Possessing the Princess

9

ARIS

DA.I’D GONE AHEAD with my plan. While Roya still slept early that morning, I’d arranged this meeting. And her little hissy fit in the parking lot wasn’t going to change my mind.

Guilt played no part in my world. Guilt was for pussies.

And yet, an unnamed emotion ached in my chest when I saw the hurt shading her jet eyes, eyes I would never forget.

I hadn’t been lying when I said she was the best I could ever hope to have. That was part of the problem. I couldn’t have her. A Persian princess didn’t fit in with a mafioso’s lifestyle.

Besides, I doubted she really wanted me in that way. It was just the possibility of a little bit of freedom. Maybe even the excitement. Certainly the sex I’d introduced her to.

Just thinking about last night made my cock stiffen.

I did regret that I hadn’t claimed her virginity as mine. Perhaps that was where the strange feeling stemmed from. I doubted it though.

But I couldn’t actually ever have her.

I got her out of the car and herded her along, my armed soldiers falling in step behind us. The Sheikh had played me for a fool once. He wouldn’t get away with it again.

I urged her through a private entrance where weapons were not checked. Once my credentials were vetted, I aimed us in the direction of her daddy’s private box.

There, we were again guided through.

The airy room suddenly filled with many big men and just one woman, poor little Roya. Her father’s protection detail almost matched mine, but I doubted they did the kind of brutal, rigorous training I’d put my forces through.

As I approached the Sheikh, I let my jacket shift aside so he could clearly see that I came armed.

A snide look rearranged the thin features of his face, his only reaction to my presence as he sat there with a cigarette smoking in the ashtray in front of him.

His oily black eyes scanned to his daughter, and he scowled. “She should not be dressed like that.”

“Why not?” I lifted an eyebrow. “I think she’s perfect.”

“What you think is of no consequence.” The imperious asshole slashed a hand across the air. “I am her father and the head of the household. And you are nothing to her.”

“Is that true? Do I mean nothing to you, Roya?” Turning to her, I saw nothing of the fierce woman who’d fought me at every turn.

She seemed to wilt right before my very eyes. As if her father’s weaselly presence alone had the power to incapacitate her, the bright, bold female. And that pissed me off more than it should have.

She stood there and said nothing. She didn’t even glare at me that time.

“What do you want for keeping her safe?” The smug fucker didn’t invite me to sit down, but I did so anyway, at an angle to keep an eye on Roya as well as the entrance to the box.

She finally bristled at his words, but she lined her lips together and kept her head down as if even without the hijab she shouldn’t show her beautiful face in a public setting.

“How about you extend me that oil contract you ripped out from under me last year? For starters,” I said in a hard tone.

From beneath lowered lids, Roya’s obsidian eyes finally skewered into me, perhaps outraged at just how easily I could barter her away. How little she actually meant to me.

It was like I’d plunged a knife into her back this time.

The Sheikh nodded to one of his men who swiftly crossed over to pour the pizda a cup of tea from a fancy silver urn. “And if I tell you she is not worth that much to me?”

This dickhead was testing my patience now, not to mention insulting his own daughter.

I wanted to throw the table over, smash every delicate china cup, and then hammer my fist into his face until he whined for mercy.

Instead, I kept my cool, giving an unconcerned shrug. “I’d say you are bluffing. If nothing else, the princess here is worth whatever alliance you intend to extract when you marry her off.”

His eyes narrowed, a sure sign that I’d hit him where it counted.

“And don’t worry.” I slanted a killer grin at him. “She’s still a virgin.”

At that, Roya gasped.

For an instant, I wanted to take it all back. Hurry her away. Hide her away. Tell her she wasn’t just about the trade for me. But I was just too goddamn stubborn to do that.

And then the Sheikh asked her, “Is this true, Roya? Are you intact?”

She drew her shoulders back and her head high. “I wouldn’t give him my body if—”

Just then, a piercing whistle zipped right in front of my face, the bullet barely missing me and the Sheikh who craned back in his seat.

“Attack!” one of my men barked.

“Get fucking down, Roya!” I shouted, reaching out to shove her flat on the floor.

Her father scrambled into a corner and hunkered down, his guard dogs carefully protecting him. He didn’t even throw a concerned glance toward his daughter. Didn’t tell his men to cover her too.

A swarm of intruders blasted their way down the hall, barreling toward the box’s entrance. And it was up to me and my soldiers to keep the princess safe at all costs.

We formed a big gun-toting line in the sand, so to speak, returning fire and dropping bodies.

I’d have suspected the Sheikh of this underhanded bullshit, but he looked to be scared as shit and shocked out of his gourd.

Blyad.

Had to be the uncle sending his henchmen to grab Roya again.

I overturned the table, angling it to create a barricade in another far corner. Holstering my gun for just a second, I scooped Roya off the floor and swung her behind the table.

I stared into her wide eyes and said roughly, “Keep that head down, prinkípissa. Don’t you come out unless I tell you to.”

After nodding mutely, she ducked out of sight.

All hell broke loose seconds later.

Another screaming shot zipped out. The slug slammed into one of the Sheikh’s bodyguards, pushing him into the much smaller body of his ruler.

Just to stop any more stray bullets from that gunman, I plugged him in the chest.

Flashes of gunfire streaked back and forth, tearing through flesh and filling the box with meaty thuds and harsh shouts.

“Where is the girl?” One big bastard bolted through the entrance, darting the barrage of bullets aimed at his body.

Behind him, several more berserkers traded fire with us, mayhem erupting.

With an almighty roar, I catapulted toward the lead man. Taking his legs out from under him, I pistol-whipped the blockhead. Then I pointed the muzzle to the center of his forehead and pulled the trigger.

Scuffles broke out. Screams rent the air. It was a wonder none of my men got gunned down by the Sheikh’s less-than-mercenary forces. Only one of his men earned my respect, the one who’d drawn a gleaming KA-BAR to slice it neatly across one of the thug’s throats.