A man entered. He glanced at the empty bed before running toward it.
Viviana launched the urn, aiming for his head. She missed. He spun around as the pitcher shattered against the wall behind him.
She didn’t bother looking at her captor as she fled to the other side of the door, slammed it behind her, and ran as fast as two shaky legs could go. Her heart was pounding in her ears, her lungs on fire from being overworked too soon, but she ran down the long corridor anyway. She could hear the man shouting at her and cursing in Arabic as he gave chase, but she paid his words little heed. Her only thought was freedom, her only objective to make it outside and onto the street.
At the end of the corridor was another set of doors. Gasping for breath, Viviana tried to thrust them open, but they were locked. She started pounding on the doors while screaming for help, even though she realized nobody on the other side of it was likely to aid her in any way.
She could sense that the man was directly behind her, watching, no doubt amused by her feeble attempt at escape. Facing the door, she sank down onto the floor and started to cry, her head bowed and her naked body balled up. “Somebody help me,” she weakly gasped. “Please.”
“I told you not to injure yourself,” the man said in his tongue. “We must work on your listening skills.”
She recognized the voice—and his musky scent. It was the doctor.
“Please help me leave, doctor,” Viviana said feebly. She raised her head, tears streaming down her cheeks as she finally looked at him. “Please. I don’t want—”
The world seemed to spin out of control as Viviana stared with rounded eyes at the doctor who was no doctor. Her pulse immediately skyrocketed, making her feel dizzy and her surroundings surreal.
She knew that face. His matted beard had been shaved off, leaving nothing but a five o’clock shadow. His astute brown gaze was as homed in on her now as it had been in the interrogation room. The swelling around his left eye had subsided, the only reminder of its former presence there a lingering bruise and a small cut.
Muhammad al-Jihad al-Raqqah.
“I prefer the blue. See all that is mine.”
The FBI’s most wanted. The mass murderer of innocent people. The closest confidant of the self-heralded caliph.
“I prefer the blue. See all that is mine.”
“Oh my God.” Viviana swallowed roughly, her aqua eyes shedding fresh tears. Suddenly it all made sense.“Nooooooo!”
* * * * *
Muhammad carried Viviana back to his bedroom like a kicking, screaming—and bleeding—sack of potatoes. She was stronger than she looked, but still no match for his 6’4” height and heavily muscled build.
“Enough,” he said sternly. He used his free hand to spank her one sharp time on the bare ass. “You will injure yourself.”
She simultaneously gasped in outrage and cried in faux pain. “I’d rather die my way than whatever you have planned for me!”
Viviana pummeled his back with her fists. He sighed. He didn’t want to hurt her pride by informing her he owned massage chairs that dealt harder blows.
“Do you need another spanking?” he asked, purposely raising his voice. “Stop this before you bleed worse from that open wound on your arm.”
“I’m not a child! You have no right to spank me!”
He grunted. “You behave as one.” He opened the doors to his private suite and carried her inside. “So I treat you as one.” Muhammad decided he might as well get the next part over and done with. “And I do have the right.”
He could hear her jaw tighten simply by the way she enunciated her words. “By whose authority?” she ground out.
“Allah’s.”God’s.
Muhammad carefully placed her on the bed. Viviana quickly picked up the blanket and held it up to shield her nakedness. He quirked an eyebrow.
“Show me your arm,” he commanded.
“Why?”
“Show!”
He might have spoken a bit too gruffly. Her eyes widened, the fear she harbored towards him apparent. Nevertheless, it worked, so he’d deal with one task at a time. Grabbing a fresh hand cloth and dipping it into the bowl of clean water shehadn’temptied on the floor, he sat next to her on the bed and gently tended to the wound she’d dealt herself by ripping the IV out of her arm.
