherings.” Something was way, way off here. The facts weren't adding up.

  “That's the million dollar question. Even more, where did she get the horse that I presume arrived for the race? She had to call someone to get it sent, someone with the money and pull to make it happen on short notice.”

  Eli hit on Ahsan's thought at the same time. “Exactly. I was just wondering the same thing. Do you think she's working in tandem with a rival breeder? But that still doesn't fit, because I approached her, she didn't approach me. I'm not even sure she knew I existed until I stepped in on her 'friend' at the gala.”

  “No, that does not make sense to me, either. Besides that, why would another breeder go through all that subterfuge instead of just outright challenging you to a race if they wanted one of your horses so bad? It's too much work,” Eli added.

  Ahsan didn't like the direction his thoughts were taking him. Something more serious was wrong here, and he wanted to know what.

  “You can't find the sister anywhere, either?”

  “No. She lives with Sessily, apparently, but neither woman has been seen for a while. Maybe the sister came to Dubai, and is still there waiting on Sessily to return.”

  “Maybe,” Ahsan said. “Let me know what you find out at the bakery. Talk to her boss, or a co-worker barring the boss, and get back to me as soon as possible.”

  “I will. Ahsan, be careful.” Eli disconnected.

  Ahsan shoved the phone into his pocket and paced to the windows overlooking the courtyard. He watched the palms sway in a light breeze while he put his mind to the task of figuring out the mystery that was Sessily Pavel.

  One thing was for sure: she wasn't who she said she was. Knowing she'd lied sat ill with him, left a bad taste in his mouth. He was still puzzled over her ability to call and get a mount sent on a moment's notice, however, if she'd come from what appeared to be a very modest background. Did a baker's aid have the kind of cash to have a horse flown from one country to another overnight?

  Maybe her father had left her all his money when he went off to war. Unlikely, he thought to himself. Even then, it was thousands and thousands of dollars to rent a jet and pay for the fuel, never mind the pilot and any other personnel. If they had that kind of money, Sessily's neighbors and friends or acquaintances would have likely pointed out some big house or another, and Eli hadn't mentioned that.

  So what was her game? What was her agenda? What the hell did she want with him? Because he was surely her target.

  Target. His conversation with the other members of the Royal Elite came back in snippets. Bashir was out to wreck his reputation, and maybe something along more sinister lines. His brother had sent the harem to the gala to not only push his buttons, but to send a message to his peers.

  Could Bashir have planted Sessily, too? Picked her for her looks and took a great chance on fate? Maybe she was one of his lovers, in on the plot, willing to do his bidding to further her place among his mistresses.

  The thought made him sick. He had to be wrong. That was too coincidental—wasn't it? Or was it masterful planning, bringing him to the woman to help throw off the scent?

  If so, what was Sessily's motive in the palace? What had she hoped to learn? They were all questions he had no answers for.

  But he knew who did.

  Fury drove him from his office and his suite with a bang of doors that startled his guards. No one dared say a thing. He stalked the halls of his grandiose home, not seeing the finery, the inlaid gold, the priceless artifacts placed here and there.

  Instead of knocking when he got to her room, he flung the door open and stepped right in. “Sessily! I wish a word. Now.”

  That tone, used with any of his employees, would have sent people scrambling.

  So far, silence.

  When she didn't immediately appear, he searched her room. Her things were still hanging in the closet, her suitcase tucked neatly into the corner. There were feminine bottles and a make up kit on the bathroom counter, but no Sessily. Exiting her suite, he made his way downstairs, putting the word out to several of his staff that he wanted his house searched for his guest. It was a quicker way of going through the rooms than doing it all himself. That might take an hour or so, considering the size and scope of the palace.

  A half hour later, when he was beginning to lose patience, one of his guards found him.

  “She went to the stables. I sent a man to fetch her,” he said.

  Ahsan grunted a reply, but didn't wait. Leaving the palace, he headed for the stables himself, intent on taking her aside to have a little talk where few would hear them.

  Halfway there, he encountered another of his staff jogging up from the stables.

  “Your Excellency--”

  “Ahsan.” He did not stand on ceremony with his staff, even though many of them continued to try and use the more proper honorary. The man bowed his head, looking fretful.

  “Ahsan. She said she was only going to say goodbye to her mount. She is not in the stables now, so I assume she went back to the house.”

  “You're sure? You checked everywhere?” He pulled his phone out as his employee nodded agreement. She was not in the stables. A quick call
to other staff in the palace got a more serious search for Sessily underway. Ahsan scanned the front of the stables, wondering where she could have gone, and headed back to the homestead. It was a big building; she could be anywhere.

  Two hours later, his staff confirmed what he'd come to suspect.

  Sessily was gone.

  Chapter Twelve

  The unrelenting heat seared her skin, her scalp, her lungs. Sessily couldn't believe just how scorching the desert could be under a midday sun and, for the fifth time, had to stop and sip from her remaining water bottle. She'd rationed the water as best she was able, but now she was down to the last three swallows.

  It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. Her throat was dry as a bone.

  Tucking the empty bottle into her pocket in case she miraculously came upon a water source, she lifted a hand to shield her eyes and scanned the horizon.

  More nothingness. For hours she'd searched and searched for the air strip, positive she'd gone the right direction the evening before. No lights had ever come into view, however, and so she'd subtly altered her course, thinking she'd overshot her initial estimation.

  Now all she could see was sand dunes and desert in every direction. She wasn't even sure which direction she'd come from. What a fool she'd been to think she could just march away and conquer a desert that had probably claimed an endless number of lives.

  She'd left without thinking to bring a visor, sunglasses or lip balm. Or more importantly, sunscreen. And she was suffering for the lack. The skin of her forearms had surpassed tan and were approaching burnt territory, along with her cheeks, forehead and nose. A few times she'd drawn the collar of her shirt up over the back of her head, desperate for relief. Too awkward to walk that way for long, she'd reluctantly tugged it back into place.