by Milly Taiden
As if he would. Ahsan wanted no part of it.
“What bothers me about it all,” Chayton continued, “is the after.”
“The after?” Ahsan frowned, trying to catch up to Chayton's thought.
Sander, Leander and Mattias all glanced at Chayton.
“Yes. After the 'humiliation'. What will you do with the women? Not send them back to Bashir. I know you better than that. So you'll take them home and try to find their families, or where they came from. Yes?” Chayton studied Ahsan with vibrant blue eyes.
“Yes. I hinted as much at the gala,” Ahsan said. He considered Chayton's odd wording. 'find their families'. The women were just actresses, no doubt, and would probably disperse on their own. A prick of unease struck then, and he understood that there might be more to the situation than it seemed on the surface. Bashir was his brother—Ahsan automatically tended to put the man from his mind as quickly as possible, but an outsider might see details he couldn't.
“So you win a humanitarian award—for your work breaking up human trafficking rings—and Bashir tries to humiliate you with a harem. With women that, if anyone thought hard enough about it, probably came from one of those rings. The very thing you're lauded for. I find that to be too much of a coincidence,” Chayton said.
The room grew quiet.
“I assumed they were probably actresses playing a part,” Ahsan finally admitted. He could feel a muscle ticking in his cheek. Were those women real hostages? Ill gotten from a trafficking ring? No wonder Chayton seemed so insistent that there could be more here than met the eye.
“They might be. I bet they're not,” Chayton said. “I bet, when you inquire, that they're all from one of those rings. Your brother just delivered you a big slap in the face.”
Ahsan finished the rest of his drink in one swallow. He had half a mind to march down to the rooms he'd acquired for the women and start questioning them himself. Instead, he took out his cell phone and fired off a text. His most trusted man, the best of the assassins that guarded his own life, would find out what he needed to know.
“That's just...” Leander paused, as if he was too dumbstruck to continue.
“Wrong on about a hundred levels,” Mattias said, clearly unhappy.
“Well, we have our work cut out for us,” Sander added. “Starting tonight, I'll make some calls to see if we can start tracking down when and where Bashir might have gotten them from. If it's what Chayton says, then we have another ring to bust.”
“You won't be doing much of anything,” Mattias said to Sander.
“I can make calls.” Sander gave his brother a dark look that held no real heat.
“He's right,” Ahsan said to Sander. He hated to back Mattias up, but the King of Latvala couldn't put his life at risk, which was why he never actively went out on missions with the rest of them. Still part of the group, Sander helped in other, innocuous ways. “Going out to bust the ring can't happen, but there is no harm in phone calls.”
Sander reached across the counter and helped himself to another three fingers of liquor. He said nothing more.
Ahsan knew how frustrating it must be for Sander. He knew how active and smart the King was, how much he enjoyed going on missions. Being the ruler of a kingdom came with responsibilities that Sander couldn't easily escape.
“There's more,” Chayton said, drawing everyone's attention again.
Ahsan clenched his teeth. What else was he missing? “What?”
Chayton leaned forward, resting both elbows on the bar's surface. Cupping his drink in his hands, he met each of the men's eyes, landing on Ahsan last. “He will expect you to discover, at some point, that the women are from a trafficking ring. Given your nature of breaking them up, he would reasonably expect you to go and try to break that one up.”
“Of course,” Leander said, frowning. “Where are you going with this, Chayton?”
“What if you get to the ring, we're in the middle of dismantling it, and it turns out to be a trap?” Chayton said.
Once more, silence descended on the group. Ahsan broke it with a vicious curse in Arabic. Then he said, “What kind of a trap?”
“I don't know. Perhaps he'll set you up. Make it appear as if you're really somehow involved. Or maybe you'll have an 'accident'. The thing is—I just see this event as more than public humiliation at a party. It's deeper, more thought out. Maybe it's not a trap, but I'm positive that those women are here for another reason.” Chayton finally took a drink.
The man had a mind like a steel trap. Ahsan rubbed his eyelids with two fingers, and admitted to himself that Chayton could be right. Bashir was a bastard of enormous magnitude, and it would not be beneath him to plot such a thing. Two other brothers in their bloodline had already perished under suspicious circumstances, men who the Emir had favored to take the throne. This was not uncommon in their savage history, where centuries of ancestors had done the same thing, knocking off a sibling intended to rule. It was a dog eat dog world, Ahsan knew, and nothing at all could be discounted.
“We'll be extra careful then. In fact, why don't you, Leander and Mattias put some feelers out, see what you find. I'll tap my contacts as well and when we have a better idea, I'll join you for a raid.”
“I think that's a wise idea,” Mattias said. He toasted Chayton in silence, a salute to the man's flexible mental capability.
Sander, Leander and Ahsan followed suit. They might have missed this crucial possibility had Chayton not thought ahead that far.
Finishing their drinks, the men set their glasses on the counter within seconds of each other.
“Let's go get the ball rolling,” Leander said.
“Call me if you find anything out, no matter what time it is,” Ahsan said. “I'll be departing early in the morning for home, but I can leave whenever I need to.”
“Oh?” Sander asked, sliding off the bar stool. “I thought you were staying another day?”
“I have a race to attend.” That was all Ahsan said.
“He's got a date,” Leander said, “with that lady he was fawning over.”
“You're lucky you're out of reach,” Ahsan said, but didn't deny he had plans with Sessily.
Leander shot a wink over his shoulder, and led the way out of the suite.
Ahsan exchanged goodbyes with his brethren, then tipped his head back when he was alone and stared at the ceiling.
His life just got a lot more complicated.
***
Chapter Four
Sessily's determination of Ahsan's lifestyle got blown out of the water as she embarked onto his private plane. She knew he was wealthy—he wouldn't have been at the gala if he wasn't—but the gilded jet, with its white leather furniture featuring gold trim—surpassed all her expectations. The layout was more like an upscale apartment than a plane, with sofas, plush chairs, a highly polished bar and a back room she couldn't see because the door was closed. A stewardess served her anything she wanted, from drinks to food to extra pillows for comfort, while Ahsan excused himself briefly to make a few calls.
Bashir had sent her to Dubai on a commercial liner with a handful of escorts, and that was the way she'd expected to return, not in this extreme lap of luxury.
Ahsan rejoined her not long after take-off, and proved to be a witty if distracted companion for the trip to his home country of Afshar. She couldn't imagine what it was like to have an entire country attached to your name, or to be a part of the ruling family. It was so far from how she'd lived her modest life, and how she was raised, that sometimes she had difficulty grasping it all.
With the sun beating against the wings of the aircraft, Sessily watched out the windows, mesmerized by the sapphire sea below. Soon the waters of the Persian Gulf gave way to endless sand dunes, the beige colors turned a more fiery orange under the heat of a late summer day. She saw signs of a few cities, simple intersecting lines spread out in a grid, so small from this distance.
Then they were landing, the jet smoothly touching down
on the tarmac. Taxiing around the runways, the jet rolled up near a small but pristine building of white. Ahsan himself lowered the staircase allowing them to descend to the ground, and offered her the aid of his hand for stability. She hardly needed it; the aircraft was as sturdy as the earth, along with the heavy staircase.
Taking his hand anyway, she allowed him to escort her down, then released him as they traversed the short distance to the building. It was much hotter than she thought it would be, hotter than Dubai, and was glad of the linen outfit she'd chosen to wear. Cream slacks fit her loose through the thighs, allowing arid air to billow up from the hem and over her skin. A short sleeved button down several shades lighter than the pants had elegant embroidery on the lapels, simple yet tasteful. Bashir had provided a glut of clothing for her to choose from to take to Dubai, and this was one of those outfits.
A blast of cool air ruffled her upswept hair, tearing out a few strands as they entered the structure. In the large open space, sofas of white and gold trim—matching that inside the plane—sat at angles to each other. Seating for Ahsan and his guests, no doubt. Everything was pale and clean here, with glossy floors and tall windows overlooking either the desert or the airstrip. Doors led off this main room where employees came and went. No one bothered Ahsan however as he led her across the floor to an opposite set of doors and out to a waiting limousine.
Handing her inside, he followed and sprawled on the seat, long legs stretched out before him. Here, too, the white-and-gold theme continued. Tufted seats ran the back and up both sides, able to accommodate perhaps six or seven people comfortably. A little bar with glasses and drinks sat near the door, though Ahsan didn't reach for any.
Departing the private airport, Sessily got her first real look at Ahsan's homeland. All she saw was...desert. Sand, in small rising and falling dunes, stretched as far as the eye could see. Bashir had brought her to Afshar under the cover of night, and she'd left for Dubai the same. But now she could see the far reaching dunes, not a tree in sight. Raised in territory where trees were abundant and striking, she wasn't sure what to make of this nothingness. Several times she caught a glimpse of the road they traveled weaving off into the distance, disappearing behind a curving dune or the horizon.
How far did they have to travel?
Hyper aware of him next to her, Sessily tried not to be affected. He'd worn suit slacks of black and another white shirt, the sleeves already rolled away from his wrists. The boots were the same, with the silver at the tip and heel. She had the impression that these were not the clothes he was most comfortable in, but the clothes acceptable to wear coming and going from places like Dubai.
He took a few calls on the way, switching to his native language. Sessily couldn't understand a word of it, and had a hard time deciphering his tone.
Some minutes later, a pale shape beyond the windows drew her attention away from the Sheikh. It was the first hint of a structure for miles, and they were too far for her to make out what, exactly, it was. A curve in the road put the building straight ahead, half obliterated by a tinted dividing window, the driver and passenger of the limousine, and the rear view mirror. She couldn't see much, which was frustrating and intriguing at the same time.
She needn't have worried. The immense palace solidified as they drew closer, a behemoth that looked as big as twenty houses. Bone white against the golden color of the desert sands that surrounded it, with arabesque archways and exotic architecture, the palace sat square in the middle of nowhere. The desert stretched as far as the eye could see in any direction, with a single road—the one they were on—leading in and out.
The limousine slowed as they pulled up under a large breezeway in front of the tallest arch, and moments later cruised to a stop. Attendants headed to the limousine, unloading both her and Ahsan's luggage from the trunk.
“We're here,” Ahsan said with a teasing wink, and disembarked when someone opened the back door.
“This isn't a home, it's an entire city block,” she retorted with a quiet laugh. She followed suit from her side and met him before the archway, staring up at the facade with no small amount of wonder. It was impossible to her that someone actually lived here, that it was one person's home. Well—one person with an army of employees.
When she glanced aside to see his reaction, she discovered Ahsan looking at the entrance as if seeing it for the first time, and finding it lacking. He seemed unimpressed.
“You ready?” he asked, gesturing with a hand. Rather than play gentleman, he stepped forward whether she was ready or not, walking tall with brisk strides through the twin columns supporting the arch.
Following, because she wouldn't stand there and gawk when he was clearly ready to move on, Sessily's wonder grew into disbelief. A domed ceiling patterned in turquoise and gold rose above a sprawling foyer, with hallways stretching to each side. 'Hallways' wasn't a proper term for such grandiose space. It was like being in a mall without all the shoppers. Gold glinted everywhere. Marble gleamed. Statues stood in niches, most of an Egyptian theme, and heavy tapestries lined the walls. Alabaster columns were situated at intervals, as intricately carved as any she'd ever seen. The palace was so luxurious and opulent that Sessily couldn't wrap her mind around how many millions it must have cost to build.
Despite the heat of the day, the interior was cool and comforting. Ahsan didn't look left or right, leading her straight toward a broad staircase to the second floor.
“Did you make arrangements to have your steed delivered?” he asked.
“I'm sorry, what?” Distracted to an impossible degree, she temporarily forgot about the race.
“Your horse? Did you make arrangements?”
Arriving on the second floor, she dragged her attention back to her host. “Oh, yes. They expect to be here tomorrow.”
“Excellent. We'll have our race the day after.”
“That's perfect. Is this...do you live here with family?” She'd decided just one person couldn't possibly own all this. Perhaps it was a compound where all the relatives visited from time to time.
“No. This is my home. All the staff you see are just that, staff. I do host friends often, though.” He swerved in through an open door, one of many in the long hallway.
Sessily stepped into the room behind him, pausing just past the threshold. It was a bedroom suite with multiple rooms, a canopied bed, marble columns and persian rugs thrown across the floor. The color scheme was delicate: peach, ivory, pale turquoise. Six floor to ceiling windows marked one wall with double doors leading to a large balcony.
That was where Ahsan headed, to the double doors, which he opened. “You can see the stables from here.”
“Your home—it's amazing.” She couldn't help herself. Never in her life had she experienced anything like it.
“Thank you.”
On the balcony, she discovered just how big the palace was. A large courtyard sat below, surrounded by more walls and buildings, all connected together. Not just a courtyard but an oasis, replete with a huge pool, tall palms and different levels of concrete and rocks that made up separate sitting areas. Flowers, greenery and more trees dotted the landscape, a lush contrast to the barren desert she could see beyond the walls. That was where she spied another building, lower than the palace with fenced pastures and several arenas. Shaped in an L, the stables could have housed more than a hundred horses. Could have, and probably did. It was his passion, after all.
“Where will we race?” she asked next.
He lifted an arm, pointing toward a specific area. “It's hard to see from here, but there's a place we run beyond that first, small dune. The sand is a little thinner there and winds through the landscape, a natural 'track' if you will.”
“How many times have you ridden it?”
“Too many to count,” he said with a raspy laugh. Bracing an arm against the thick rail, he brought his gaze up from the courtyard to her.
With the exotic background behind him, he was the picture of a rich playboy.
Sessily could have gotten lost in his intense, dark eyes.
“I think it's only fair, then, that you allow me at least one pass over the track. You'll have an advantage, otherwise.” He had an advantage for more reasons than that. Sessily also wanted time in the saddle to acclimate. How embarrassed she would be if she fell off during the race.
“Of course. Have two or three passes. We'll go out later, if you want to, when it cools off in the evening.”
“How generous of you.”
“Should I ride blindfolded, too?” he asked, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
“Oh no. Because then I would never hear the end of your handicaps when I win fair and square.”
“But if I beat you blindfolded, you'll still never hear the end of it,” he countered.
She laughed, resting her hand on the railing. It was already hot under her palm. “This is true. But no. I'll have you with all your senses intact.”
He arched his brows.
Sessily realized how her comment sounded and quirked a smile. Men. They were all the same. “What will we do until then?”
“What would you like to do?”
“Have a tour of your home.” She was impatient to see all the things there were to see.
“Then you'll have a tour of my home. We can have lunch and swim or whatever you like after that.” Straightening, he pushed a hand through his hair. “If this room suits, it's yours. I have a few calls to make, so when you're done unpacking, come downstairs.”
Sessily led the way inside and closed the balcony doors behind them. Someone, one of the staff, had left her suitcase against the inner wall. “It won't take me long.”
“I didn't think it would. If you need anything, use that phone by the bed and dial one. Someone will pick up.”