“Let’s just say I’m a political prisoner, too, or at least of a sort.” Bash smiled sardonically. “Politics is why I’m here, after all. So we have something in common.”
Sean furrowed his brow. “But you are American, are you not? King Faisal is an opinionated old bastard who will do many things to get his way, but I doubt even he would go so far as to kidnap and beat an American. Not unless they had done something unlawful.”
“Wrong is in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it?”
Sean’s eyes widened before a stricken expression crossed his face, and he looked away. Bash thought he’d struck a nerve, and he waited for Sean to tell him why. But Sean nodded and returned to his bunk in silence. He sat down and faded into the shadows.
On one hand, Bash was relieved, yet a part of him wondered what was going through his fellow prisoner’s head. He didn’t really know what to make of the man, but he told himself it didn’t matter. He needed to focus on getting out of this predicament before King Faisal’s goons figured out they wouldn’t be able to get anything out of him. He’d just as soon save himself a lot of time and pain proving he could resist any interrogation methods they could employ. Every man had his breaking point, of course, but the men who had trained Bash had been good at their jobs. Very, very good.
Leaning his head back against the mattress, Bash stared up at the ceiling, tried to put the attractive and intriguing Sean out of his mind, and began to plan.
2
Whoever the mysterious man in the adjoining cell was, he was far too perceptive for Sean’s peace of mind.
From the safety of the shadows, Sean watched the half-dressed man as he tipped his head back and went still. Sean found his gaze irresistibly drawn to the stranger’s broad shoulders and muscular chest, which his ripped tank top did little to hide. Even though his fellow captive hadn’t said much, Sean got the impression he was smart and tough, and he felt a strong flare of attraction. He’d always been drawn to intelligent men with an aura of danger about them, and the stranger possessed both in spades. It was stupid, especially given their circumstances, but he couldn’t help it. He’d seen no one except his guards and King Faisal for months, and the sudden appearance of a sexy badass was more than Sean could resist.
Not that it would do him any good, other than as a further source of frustration. The buff stranger was probably straight, and Sean’s sexuality had to be hidden for as long as he was a “guest” of the king. Even though Faisal had need of him, Sean had little doubt Faisal would order him held in a much nastier place or perhaps even have him killed if his sexuality was discovered. To someone who was used to the freedoms of Europe and America, Akkadia seemed medieval, and despite his desire to help the people of his country, Sean couldn’t help but wish he’d never set foot in the land of his birth.
He closed his eyes, shutting out the tantalizing sight of the stranger. He was losing hope he’d ever get out of this situation, and he should warn the stranger there wasn’t any way to escape from the cells. Sean had spent enough time looking for any way out of his captivity, but he’d never been able to find one. He couldn’t escape, but if he continued refusing to agree to Faisal’s demands, he wasn’t certain what was going to happen to him.
The door at the top of the stairs opened with a shriek of hinges, and Sean tensed, wondering if the guards were coming for him or the stranger. His audiences with the king were uncomfortable, but he couldn’t refuse to go when summoned. The last free choice he’d made had been boarding the flight at Heathrow four months ago. If he’d known then what he knew now, he’d have run as far and as fast as he could in the opposite direction.
Badr and Kadil came down the stairs and approached the door of Sean’s cell. The two guards were part of the king’s personal security detail, and Sean stood with a sigh of resignation. It wasn’t time for a meal or for his shower, so no doubt he was in for another fruitless interview with Faisal. It was enough to make him wish he was back at the hospital in London, facing another of old Dr. Simmons’s criticisms. The head of his department may have been a racist who despised Sean for his dark skin, but he’d held only Sean’s career in his hands, not his life.
The guards unlocked the cell door, and then they stood back respectfully while Sean exited the cell. They said not a word and didn’t touch him, giving him a certain amount of space, a gesture of respect Sean found ironic, given his position. As he passed the stranger’s cell, Sean glanced in, unsurprised to find himself the object of intense scrutiny. After the rough handling the stranger had received, he must be wondering why Sean was treated so differently.
Now they were closer to one another, Sean could see that the man’s eyes were the gray of a stormy sky, and there was something in them beyond simple curiosity. Something that made Sean draw in a breath and glance away. The stranger couldn’t possibly be looking at him with desire; no doubt his long, lonely captivity was making his imagination run wild.
He was so preoccupied with berating himself for his fanciful imagination that he was barely aware of being led up the stairs and down the long gallery that dominated this end of the palace. All too soon, however, he was standing before the massive, carved wooden doors to the King’s private chambers. Badr knocked on the door and waited for the majordomo to open it before escorting Sean inside.
The first room of the suite was a reception room, the marble floors gleaming between expanses of handwoven rugs in jewel toned hues. There were several more guards standing within, rigidly at attention, with both guns and knives prominent on their hips. Sean felt their eyes on him before they summarily dismissed him as being no threat.
The majordomo escorted Sean to the private office, where all his interviews with the irascible monarch had been held. Here he had been brought within an hour of his arrival in Nineveh, Akkadia’s capital city, to face the old man who held the absolute power of life and death over everyone in his country. Sean hadn’t understood or appreciated how total Faisal’s authority was, and not for the first time, Sean gritted his teeth, the western part of his heritage more than offended at the thought of such power in the hands of a single man. Especially a man who wielded that autocratic power with such disdain for the rights of others.
Faisal sat at a large, intricately carved mahogany desk. A guard flanked him on each side, and they stood with weapons in hand, though pointed toward the ceiling and not at Sean. Still, Sean kept a wary eye on them. If Faisal gave the order, they would kill him, unarmed though he might be, with no hesitation or regret.
Even in his early eighties, Faisal Al Rasheed was a striking man. His hair was iron gray, worn short in the same military cut they had given him when he entered the Akkadian Army as a young man. His skin was dark and weathered, and his eyes were black and intense as he glanced up from a stack of paperwork. Straightening in his throne-like chair, he steepled his fingers and regarded Sean with an inscrutable expression.
Sean gave a respectful half bow, but straightened quickly and assumed a relaxed stance, not wanting to allow Faisal to believe he was intimidated. He didn’t know how good of a job he’d been doing, but he thought he’d gotten better at it over the last several months.
“So, Mishaan, how are you enjoying your time in the palace?” Faisal asked in English, his tone sardonic. “Have you yet come to your senses yet, or must I step up my efforts to convince you to do as you should?”
Sean preferred to be called by his English name, but it did him no good to protest, as he well knew. Then he realized the king’s words were different this time, implying a new threat. That couldn’t be good, and Sean did his best to hide his dismay.
“I told you where I stood on the day I arrived, and I have had no reason to change my mind,” he replied firmly. “You can keep me locked up for the rest of my life, but it won’t do any good.”
The words were perhaps half truth, half bravado. The four months Sean been held captive had seemed interminable, and the only contact he’d had with the outside world had been the occasional phone call to his sister, Alia, which were carefully scripted and monitored, and one fraught visit with his grandmother where guards had been watching over him with an eagle eye. Sean had also been told that if he gave any indication he was under duress, there would be unfortunate consequences for him and his loved ones. He’d gotten the feeling his grandmother had an inkling of what was going on, but he couldn’t be certain, and so he’d reined in any impulse to give away the truth about what had befallen him. As bad as things might be, he couldn’t bear the thought of dragging Alia or his grandmother down with him.
The king gazed at him, as though expecting Sean to buckle under the intensity of his stare. Sean raised his chin, and he thought a flicker of something like wistfulness crossed the old man’s face. Yet such sentiment would have been out of character, and he dismissed the thought as ridiculous. Especially when the old man’s next words sank in.
“Very well. You have been treated as an honored guest, but that will now change. You have been pampered and spoiled your entire life. You do not know what deprivation and pain are like. I will teach you.”
Sean stiffened, the pronouncement sending icy fingers of dread down his spine. “What are you going to do? Beat me? Starve me?”
The king leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “You are much like your father, stubborn and defiant, fighting me at every turn. I could whip you to within an inch of your life, starve you until you were little more than skin and bones, and you would still resist. But you have a weakness, Mishaan. Your head is hard, but your heart is soft, an unfortunate result of your mixed blood. It so happens that an opportunity has presented itself today, one that will enable me to kill two birds with one stone.”
Faisal pressed a button on his desk, and after a moment, a side door opened to reveal two men. The first was a large, powerfully built man in his late thirties whom Sean recognized at once. Mansur Al Faisal was the king’s illegitimate son and head of the king’s personal guard. Sean’s father had once told him if Faisal told Mansur to take out a gun and blow his own brains out, Mansur would have done it without question, so total was his devotion to his father. And yet Sean had the impression that Mansur wasn’t quite the faithful lapdog his father had led him to believe. Maybe something had changed in the decades since his father had known Mansur because Sean had noticed Mansur’s lips tightening in disapproval from time to time when Faisal had been harsh in criticizing Sean and his parents.
