Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

Another chill trickled down her spine.

Rajih had a stable full of carriages as well as the strange contraptions that were placed atop a camel to ride through the desert. But his vehicles were all sleek and elegant and noticeably expensive.

Nothing at all like the black, bulky carriage that was built for function rather than beauty.

Emma paused, unwilling to deny her prickling sense of alarm. She might not understand the strange premonition plaguing her, but she was not going to ignore it.

She turned on her heel, intending to rush back into the safety of the harem. Instead, she discovered a large man with thick features and small, terrifyingly cold eyes waiting for her.

Her lips parted to scream, but before she could make a sound the stranger had his beefy hand wrapped over her mouth and a heavily muscled arm wrapped around her waist.

“So kind of you to join me, Emma Linley-Kirov,” he muttered in Russian.

Emma’s heart froze in fear. The man had to be one of the slave traders. What other Russian would be staying in Cairo and dare to attack a guest of Caliph Rajih?

But how had he found her? And more terrifying, what did he intend to do with her?

As if reading her mind, the brute tightened his arm around her waist, hoisting Emma a few inches off the ground to haul her toward the nearby carriage. Emma struggled, her legs flailing and her arms reaching over her head to yank at her captor’s hair.

He ignored her pitiful efforts, easily bundling her into the carriage and forcing her onto the worn leather seat. Then, with an efficiency that spoke of years of practice, he jerked her arms above her head and snapped the steel manacles that were attached to the roof around her wrists.

Once he was certain she was securely imprisoned he took the seat opposite her and gestured to a servant hovering outside the carriage. The door was slammed shut and Emma realized there was no handle on the inside of the door just as the vehicle jerked into motion.

Her heart painfully began palpitating, slamming against her ribs as she accepted she was completely at the mercy of her kidnapper.

Forcing her horrified gaze from the manacles that bit painfully into her flesh, she regarded the man seated across from her.

The sight of him did little to ease her terror.

Not only was he large and thickly muscled, but there was a lack of emotion on his broad face. He was a man obviously accustomed to holding women as his hostages. And no amount of tears or pleading would sway him.

All she could do was pretend a confidence she was far from feeling.

“You will regret this,” she warned.

He appeared remarkably unconcerned. “This is what you have wanted, is it not?”

“It most certainly is not.”

“Then why have you been chasing after me for weeks?”

His mocking words stole any hope that this was nothing more than a terrible misunderstanding.

“You are Valik?”

His small eyes glittered in the faint torchlight that slipped through the barred windows of the carriage as they turned onto a crowded street and slowed to a mere crawl. Emma could hear the chatter from busy cafés and the call of the vendors, but she knew that she might as well have been alone in the world with the man seated across from her.

For now there was no escape.

“Obviously we have no need for introductions.”

“Where is my sister?”

“Have no fear.” A cruel smile touched his lips. “The two of you will soon be reunited.”

Emma ignored the threat, more concerned with Anya’s welfare than her own.

“Has she been hurt?”