Page 17 of Warlord’s Empire

Radik’s lips stretched in a tight smile. “I don’t underestimate my sister at all. I know what she’s capable of, which is why I know she would have left the compound and hunted Chinaka until she had him cornered. She would have tried to kill him herself without backup and as much respect as I have for my sister’s combat skills, Chinaka is equally skilled. If she caught him alone, she would have a chance at killing him, but if he had any of his men with him, it wouldn’t be a fair fight.”

And Ayaan was impetuous, maybe more than Saskia. She understood now why Radik sent his sister away.

“Have you hunted and killed her attacker?” Saskia asked, knowing he would have tried.

“He has eluded all attempts.” His tone was frustrated. “I’m unused to being thwarted in such matters, but he has gone to ground. My sources tell me he’s moved overseas, into South America. One day I will meet him again and that will be a glorious day. I can finally present my sister with his head on a platter.”

Saskia grimaced. “I prefer flowers, if you’re ever thinking of getting me a gift.”

He grinned at her, squeezing her hand. “You’re not bloodthirsty like my sister.”

She thought of her satisfaction as blood dripped down Madison’s face after Saskia headbutted her former bestie for betraying her. “Maybe not as much, but fuck with me and you’ll find out just how bloodthirsty I am.”

“I look forward to fucking around with you.”

The breath caught in her throat and she stared at him, both thrilled by the naughty images his words conjured and frightened by the meaning. “M-Muhammed, I want to make sure….” Damn it, how did she say this? “Uh, I mean, can you reassure me you’re not going to….” She trailed off, her cheeks heating. She had no problem mouthing off to the warlord, but she hated talking about sex.

His tone was serious, his eyes holding hers captive as he said, “I will never touch you without your permission. I care about you too much to ever subject you to such terror. You have my word.”

Her breath left her in a rush and she nodded, not realizing until now how much she needed to hear that rape was off the table, especially as they got closer to his home, her prison, where she would be completely under his control.

Suddenly the thick vegetation opened to reveal a massive concrete wall with steel gates and a guard tower. She watched, equal parts thrilled and terrified as the gates slid smoothly into the wall. They were massive, like the ones in Jurassic Park, hiding everything behind them.

She stared out the window as the vehicle rolled into the compound, taking in as much of the area as she could. From her vantage point she thought there was a wall stretching around the entire area, but she couldn’t be sure as sections of it were blocked by structures.

“It looks like a regular town,” Saskia murmured, twisting in her seat to look at the dirt roads, the buildings, the people. “How many live here?”

“There are around 400 people residing here. Some are permanent and some are transient and will leave.”

Saskia stared at him, trying to gleam more from his unreadable expression. “This is your home?”

“This is Marifiya.”

Marifiya. Marifiya? Where had she heard that word before? Oh yes, it was Ahmaric for haven. She’d learned Ahmaric knowing it was probably one of Radik’s birth languages. “So you live in the town of Marifiya?”

His lips lifted in a semi-smile. “I am the master of Marifiya.”

She squinted at him. “Like the mayor?”

“More like the founder.”

“You created an entire town?” She was astonished, but not overly surprised. She’d spent years getting to know this enigmatic man and founding a town wasn’t outside his skillset. “When did you start it?”

“Six years ago.”

Radik had met Saskia six years earlier.

She’d done as much digging as a person could to find out about Radik and where he lived, but there wasn’t a lot to find, as he seemed to prefer to keep a low profile. What she did find was spine-tinglingly scary. A blood-soaked career as a soldier, followed by an even bloodier sojourn as a professional mercenary, a warlord, a few years as a politician, and finally an early retirement. Or so he projected to the world, but she suspected he was still very much active.

Though Radik was widely known as a dangerous warlord, most of the locals in areas where he worked revered him, thought of him as more of a Robin Hood figure. Taking on clients based on need, he brought down more than one corrupt government in his time as king of the mercenaries.

She watched him from the corner of her eye, trying to square away what she knew of him with the man she was sitting next to. Was he a child soldier? A heartless mercenary? A corrupt politician? A not-so-corrupt politician? She was curious about him and that curiosity drove her to want to spend more time with him.

The car stopped and Radik unbuckled her seatbelt. “Welcome to my home.”

He helped her from the car, his hand resting on her shoulder as she turned to look up at the house they’d parked in front of. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but the house was both the embodiment of the man standing beside her as well as a complete surprise.

The house itself seemed a contradiction of the warlord. It was a sprawling two-story, red-painted structure with shutters on each of its many windows, a balcony wrapping around the second floor, and a thatched roof on top. Flowers flowed over the entire house, lovingly wrapping the building in white, red, and green foliage. This was not the home she envisioned Radik living in.