5
Later that evening, Nightshade braced herself, standing with her feet splayed shoulder width apart and arms hanging loose at her sides. She’d hidden a dagger in the bed, another beneath the rug right next to it, and yet another next to the washing stand. The rest of the weapons lay in the trunk, ready and waiting.
Mary and Rose walked into the tent, avoiding her entirely. Rose swept a bowl and pitcher off the table and Mary replaced it with a heaping platter of food and a carafe of drink. They exited just as silently, not bothering to acknowledge her presence. And why should they? They’d gotten their wish as far as they were concerned. Amir would no longer bother them after tonight, but not for the reason they assumed, Nightshade thought maliciously.
She heard a commotion outside, small at first but growing louder by the second. The Sheik was about to make his grand entrance.Showtime.
“Is my treasure ready for my blessing?”
She heard no reply, but watched in tense anticipation as a dark hand parted the thick folds of the tent flap. Sheik Amir glided inside, his sheer size seeming to fill up the front half of the tent. With each step, his triple-jowl chin wobbled like a prize turkey, and from his posture, she wouldn't be surprised if he fanned out tail feathers and crowed. But the way he looked at her with enough lust to make her want to scrub herself for a lifetime, was more like that of a buzzard spotting its prey, and just as ugly.
A very small tinge of sympathy for Amir’s wives wriggled its way into her heart. No matter how much their plotting angered her, the thought of Amir’s huge form rutting on top of any woman was enough to makeanyonegag.
“Master, will you require my services?” A thick-necked Arab man with a long beard peered inside, locking onto Nightshade’s practically translucent outfit as he addressed the Sheik.
I’ll cut you into little pieces…
“No, Abdul, not now. But stay nearby in case she proves resistant.”
Abdul bowed, his hairy hand sweeping around his waist. “As you wish, my Sheik.”
A civilian would be going into a full-blown panic attack, or at least the beginnings of one, and Nightshade knew she should be feigning alarm, but something about the predatory claim on Amir’s face made that impossible.
His presence sealed the finality of her situation. Merc was either too injured or too dead to help. Nightshade would have to figure her own way out. Her unit’s lives depended on it.
She assessed his weak points with a practiced eye. Thick trunk of a chest and layers upon layers of fat would make stabbing him useless. She’d have to go for his neck,that was the only solution that guaranteed the man would be rendered unconscious. Or dead.
He took another massive step forward and she dropped her shoulders and chin, peering up from beneath her lashes, knowing the stance made her appear submissive.
Lesson number one her father taught: never let the enemy know your full capabilities.
That had been one of the main reasons he’d formed Mayhem, a team of female only operatives. The CIA relied too heavily on a mostly male dominated field and overlooked the simplest and oldest form of attack. Surprise.
Her father hand-selected girls offered up by their CIA operative parents based on their size and genetic traits. He selected the smallest. The ones with natural speed and intellect. And he, along with others approved by the government, trained them to use their size and speed as assets to take out unsuspecting targets.
Until her father found out there was a mole in the CIA and took the team off radar. Now their orders came directly from the General in charge of the Other Government Agencies - OGA - division in the CIA. They couldn’t risk a leak by following their previous chain of command.
“Come now, my flower, do not be afraid.” Amir lumbered forward and Nightshade countered, taking a step back. She needed him near the bed and the heavy handled jeweled dagger.
She sensed his irritation and forced a shiver, peeking up again. The vulnerable act worked and his irritation vanished under a look of utter control. He extended a pudgy hand and she forced herself to take it, allowing him to pat her as if she were a favored pet.
He switched to a heavily accented English. “Now, now. My wives tell me you speak no Farsi, but in time, you will. For now, I will speak your native tongue, until you can learn mine.”
She ducked her head. “Thank you.”
“My desert rose, so perfect. Be at ease. If only you could speak to my wives, they would tell you of the great honor I bestow upon you tonight.” His voice boomed with utter confidence and Nightshade kept her head lowered, knowing there was no way she could hide her eye roll. His precious wives craved his touch as much as they craved the plague.
“Amir...”
He crushed her hand. “Only my sons call me Amir. I will allow this sin to pass, since you are ignorant of our ways, but from now on you will only call me master.”
Her tongue grew thick, her lips unresponsive. She’d rather eat the vomit fighting its way up her throat than call him master. But she needed the element of surprise so she gritted her teeth and forced out the words. “Master, forgive me. I am scared.”
“Of course you are.” He patted her hand again, only this time his touch lingered and slid up her arm to rest at her elbow. “I will soon ease your fears. You are but an ignorant woman, in need of a man to guide you. If you listen to your master, your life will be blessed with a pleasure so great you can’t imagine and jewels such as you’ve never dreamed.” He released her and collapsed onto her bed nearby, reclining on his elbow as if he owned the entire world. “Come here.”
He gestured her over but she stayed rooted to her spot, chancing another frown. “Master, may I serve you? I have plates of food and wine. It would ease my fear and allow me time to... accustom myself to your great presence.”
Amir’s nearly non-visible eyes flashed with pleasure. “Of course, my flower.”
