Before they tie us up again, I picture grabbing the gun from the closest, and shooting them both. I’d probably have to kill the stewardess, too. I could insist the pilot land but there’s where my plan gets iffy. He might drop us in an extremist state and we’d be more fucked than we are now. For all I know, we may be bound for China. I’ve heard they pay top dollar for blond haired, blue-eyed teens.
Shit. Despite what I told the others to do, any man who touches me will end up peeing through a bag for the rest of his sorry life.
With that happy thought in mind, I manage to get a little shuteye until my aching ears wake me. They pop, the plane’s wheels clank underneath, and I pray the long flight is at an end.
Descending, I rub my eyes, glance out the small window, and moan.
Shit. Sand. Miles and miles of it.
We bank to the right and a sparkling metropolis, topped by gravity-defying skyscrapers, appears above the desert. Next to one of the larger buildings, small man-made islands form the shape of a palm tree in a deep blue sea.
No way. My heart sinks.
That’s Dubai.
Up to now, I haven’t once doubted Suds will find us. Looking out over a city as large as Manhattan, I swallow hard. It’s a mecca of billionaires and if someone wants us hidden, we will be.
Forever.
Exhausted and hope depleted, I struggle to lift a foot down on the tarmac. We’re put in a bus, drive for hours across no man’s land, and led into a small apartment where we’re all forced to sit with our legs bound and our bleeding wrists zip-tied.
Later, one-by-one, men in white robes extract the girls from the room. When my turn comes, I’ve had just about enough. With all my might, I knee the man in the balls. Coughing, he bends forwards and I thrust up again, this time into his face. The cartilage in his nose breaks with a satisfying crack and as he falls to the floor, I slam down my heel on his neck until it rolls at a terrible angle.
I’m halfway to the elevator, thinking I’ve escaped when the other Arab calls out. “Stop or she dies.”
Fuck. The man has a gun to the head of one of the youngest teens who whimpers as he pulls her by the hair.
No other option available, I put my hands in the air.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Suds
Thank God Sam ripped off a piece of shirt and our dog sniffed it out. Her DNA confirmed our suspicions. Their jet landed in the desert, west of Dubai. From there, the women were loaded onto a bus and are now guests of one of the hundreds of cousins claiming connection to the throne.
At the soft knock on the hotel door, I grab my gun with my nose jammed against the wood and stare through the peephole. Unbolting the lock, I holster my weapon, and prepare for the oncoming bear hug.
“Suds, you mother-fuck-ah. Good to see ya, mate.” My Aussie pal squeezes the life out of me.
Once I can breathe again, I slap his back, and shake hands with the billionaire at his side. “Thanks for coming.”
“Wot? Miss a free trip to Dubai?” Lucky embraces Slate, Jack, and Andy. “Looks like the band is back togeth-ah. Where’s Finn?”
“His team set up over there.” My boss points to the adjoining suite as he hands Grayson a miniature cup of thick coffee. “Did the State Department get anywhere?”
“They’re still negotiating.” The billionaire swallows back the brew, leans against the wall, and sighs.
My patience snaps. “We showed them satellite images and gave them DNA evidence, what more do they need?” My fists tighten as I picture Sam ripping off pieces of her shirt, hoping I would find them.
Sugar, I’m coming. Y’all hang in there.She hears me. I know she does. And I hear her which is why I’m not waiting much longer. Something real bad is about to go down.Before it does, by God, I’ll go in with guns blazing. Heaven help anyone, especially a royal, who gets in my way.
“We’re ready if you are. Come in.” Hair on ends and tie loosened, the Irishman interrupts my thoughts as he stands in the doorframe.
Lucky, directly behind me, puts his hand on my shoulder and whispers. “If you go rogue, I got your six.”
“I’ll let you know.” I love Slate like a brother but sometimes direct action talks a helluva lot louder than words.
Computers, routers and telephony gear cover every flat surface in the room next door.
