Nightshade was in no mood to play nice. As Mary eased closer, she snapped, and Mary immediately yanked her hand away.
“What's wrong with her? Do you think she's addled?” Rose whispered.
“Could be. I overheard the men saying they found them outside the big palace explosion.”
Nightshade rolled her eyes. Forcing herself to remember her mission. Her team, her sister, her entire world was on the line. And this place had become a barrier to her plans. If she didn't make it back to the United States soon, there was a very real chance her team would be tortured by Cotter and die.
She had to figure out how long she'd been here, and then she needed to stock up on some supplies like food and water and clothing.
The trio gasped as she pushed herself to a sitting position, wrapping the sheet around her chest. She fought off a fresh wave of dizziness, holding silent and steady until she was able to sit upright without passing out.
“Water?” She gestured, making a drinking motion with her hand.
Sarah rushed to the sideboard to pour water into a gold cup before passing it to her. Nightshade took the glass and tipped it up, keeping one eye on the women at all times.
“What do you think she'll do next?” Rose whispered.
It was all Nightshade could do not to roll her eyes again.I’ll chop off your ears…
What she wouldn’t give for her Baretta right now. And her own space. Not that she minded changing in front of other women, she’d done it her whole life. But her teammates had never ordered her to strip for inspection as the virgin sacrifice.
Looks like she’d have to go straight up old school biblical on their asses. Eye for an eye. They wanted to use her as a sex slave? She’d use them to get what she needed.
She finished the water and placed her cup on the ground. This tribe possessed obvious wealth and privilege based on the expensive rugs and goblets and trunks scattered about the tent, so she knew they would have supplies on hand. Nightshade made a gesture for food, and once more, Rose snapped to attention and rushed out of the tent.
“What is your name, child?” Mary asked in Farsi.
Nightshade tipped her head to the side, pretending not to understand.
Mary sighed and turned to Rose. “It will go much harder for her not speaking our language.”
“Should we help her?”
“We will wait and see.”
“Should I go tell the Sheik that she's awakened?”
Mary snorted. “Not yet. Even if the girl is an adult, she needs more time to recover. He will not wait to take her if he sees she's conscious, and I don't want him to kill her.” Mary faced Sarah, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Because then he would return to your bed.”
Sarah slapped a hand to her throat. “You're right. He’ll make her his wife as soon as he can. What do we do?”
“We get her healthy and then turn her over to him. She’ll keep him occupied for a very long time.”
It took all of Nightshade's control not to react to their plot. Too bad she didn’t plan on getting ‘better’ any time soon. She’d play sick and buy more time for Merc to play savior.
For a few more days anyway.
First things first, she needed clothes. Caroline wouldn't know to steal clothes and blend in with the locals, and if Nightshade were to keep up the pretense, neither could she.
She stood, clutching the sheet to her chest, and gestured at her body.
As a collective unit, Mary and Sarah stepped back, holding each other like she had the plague. “What now?” Sarah whispered.
Nightshade gestured to her sheet and then their robes, praying the women had enough sense to realize she wasn’t about to lie around the tent naked waiting on a fat Sheik to come and ravish her.
“I think she wants clothing.” Mary, the only one who seemed to have an ounce of sense, approached with tentative steps, as if she’d take off running if Nightshade made a move. When she stood a foot away, she pointed at her own back then Nightshade’s and shook her head. “No. Your back is too injured.”
Nightshade glanced at her back to see the partially removed patchwork of bandages. She’d had worse. Much worse. Clothing would irritate the superficial wounds, but that was a sacrifice she could handle. She’d need clothes to escape.
