3
Nightshade jerked awake, immediately aware of the oppressive heat and the fire singeing across her back. She lay on her stomach, a soft cushion beneath her. Where was she? Where was Merc?
Careful not to move, she cracked an eye. Bright sunlight blasted through the white canvas walls of a large opulent tent. Rugs in rich blues and reds and purples completely covered the ground. Stands holding candles and incense stood scattered about the room, carefully placed away from the canvas. On the back wall was a hand-carved gold inlaid table, holding a bowl and pitcher. Trunks of varying sizes and shapes stretched down two sides of the tent.
This was the well-kept tent of a rich desert nomad, and the only nomad within traveling distance of their palace was Sheik Amir. They must have come directly after the explosion. Why hadn’t Merc returned her to the United States? How long had she been here?
She carefully peered over her shoulder, very aware of every incremental movement. Fresh bandages covered her back, disappearing beneath a silky soft sheet. A sheet she was naked beneath.
Drawing on her strength, she pushed off the makeshift bed of furs. Pain, hot and sharp, tore across her right arm, stealing her strength and breath, and she dropped back to the mattress.
Well, what did she expect?A mission that included her father strapping fifty pounds of C-4 explosives on her, hitting her hard enough to knock her to the ground, clipping her arm with a bullet was bound to hurt like a bitch.
While Nightshade had felt like some of the plan was overkill, her father was adamant it was all necessary for Cotter and TF-S to believe he wouldn’t hesitate to kill Caroline once she was no longer useful as a tool in his game.
If Merc hadn’t been so quick on his feet, they wouldn’t have made it out alive. Her father had told her Merc wasthedeadliest, most skilled operative he’d ever trained, even above Nightshade herself.
That had stung.
But, now that she'd witnessed his skill firsthand, she understood why her father didn't hesitate to put her life in his hands.
But had it cost Merc his own life?
The tent flap snapped open, yanking her morbid thoughts. Three women wearing the traditional hijab, covered from head to toe except for their faces, rushed inside, twittering and chattering in the local Farsi language. Though their thick and guttural accents made it difficult, Nightshade understood every word. The women were the Sheik's wives, and they were absolutely ecstatic over catching a glimpse of the other prisoner, the man they’d dubbed ‘the giant’ tied up in a tent not far from here.
So Merc was alive and being held prisoner.
She’d have to bide her time and wait on him to rescue her, then rely on him to take care of her. Ugh. As if she weren’t fully capable of incapacitating half this little village on her own. But Caroline Cotter, her twin sister, wouldn’t be that capable. Her sister had never been trained on evasion and defense tactics. She wouldn't know what pressure points would render a man completely unconscious. In this situation, she would be utterly panicked and scared.
“Did you see how big his arms are? Nearly as big around as Amir’s fat leg!” a shrill voice tittered. Nightshade pegged the high-pitched voice to an equally sharp face.
“Rose, lower your voice. If he finds out we snuck a peek at the prisoner, he'll have us all stoned to death,” another wife said, this one as filled out as Rose was narrow.
“If only our Amir looked like that,” a third voice sighed. “I wouldn't mind warming his bed in the least.”
All three of them sighed.
“What are you griping about, Sarah? Amir doesn't call you to his bed nearly as much as he used to.” This wife was older, more mature, if you could call late twenties mature compared to the near teen-like appearance of the other two.
“It's been many moons since he summoned you, you should be thankful,” she continued, “I was his only wife for many years, I’ve put in my time and I'm not the least bit sorry for you. Besides, once she heals enough, you two won't have anything to worry about.”
Another giggle. “Mary, I like what you’re thinking. Not to have that fat pig writhing between my thighs, Allah will have answered our prayers!”
Anger burned through Nightshade, but she kept her mouth shut as the women continued to go on about how the Sheik would take her as his fourth wife.Over her dead body.Pretense or no pretense, she’d slit the Sheik's throat before she let him near her.
Finally, Mary broke into the conversation, taking charge. “Rose, bring fresh water. We need to clean her back and get her healthy quickly. Sarah, fetch some bandages. Her arm seems to be healing well, but I'm not taking any chances.”
Nightshade pretended to sleep and listened to their rushed footsteps around the tent as Mary began removing the bandages on her back. Nightshade tried to stay still and quiet as long as she could, but around the tenth time Mary jabbed a fingernail into a sore, Nightshade hissed. “Watch it.”
Mary screamed and fell back on her bony hands. Nightshade glared at the trio.
“What did she say?” The shrill one, Rose, asked.
Mary, who was just now recovering from her shock, climbed to her feet and dusted her hands. “I have no idea.”
“What are we supposed to do now?” Sarah asked. The small, quiet girl reminded Nightshade of a child, and she had to fight a sudden rush of sympathy.
Mary slowly approached, gesturing to Nightshade’s back and then the bowl of water on the floor. “Clean?” She gestured again, dipping a cloth into the water, then holding it aloft.
