Range’s lips thinned. His nostrils flared. Staring at Butrus with a look that said he would readily kill the imam, he kicked over the M4 and nodded. “Reach for it before we’re married and I will drop you.”
“Threatening the man who holds this woman’s life in his hands is not very smart.” The caliph clucked his tongue. Sounded like a chicken. “You and your ego, American.” His grip on her arm nearly cut off the circulation, but she would not give him the pleasure of hearing her cry out. With a grunt, he thrust her forward.
Shocked that he had released her, that this entire scheme was happening, Kasra stumbled into Range, who steadied her. “I am sorry,” she whispered.
He kept his attention trained on the imam and shifted her behind him. Protecting her.
She peered up at him as he stood there, his shoulders broad, his jaw set firmly.
“As her Nikah Father,” Zaki said, “I will give them provisions to leave the country.”
Imam Butrus narrowed his eyes, then looked to Range. “Your name—and tell the truth” He looked to the caliph. “We will verify it.”
“Range Metcalfe.” He sounded so very angry.
They all watched the caliph, and after several long minutes, he nodded.
Who had verified his name?
Oh he would hate her for this. She hatedherselffor it. For rushing out of the house after their argument. She had just wanted to think. Walk. Distraught, she had not even seen the men stalking toward her.
“Range Metcalfe, Kasra Jazani,” the imam began the ceremony. “Range Metcalfe, Kasra Jazani. Range Metcalfe, Kasra Jazani.” Arrogance lifted his bearded face. “Do you, Range Metcalfe, in the presence of these witnesses agree to take this whore as your wife?”
“No,” Range growled.
She should have known. It was too much to ask. Too much to hope for, that he would—
“No,” the word struggled from between his teeth, “I don’t take a whore. But I do take Kasra Jazani as my wife.”
Jolted at what he spoke, the way he rejected the cruel name, she drew back. Disbelief curled through her, constricting her breath. Stinging her eyes. He said words she never thought to hear from any man. She kept her gaze down as Imam Butrus then recited verses from the Holy Quran, which felt like a mockery since they were forcing them to marry.
“She is your wife now, American.”
It was fake … forced … but it was done.
Still tense, rigid, Range caught her hand with his left as he backed away. Eyed the M4, clearly annoyed he had been conned out of it. “Now, I’ll take my wife and leave.” Challenge glinted in his blue eyes as he urged her out of the room. Then he nodded to her. “Go.”
Vision half blocked by the swelling, she shifted. Stumbled and started for the door. Held her breath as she left the antechamber. Aimed for the side door. Shocked that she was still alive, that they had not done something far worse, Kasra glanced back at Range, only to find him right there, back to her as he aimed his weapon inside the hall and edged into the darkness.
A man appeared from the side.
“Don’t,” came Range’s feral warning.
“I did not sayhowyou would leave,” Butrus said as he edged into view, nodding at someone. “Dead works for me.”
Too late, Kasra saw the shadowy man aim a weapon at her.
“No!” Zaki shouted, diving in front of her.
A weight plowed into her back.
Pop! Pop!
The cracks echoed through the night.
Shots ricocheted as she hit the ground. “Next person that moves dies,” Range barked. “Do it! Test me!”
Kasra’s attention darted to Zaki, prone on the ground. Then saw him roll onto his back, clutching his chest. “Zaki!” She scrambled to his side. “Zaki!”
