by Delta James
“Are you insane?” she sobbed. “You c-can’t… c-can’t…”
“Says the woman who just tried to have me killed!” he snapped. “Want to tell me why?”
Her jaw dropped. Startled, she even stopped rubbing.
“You really are crazy! Why would I do that?”
“You tell me! And while you’re at it, tell me why you were running like that, leading me a merry chase through back alleys and backyard gardens?”
“I never—”
He stood up so fast, he knocked the chair he’d been sitting in over. Grabbing his belt, he had it unfastened and half yanked free before she shrieked and jumped back. Doubling his belt in his hand, he grabbed her wrist when she threw up her hands to stop him.
“I was running away!” she shouted. Bursting into tears again, she wailed that phrase twice more as he yanked her around, holding her arm while he raised his belt raised high, but he never struck her with it. He stopped when it suddenly sunk in what she was confessing.
He stared at her—her breasts were heaving as she breathed, the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat was beating wild, and her chocolate eyes were wide, watery, scared, and sad. What the hell was going on? More importantly, just who was Aliya Abdal, and what kind of game was she playing?
“Why?” he demanded.
She stared at him, her twisting dance to tuck her bottom out of his belt’s reach dwindling away to nothing.
“Because he’s horrible,” she said softly, shoulders slumping as she covered her face with both hands. Bowing, she wept into them. “He’s a monster.”
Caught completely out of his element, Christian lowered his belt. Where was the spoiled little rich girl he thought had been manipulating him just seconds ago? Where was the liar? Every instinct inside him was positive of the truth, she kept sobbing into her hands until the pain of her bottom became too much, and she reached back to rub it. The liar was gone, and in her place stood a young woman with a hot, sore bottom, her virginity gone, and he was the one responsible for both.
Aliya sniffled, scrubbing at her eyes with the back of her wrist.
“Please don’t tell my brother,” she begged.
Please don’t tell her brother? He’d just spanked and fucked her? How did that man in the garden factor into her trying to run away? Slowly, Christian lowered his belt.
Fariq would lock her in a cage if he so much as even suspected she was trying to leave him. If he found out Christian had taken her virginity, he’d kill them both. Shit. He had ruined her—in her brother’s eyes if no one else’s—and for that alone, he was now responsible for what happened to her. Christian stared into her pleading eyes, knowing that all the way to his soul.
“Please?” she whispered. “He’ll never let me out of his sight if he knows what happened.”
Jesus, she was trusting. There wasn’t another man in Fariq’s employ he would have trusted to keep a secret like this. That she’d begged it of him just showed how desperate she was.
Or stupid.
Or just incredibly naïve.
That was the one trait anyone related to Fariq should ever have possessed. Yet here she was, standing right in front of him, pleading with the most beautiful, forlorn eyes he’d ever risked falling into, while the world continued to turn, smoke from the bombing pouring up to stain the sky above the buildings, and police shouted and searched all up and down the street around them.
One was looking right at them. The bored look on his face suggested he’d not only seen the spanking, but he was mentally chalking it up to Aliya being caught somewhere she never should have been. Obviously, people involved in terroristic activities didn’t stop in the middle of it to punish one another. This was an unrelated domestic matter, so they were being left alone.
Christian put his belt back on.
“What did he give you?”
That she knew exactly who he meant but still wanted to try to hide it only threw another log on the damned fire of naivety he wished wasn’t burning so bright inside her. He hadn’t been this close to a truly guileless person in… he couldn’t even remember, but his own sister, Finn, sprang to mind. The unexpected surge of protectiveness that swelled was nearly blinding.
“M-Money?” She wrung her hands, stammering the word so badly, it came out sounding as if she were asking instead of answering his question. She was a horrible, horrible liar.
Frowning, he only had to touch his belt again before she hastily changed her answer.
“A piece of paper, b-but I don’t know what was on it! I swear, I don’t! I…” She wilted right in front of his reproving eyes. “I dropped it.”
Considering how rotten she was at hiding the truth, that was probably for the best.
“Who was he?” he asked a bit more gently. “Interpol, CIA, NATO?”
She shrugged, then seemed to collapse in on herself.
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before. H-He wasn’t the man I usually see. He said the man I used to talk to died in an accident yesterday, and he’s not the first one.” She shook her head. “How are they supposed to help me if they keep dying?” The latter, she said to herself.
Shit. If she was talking to someone from any one of those agencies, this kind of secret could get her killed. And him as well, just by sheer association. What the hell had she gotten herself into? Did she have a clue how much danger they were in… how much danger she had put them in? Fariq would kill them both without batting an eye. He didn’t know which agency had hung her out to dry, but he had no intention of doing the same. He hadn’t been responsible for anyone but himself in so long, he was surprised the prospect didn’t leave him rattled. He had to get her to safety but without it coming back to get him killed. The last thing he needed was Fariq looking at him any more suspiciously than he already did.
He tilted her chin up with his hand.
“I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but you’re done playing spy.” He didn’t try to soften his tone or spare her feelings. “You are so far out of your league, you’re only going to get hurt or killed. I know Fariq loves you, but if you think for a second, he is capable of loving anyone beyond proof of their disloyalty, you don’t know him half as well as you think you do. You also have no idea how horrible he really can be if you give him a reason. So, stop trying.” He started to turn away but stopped. “I don’t know who your handler is, but from this point on, you answer to me. You’re my responsibility. You ever run from me or put me through anything like this again, I promise I’ll blister your butt and fuck your ass. I’ll make what happened today feel like a Sunday morning spent in bed with a man who loves you. Got it?”
Her eyebrows buckled, giving him the distinct impression she didn’t. Jesus, he didn’t do innocence, but he had bigger problems to figure out than whether losing her virginity had confounded her or if she just didn’t understand how he could make the spanking she’d just received ever feel wonderful. He was putting his money on the latter because nobody was that innocent, right? After all, the second he’d encountered her maidenhead, he’d tried to pull back, and she had shoved her cunt down his cock. Nobody in this day and age, who responded the way she had, could be that innocent.
He couldn’t afford to dwell on that right now, though. Fariq would expect him to get Aliya back to the yacht, especially after an attack like the one he’d launched on the market. There was no delaying that, but now he had bigger issues to figure out.
Who was the man she’d met with, and what was he going to do about Lamar—the man who had looked right at him, known exactly who he was, and still taken a shot at him—on whose order?
Every instinct was convinced if Aliya was telling the truth about not being involved—and he was inclined to think she was—that left only one other person. Fariq. No one else in his employ would have had the balls. But why?
His gut prickled, dread flowing cold through his veins. As his mind raced to connect what he didn’t know, the actions of today matched the only possi
ble cause that made sense—after so many years as a double agent in Fariq’s employ, he’d finally been found out. Or had Fariq discovered his sister’s betrayal? No, he would have wanted to deal with that personally. This felt like business, but why had Fariq risked his sister?
Chapter 4
Aliya sat gingerly on the passenger seat of the speedboat as it closed the nautical miles between land and yacht. Her hands were clasped in her lap as she studied the man who had fucked and spanked her, the latter twice. The way his hands had felt on her ass wasn’t the only thing she remembered—the way he’d felt as he’d thrust his hard cock into her repeatedly. She shook her head. She had more important things to think about—what had happened to her handler? What did it mean for her mission? How could NATO turn its back on her after all she’d done? And the big question—just who the hell was Christian Reid?
Don’t panic. Just don’t panic.
The mantra wasn’t working. Her hands were sweating, and liquid drops of more of the same were trickling under her dress down the small of her back, only to be absorbed by the waist of her contraband shorts. She’d never been more scared in her life. Dewey Robinson hadn’t met her today like he was supposed to… because he was dead. A drunk driving accident, or so the other agent had said, right before he’d told her, proof or not, everyone knew her brother was involved. The man had told her, regardless of what had happened to Dewey, regardless of what promises Damian had made, and Dewey had reiterated, NATO had no intention of extricating her and trying to take Fariq down with her out of the line of fire.
What was she going to do?
She wished she’d never found out about her brother. How much easier would it have been to be the innocent girl she was before she discovered the dark web and Fariq’s true nature. Things would be so different right now if only she’d never met Damian, never met Dewey, never listened to them, never realized the things she’d found out about her brother were all true. But like Pandora’s Box, there was no more pretending she didn’t know.
Where did Christian fit into all of this? Did what happened earlier matter at all to him? He’d been so upset with her, practically from the moment of orgasm—was he sorry he’d fucked her? She wasn’t. Oh sure, she’d have preferred it if he reassured her with sweet words or even a kind touch. He’d seemed concerned at first, but now the distance between them seemed insurmountable.
Fariq was always so careful not to engage in business when she was present, especially after he took her out of the convent to live with him full time. Despite his efforts, she’d seen things, heard things, connected one too many dots, and passed that information along to NATO. That was the whole point of breaking away today. She’d made her appointment with Robinson, worked up the courage to get out, to start a new life for herself—and when the time was right, testify against him.
Instead of rescue, for all her efforts, she was coldly informed, despite what she had been told, they needed more before rescuing her was worthwhile. Damian had been kind and had understood what her betrayal of Fariq would cost her. He’d even cautioned her to reconsider. Robinson had been business-like, but not unkind. The man today had been cold and dismissive, making her feel like a nuisance.
“He’ll kill me!” she’d said, begging the man to take her with him.
He’d refused and handed her a list of information to have the next time she contacted him. “Or don’t bother me again.”
Through the dots of seawater, their speed had splashed up onto the windshield, Aliya watched as the yacht came into view.
How was she going to get the information they wanted? She didn’t have access to any part of Fariq’s businesses. She didn’t know where his money came from, how much he had, where he banked, or who he talked to on a daily basis. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d accompanied him to informal dinners, where she was introduced to a current ‘partner’ in some venture or other. Details were never discussed in front of her. To be honest, she always felt as if she was only there to be seen, perhaps even shown off. She remembered a few of the people she’d met, but mostly what she remembered was the somewhat irrational fear she’d had the first time he’d done it when she’d been so thoroughly convinced he was trying to marry her off. Her father had done that once, but he’d died, so nothing had come of it.
The yacht was growing bigger the closer they came to it. She dropped her gaze to her hands, not wanting to know if Fariq would be standing at the railing, waiting for her.
It was probably for the best she’d lost the list of information the agent wanted her to find. Regardless of everything else that had happened between them, Christian was right about one thing. She wasn’t a spy. She’d lost the paper and her purse. Somewhere amid all that running, gunfire, screaming, and fleeing, she’d dropped everything. She’d been so rattled, she couldn’t remember even looking at the paper he’d given her, so she had no idea what information had been on it.
Again, that was probably for the best since it wasn’t like she could walk up to Fariq and ask him point-blank what he did. Well, she could, but she was far more likely to get one of his patent, “Ladies do not interfere in things that are not their business,” than she was to get the truth.
She had the number Robinson had given her, so she could always text and ask for another copy of the list, except that would pretty much tell them exactly how useless she was as an informant. They were more likely to disconnect the number than message her back.
The boat hit a rolling wave. She grabbed the seat, trying to ease the discomfort of her backside as she bounced, then glared at Christian. She couldn’t tell if he’d done that deliberately, just to make what he’d done to her ache that much more. Locking her lips, she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing she felt anything at all. The joke was on him, anyway. What little discomfort she still felt was nothing compared to what Fariq would do once he found out… if he found out.
Please, please, please don’t let Fariq find out.
As far as prayers went, that was too much of a long-shot to even fire. Christian was Fariq’s right-hand man. She didn’t think for a second, he wasn’t going to tell on her.
As if he could hear her thoughts, Christian cast her a side-eyed glance. She quickly looked away, and all too soon, the trip was over. Slowing their speed, he drew up to the port side, where the crew was already lowering the ladder for them to board. She was still in the tennis shoes she’d bought at the bazaar and still had her shorts on under her dress. Her brother was going to take one look at her, and like every other aspect of her life, he’d just know what was amiss.
Flustered, wishing she’d never left the boat at all, she brushed at the dirt that stained her skirt and tried to smooth away the tear in her off-the-shoulder sleeve. She was being ridiculous. She’d been in a bombing and wasn’t responsible for that. If anything, Fariq would take one look at her and be more concerned about that than automatically suspect she’d tried to betray him.
Except Fariq knew everything. He always just knew.
How was she going to explain the shoes and the shorts? She’d never planned to come back to this ship. Now, she’d be lucky if her brother ever let her out of his sight again. She was trapped.
She wasn’t ready to go back up the ladder, needed more time to think, but Christian had shut off the boat and was making his way to tie up to the ladder to steady the two crafts together.
“Up you go, Princess,” he told her, making her stomach grow heavy with dread. “Try to keep your mouth shut, and don’t answer questions he doesn’t ask. If he does ask you anything, try to stick as close to the truth as possible and make your answers short and succinct.”
Rising slowly from her seat, she looked up the ladder, and there he was. Fariq stared down at her, his face locked in a cool, unreadable expression. No smile, no words of greeting, just staring.
Extending his hand, Christian beckoned her to him as if he were a safe harbor. “Come on.”
Doing her best not to l
ook guilty, Aliya crept to the ladder. All of twenty-two-years old and right now, she felt as if she was nine, trying to tuck the forbidden shoes on her feet out of her brother’s view, but it was too late. He could see right through her, had always been able to.
Christian’s hand was warm and strong as he helped her onto the ladder.
“Gracious,” Fariq drawled, the hint of warmth his tone feigned, not touching any other part of him. “What happened to you?”
She’d have sooner taken hold of a cobra, but when he extended his hand, she had no other option. Clasping it, she let him draw her the last two steps up onto the deck. She tried to let go as soon as she was standing before him, but his grip didn’t loosen.
He looked her over, head to toe, his gaze lingering on the tear in her sleeve, the dirt on her dress, her hair which looked as if she hadn’t brushed it all day—flushing, she tried to smooth it down—and finally, he looked at her shoes. He cocked his head, pointedly staring at them.
She couldn’t make herself stop trembling. “I-I’m very sorry, Fariq.”
Raising his gaze, he locked on her. “Are you going to tell me you planted that bomb in the market?”
Startled, she stared up at him. “N-No…”
“Then I’m afraid it’s me who must apologize to you. I never,” he emphasized, casting a rapidly cooling glare back over the top of her head, “would have allowed you to leave had I known there would be that kind of trouble.”
Unsure who he was looking at, she tried to look behind her, but he caught her chin and redirected her attention back to him.