Silas’s cell pings with a text then his laptop signals an incoming secure email. When he double-clicks on the attachment, he leans back in his chair with his bottom jaw hanging down to his lap.
“What? What the fuck is it, Silas?”
“Hey! What are you doing in here? Get out before I call security! Let go of me! Noooo…”
“Tawnee!” I scream at the speaker, as if she can hear me, as if it’ll stop whoever is doing whatever to her. “Silas—fucking say something!”
“Rafael listed Tawnee as the beneficiary for his entire estate—everything he owns is automatically hers upon his death.”
“Good. But his death isn’t the one I’m concerned about right now. Move your ass—we have to go help her!”
“They have also recorded a will in Tawnee’s name, leaving everything she owns to Rafael in the event of her death. It was dated six months ago.” He jumps up as he speaks and opens a zippered compartment of his suitcase, retrieving a packet of guitar strings and two short metal poles. “Here. You’ll need this.”
When I realize he just handed me a garrote wire, I’m impressed with his knowledge and skills all over again. I was ready to go in with fists flying. This will be much more effective. Steal up behind Rafael, wrap the guitar string around his neck, and twist the poles until he’s dead. It results in a silent kill, no need for a gun, and no ruckus to alert security.
“Perfect. I hope this cuts his fucking head off.”
Chapter 20
Tawnee
Four large men in expensive Armani suits stormed into Rafael’s room, dragged me off the couch, and down the steps to the first floor of the suite. Raf casually strolls down the stairs with a carefree grin on his face.
“Ah, I see you’ve met my associates. Good. Formal introductions aren’t exactly necessary at this stage. You know, I wasn’t sure about going through with this at first. After all this time you’ve been my head of security, I thought you were loyal to me. I was confident I could convince you to marry me by confessing my love for you.
“But all of a sudden, your entire personality changed. You didn’t argue when I had your personal belongings moved from your room to mine. That’s not the Tawnee I know. She would’ve raised hell with me over that. Then you kept favoring a certain seat on the couch, and you wanted to eat on the couch instead of at the table. Those signs were just a little too telling. We didn’t find your bug, but I know it’s somewhere in that room. Your friends have been listening to our conversations, checking up on me.” He turns his attention to the brutes holding me. “Get her ready.”
One wraps a roll of thick, black duct tape around my head, covering my mouth and underneath my chin several times. Another man binds my hands behind my back. The third man approaches with a boshiya, a thick black veil that completely covers my head and face. There isn’t even a hole for my eyes. Then they cover me with an abaya, a traditional Muslim dress that hides my regular clothes underneath, all the way down to my shoes, and makes me feel as if I’m wearing a heavy tent.
“Perfect. Your friends will be here soon, looking for you. I know that. But when they break in and find my suite empty and all your belongings gone, they’ll assume you’ve been taken elsewhere. Then they’ll leave. The best part is you’ll still be on the property, attending our wedding. When the wild goose chase ends, and they realize they were never anywhere close to you, it’ll be far too late for them to backtrack and find you. No body, no crime.”
I can’t flip him off, tell him what I think, or even give him a dirty look. He wouldn’t be able to see or hear anything from under all this garb, anyway. Now I wish I’d taken him out when I had the chance. Never, in a million years, would I have thought he could be this devious.
Then Tabitha walks down the steps, wearing a gorgeous, modern, A-line wedding dress with spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline. Lace appliques cover the skirt. She styled her hair the same as mine. She applied her makeup to look like mine, right down to the eyeliner that changes the shape of her eyes. Even if I could speak through the layers of duct tape covering my mouth, I wouldn’t be able to say a single word.
“Ah, Tawnee,” Raf greets Tabitha. My eyes dart between the two of them, even though they can’t see me under this thick black veil. “Are you ready to marry me today?”
“I’m more than ready to marry you, Raf. I’ve been in love with you for so long, and after my kidnapping, I finally faced my true feelings. I’m so excited to become Mrs. Tawnee Milano-Cruz today.” Tabitha’s smile beams, exactly like a true bride.
She walks straight to me, searching for my face under the black shawl. “You must wonder why, after all this time, I’d betray you like this. It’s really very simple—my loyalty was never to you. Rafael is the one who has paid our salaries all these years. Without him, none of us would have had such a prestigious position. And for marrying him today while pretending to be you, he will set me up for life. Carter and I will be able to sail off into the sunset together, debt-free and without a care in the world. You could have had this for yourself, Tawnee. All you had to do was say yes when he asked you to marry him.”
They may have tied my hands behind my back, but my legs are still free. For now. Time to sweep the leg, Johnny. My Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu training comes in handy right about now. With a standing leg sweep, I knock her to the ground, pounce on top of her, and squeeze with my thighs until I hear ribs crack. She may sail off into the sunset, but it’ll be with a long-term reminder of who she stabbed in the back to get there. The men surrounding me are too shocked at first to react quickly, but when they do, arms grab me from every direction and pull me off her. I squeeze my thighs tighter, lifting her off the floor with me until my legs can’t hold her weight and I drop her flat on her back with a thud.
“Enough!” Raf bellows. “Tabitha, go fix yourself up again until you look perfect. We’ll be waiting for you downstairs for the ceremony. Carter will walk you down the aisle and give you away.”
I glance around, looking for the other members of my team. I’d love to know if they’re part of this mutiny or if something has happened to them. They weren’t here when we came in late last night after the hostage release. Has Raf killed Jason and John or turned them to the dark side with Tabitha and Carter?
She limps away to fix herself up, but not before throwing a nasty scowl my way. If only she could see the eye daggers I’m tossing her way.
Raf holds up his phone, showing me a live feed of Roman and Silas in the car. “Did you really think I wouldn’t have them followed after they dropped you off last night? I know they’re on their way here to rescue you. Perfect timing. Let’s go get married, shall we?”
Two of the men from behind me walk toward the spare bedroom and return with my suitcases. I know they have packed all my personal possessions, leaving no trace of me behind. There are ways to make everything disappear—security footage, passports, people—with the right amount of money. Raf has that in spades.
“Bring her.”
The other two men grab my arms and force me to follow Raf out of the suite, to the elevator, and outside. The wedding planner has been hard at work decorating the grassy courtyard with white linen-covered chairs, a shimmering walkway lined with white flowers and glossy green foliage, and a flowing gossamer-wrapped arbor. Set against the blue sea, sky, and bright sun, it’s a ceremony any bride would dream of having.
If she’s standing next to her groom of choice, that is.
The chairs are already full of guests, all excited to see Rafael Cruz get hitched. My goons force me into a chair in the middle of the row, next to other women in varying degrees of similar dress, where I’m less likely to be noticed. The music starts, quickly followed by oohs and ahs from the crowd. The only reason I even glance over at Tabitha is to see if she’s grimacing from her cracked ribs and shallow breaths.
She’s in a lot of pain.
That makes me smile on the inside. I can’t physically smile under all this duct tape.
; They must have told the minister to zip through the formalities because he takes no time in getting to the vows, the I Do’s, and pronouncing Mr. and Mrs. Cruz as man and wife, sealed with a kiss and exchange of rings. When the guests stand to clap and cheer, my bodyguards force me up and quietly slip away from the adoring fans waiting to throw birdseed at the happy couple.
When we reach the fleet of Rolls-Royce limos, one man stops me, harshly jerks me to face him, and lifts my veil. “Your name is Tawnee Lia Milano? Is that correct?”
Anger burns in his eyes and his face is scrunched up in disgust. This instantly feels very different from just a few minutes ago.
I nod my head slowly, afraid to confirm his question. How would he know my full name?
“This is her. This is the one. We’re taking her back with us.”
“But Rafael said—”
“I don’t care what he said. He lied to us about her name. She is the one we’ve been looking for after all. We’re taking her now.” He puts the veil back in place, shoves me into the back seat of the car despite my kicks and fighting, and instructs the driver to go.
As we drive away from the hotel, I continue to struggle against them, trying to reach the door to fling myself out of the moving car, then one of the men punches me in the face, knocking me out.
When I come to, everything is upside down. Then I see feet below me, moving swiftly. Shifting to get a better look, I realize I’ve been flung over one of the brute’s shoulders, and he’s carrying me toward a small jet. I begin to fight again, knowing certain death awaits me if I allow them to take off with me aboard that plane.
“Be still or I will break your neck and leave your body right here for the animals to eat while you’re still alive.” His angry growl sends shivers down my spine because he means what he says.
I look around to figure out where we are, but all I see in every direction is flat sand and heat monkeys jumping in the distance. Nothing distinguishable for miles. Without knowing exactly how long I’ve been out, I make an educated guess that I’m outside of Dubai, in the UAE, on my way to Saudi Arabia.
As a woman, they will strip my rights away from me the moment I cross into their country—no voice of my own, no way to get across the border, and no value as a fellow human being. And that’s the best-case scenario I can hope for now. The odds of Roman—or anyone—finding me are statistically impossible. Not improbable. Impossible.
He deposits me in a seat at the rear of the plane where two other women wait. When he rejoins the other men at the front of the aircraft, the two women act quickly to untie my numb hands and remove the tape from my mouth and hair—as much as they can. When the blood rushes back into my hands, the pain is excruciating. With the first noise I make, the women shush me and nervously glance toward the men. One massages my hands while the other woman applies oil to my hair to loosen the adhesive residue. Seems they have more than a little practice at remedying these medieval torture tactics.
After she removes the last of the tape, the lady working on my hair removes a new scarf from her bag and wraps it around my head and neck, covering my hair and every inch of exposed skin. With my arms untied, I’m able to wear the abaya correctly, making it much more comfortable than before. But from the way the man spoke my name, I’m not convinced an abundance of comfort will be found when we land.
“Do you speak English?” I whisper to the ladies.
“Yes,” the younger of the two whispers back. “I am Anisa, and this is my sister, Farrah.”
“I’m Tawnee. Where are they taking me?”
“To a village on the outskirts of Riyadh.” Anisa watches the front of the plane closely. Her discomfort with talking to me is clear.
“Why? What do they want from me?”
The sisters lock eyes, silently deciding whether to answer my question.
“Please tell me. I do not understand why they want me or what they expect from me.” That’s not a complete lie. I have ideas, but they’re unconfirmed suspicions. To know what my next move should be, I need confirmation.
“Because they know you’re the woman who’s trying to take over our oil business and overthrow our Crown Prince.” Farrah sounds as though she completely believes the rumors that are no doubt running rampant about me throughout the kingdom.
Exaggerations and fabrications only add to the hysteria, making me public enemy number one across the country. Next, they’ll say I’m after their husbands. Not a chance, sister.
“Farrah, I promise you neither is true. Look at me—do I look like I have the money to buy the controlling shares in SAOR? I don’t own shares in any company. Also, I have no interest in being your new Crown Princess, or whatever that title would be. All I want is to go back to my home in my country. How can I do that? How can I get home?”
“This is not possible, Tawnee. The mutawa—the virtue police—have you in custody now. They can hold you indefinitely for such severe offenses.” Anisa is clearly the more empathetic of the two.
I know what the religious police are about—they’re the plainclothes officers who roam the streets to enforce their public morality laws however they deem fit.
The sisters take their seats when the plane starts to move and stay silent for the two-hour flight. I know exactly how long we were in the air… because I count every second of it. If I have any hope of escaping back to Dubai, I need a way to calculate the distance and direction. Getting out of this country is my one and only goal.
When we land, the morality police—which is a complete oxymoron to me, because I believe it’s immoral to mistreat women—snatch me up out of my seat and haul me off the plane and straight into the back seat of yet another car. When we stop, it’s at a dull, tan building, mostly made of clay. The windows are all covered by a thick rattan wood. An eight-foot fence lines the edge around the entire rooftop of the building to prevent the prisoners from escaping or jumping to their death.
I’m thrown into a dimly lit cell, with only a hard cot, a thin blanket, and a toilet. Male guards patrol back and forth along the path in front of the bars, simultaneously sneering at me with disgust and leering at me with lust in their eyes. Pitiful sounds echo throughout the sparsely furnished common room. Women cry from every corner of the prison—some scream, some make strange animal noises, and others sound as though they’re talking to themselves.
None of this bodes well for me.
A loud bell rings and all the guards congregate in one corner of the room, unroll their rugs, and bow to begin their mandatory prayer time. While they’re all busy, I crouch on the floor at the edge of my cell, closest to the woman beside me, and loudly whisper to get her attention.
“Hey, what’s your name? Mine is Tawnee. Do you understand English?”
“Yes. Most of my country does. My name is Lara.”
“Why are you in here, Lara?”
“Because I ran away from my brother.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean.”
“He was my guardian, but he was very cruel. He used to beat me and make me into his slave. When I ran away, the police caught me and put me in here. My brother refuses to get me out, so the police can keep me as long as they want, or they can sell me as a bride to anyone they choose.”
My heart breaks in two for her. She’s resigned to her fate and doesn’t have the strength to fight it any longer. “Lara, I’m so sorry, but maybe we can help each other. Is there a way out of here? Any way out?”
“No, there’s no escape from this place. I’ve been here more than five years now, and my brother still refuses to take me back. Even if I could escape, I have nowhere to go.”
“You can go with me. If we get out, I will take you with me.”
“We won’t be allowed out of the country without my male guardian’s approval. Since I no longer have a male guardian, I can’t get approval to leave. You can’t either. Even as a foreigner, you’re required to have a male escort at all times when in public.” I’m sure her argument makes se
nse to her—this is her culture and what they have ingrained in her since birth. I’m not as willing to accept the rule of another over me.
“Lara, if we break out of jail, it’ll be without the help of a male guardian. We’ll also sneak across the border without the permission of a male guardian, because we’ll be badass prison escapees by then. Who needs a guardian when you’re a badass?”
“There’s a moment when they leave us alone in the infirmary after the electric shock torture. The woman who runs the infirmary is the commander’s wife, so none of the male guards can stay in there with her. If we could somehow pull ourselves together inside that room, we could make a run for it.”
“Do they take everyone for torture at the same time?”
“No, it’s scheduled by which cell we’re in. You and I will go together in two days, according to our cell numbers.”
So much can happen in this hellhole over the next two days.
Is it wrong that I wish for our torture session to come sooner?
Chapter 21
Roman
“Dude, run over them, knock them out of the way, push them off the road. Do something!” I yell at Silas, knowing there’s nothing he can do about gridlock traffic on the main road in Dubai that runs parallel to the beach.
“Don’t look now, but we’re being watched. There’s a guy in the car two lanes over, one car back, who’s been following us. Assume the worst when we rush in.” Silas checks the rearview mirror again, watching our tail while they watch us.
“Are you above being a pirate?”
“Not at all. It’s my dream job. What’s your plan?”
“Pull in to that marina and let’s commandeer one of those boats from the rental place. Since we’re making a water entrance to the hotel anyway, we might as well do it in style. We can ditch our stalkers while we’re at it.”
“Great idea. There’s no way they’ll get over in this bumper-to-bumper traffic to follow us out there. Now to get past the guys on the docks.”
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