Sheik's Revenge
Page 18
“That you loved your mother. That you needed her.”
Unexpected emotion seared into Faith’s eyes.
“Jesus, Omair. Did anyone ever suggest you become a shrink instead of a mercenary?” she snapped.
He laughed softly in the dark.
“Reading human nature is one of the most powerful tools of an assassin. You know that, Faith. So, did you love her?”
“I told you I hated her. She was weak.”
“But she’s the reason you became strong?”
“I don’t want to be her,” Faith said. “To the outside world my father was a war hero but inside the house he abused the bottle, abused her, abused me. Outside the house we pretended nothing was wrong, went to church on Sundays, smiled and shook hands with everyone. I started to hate my mom for not even trying to stand up to him. And then she took her life, just gave up, leaving me alone with my dad.”
“She didn’t protect her child.”
“No. Nor herself.”
“She must’ve been having a really rough time to do what she did.”
Faith blew out a breath and shivered. “I guess.” She was silent awhile. “I hated myself, too. For not being able to help her.” Her voice grew thick. “Because I did love her,” she said very softly, and tears filled her eyes. “I just…didn’t understand. I hurt. And…I never wanted to hurt like that again, Omair. Ever.”
He squeezed her hand.
Faith closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Admitting it was powerful, cathartic and it brought years of pent-up pain to the surface.
“I was just so angry, young, afraid when I ran away. I vowed never to be like either of them. I was bounced around foster homes, joined the army at first
opportunity. The military became my family, STRIKE became my way of hitting back.”
“And it led you here, Faith. To me. To us.”
God, she loved this man.
“And I won’t be my mother,” she said. “I will protect my child.”
“We will. Our child.”
They saw the chopper lights in the sky before they heard the sound.
Omair took his sat phone from the waterproof pouch and dialed.
“It’s them!” he said as his call was picked up. Faith released the emergency flares. They glowed like fiery pink parachutes in the sky, guiding the helicopters in.
*
Washington, D.C.
In the early dark hours of a stormy Saturday morning, Sam got the call from Isaiah.
“It’s done. They’re gone.”
Sam sat bolt upright in bed. “Both?”
Rain lashed against his bedroom window, thunder cracked.
“They were both on board when the yacht was hit with RPG fire. No one could have survived that explosion.”
Sam inhaled slowly, deeply. “And now we pray that she didn’t speak first.”
“It doesn’t matter—he’s gone. No one can prove anything.”
“I still want to seal our loose end in D.C.”
“Johnson?”
“Yes.”
“I should have it taken care of within the next ten days.”
Sam killed the call, lay back in his bed, and slowly he smiled. He could taste it—the Oval Office. The power. It was an aphrodisiac.
“Who was that, honey?” his wife asked sleepily next to him.
“Just some campaign news.”
“Good news?”
“Very good news.”
She turned to him and they made hard love as the storm raged outside.
*
Two days later, Kingdom of Al Na’Jar.
Omair, his arm proudly around Faith’s shoulders, led her into the green room of the summer palace in the north mountains. The air was cooler at this higher elevation, and it was an ideal place for Nikki and the brand-new twins to spend the hot months.
The babies had been born early and were considered a miracle after Nikki had been told she’d never have children again, let alone more twins. Faith had heard of childless couples suddenly able to conceive after adopting. Perhaps it was the hormones of happiness that did it. But after adopting seven war orphans, the king and queen were now parents of biological fraternal twins, a boy and a girl.
As they entered the room, Zakir was holding one of the babies. Nikki knelt by his side, guiding his hand over the newborn’s tiny features as the blind king committed them to memory.
Faith stilled in the doorway and stopped Omair with her hand. She didn’t want to intrude, and for a moment they watched silently from the sidelines.
King Zakir was taller than he looked in photos, and a slightly leaner version of Omair, but he had the same dusky skin, blue-black hair, aquiline features, dark almond-shaped eyes. Except his eyes stared straight ahead, sightless, as his beautiful fingers explored the line of a tiny newborn nose, rosebud lips. Zakir smiled at what he was touching and Faith’s heart clutched. She reached for Omair’s hand.
Nikki looked up, saw them.
“Hey,” she said, getting up, a warm smile lighting her eyes. “Zakir, Omair and Faith are here.”
Zakir handed the baby back to the nurse, his movements sure. And as he stood, his two slender salukis immediately surged to his side.
Resting his hand on the head of the tallest hound, he came confidently forward, his powerful stride befitting of a monarch.
He reached out his hand.
Faith took it in both of hers.
“It’s good to finally meet you, Zakir,” she said.
“And I cannot tell you how happy I am that you’re making an honest man out of our renegade brother.” He held on to her hands for a moment, staring into space over her shoulder. But in his touch she could feel his connection, his warmth, his sincerity.
“Congratulations, Faith, on your news,” he said quietly. “And welcome to our family.”
Emotion choked in her throat.
Zakir smiled then slapped his younger brother on the shoulder. “Come, you two… Come meet the newest Al Arif additions.”
Faith took a step forward, not quite able to absorb what a powerful impact the king’s words had on her.
Welcome to our family.
And she realized just how badly she’d wanted to belong to one. Her whole life she’d been running from the very thing she’d craved—a sense of belonging, and to be loved.
It had sent her down a hard, cold and solitary path, which ironically had led her here, to a most unusual extended family of incredible warmth, loyalty, honor. She glanced at Omair. He was making her a part of it without for a moment taking away her freedom. Or strength.
“Do you want to hold them?” Nikki asked Faith.
“Me?”
Nikki laughed. “It’ll give you practice. Looks like you could use some.”
A chair was pulled out, and the tiny infant twins were placed in Faith’s arms. A sense of awe washed over her. They were so perfect, so small. She glanced up at Omair, tears in her eyes, joy in her heart.
“It suits you, Faith.” He leaned down. “I’m still going to make you marry me,” he whispered near her ear.
“Just no picket fences, okay?”
He laughed.
“In the desert? I don’t think so.” And Omair kissed her. Over the scent of the babies, his heart was almost bursting with love and a new sense of purpose.
Family had new meaning for him now. Deeper than he could ever imagine.
And he would defend it to the death.
Epilogue
Washington, D.C., five days later.
Travis Johnson was six-three, dark-skinned and all rippling muscle. He walked as if he owned the space around him.
Dressed in a black balaclava, pants, leather jacket and gloves, Omair watched from the shadows in the dark and empty underground parking garage as Johnson strode toward his parked SUV.
As he came up to his vehicle, Johnson got his keys out from his pocket and pressed the remote. The alarm blipped as it disarmed. But before he could open the passenger do
or Omair lunged from the darkness and body-slammed him against the wall, pressing the blade of his jambiya to the man’s throat.
Omair was doing this for his wife-to-be, his child, his family, his country—his mission hadn’t changed, just grown in a way that had made him whole, and even more dangerous than before.
Because now he had a lot more to lose.
“Do you know who I am?” he whispered in Johnson’s ear.
Johnson tried to turn his head to look but Omair hit him square in the face. Johnson’s nose made a crunching noise and started to bleed. Raw fear entered his eyes.
“My name is Sheik Omair Al Arif,” he whispered through his mask as he pressed his dagger tighter against Johnson’s neck. The man’s body went wire-tense.
“I want to know who ordered Faith Sinclair’s last hit.”
Sweat began to bead over Johnson’s brow.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
Omair whipped out a smartphone, pressed a button, and held it in front of the man’s bleeding nose. “This is live, and this your wife and daughter.”
Johnson stiffened at the image on the phone of his wife and child walking through a mall.
“I know how important family is, Johnson, and I have people watching them right now, waiting for my orders. Do you want your wife to die? Do you want your daughter dead, too?”
“Okay,” he ground out through his teeth, eyes watering. “What do you want from me?”
“The name of the person who instructed you to send Faith after me.”
“It was my decision alone.” His voice was hoarse.
Omair pressed the dagger harder against the carotid pumping furiously in Johnson’s neck. Skin broke and blood began to dribble to his collar.
“I don’t believe you really want to take this one for the team, Johnson. Your orders came from higher up. I want the name of the man who ordered me dead or I give my men the order to pick up your wife and child.”
He swallowed against the blade. “Okay, okay. His name is—”
But the sound of a motorbike thundering into the parking garage stopped him. Johnson’s gaze flashed toward the sound. So did Omair’s. Tires squealed as the bike roared around the corner, past them.
Omair ducked quickly behind a post as a soft thwock sounded. The bike roared off. Johnson’s eyes went white and wide. His body spasmed, and a small, dark hole in the middle of his forehead started to ooze.
Omair watched from the shadows as Travis Johnson’s body slid to the ground, taking his secrets and a possible link to the New Moor with him. Omair and Faith might have won this battle—and found love in the process—but the war against the Al Arif family was not yet over.
*
Don’t miss Tariq’s story,
SURGEON SHEIK’S RESCUE,
the next thrilling installment of
Loreth Anne White’s new miniseries,
SAHARA KINGS.
Available September 2012,
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ISBN: 9781459230682
Copyright © 2012 by Loreth Beswetherick
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