Uncut Bundle

She meant it. He could see that glint in her eye, that tilt to her chin. The determination that was part of who she was, but he’d be damned if that would do her any good this time.

No way would he take her with him. He was trained in survival. He could deal with what waited outside this door. She would be at the mercy of the killers who’d come for them.

“I’m done arguing,” he said bluntly. “You’re staying here.”

“Please.” Her voice broke. She put her hands on his chest and looked up at him, tears bright in her eyes. “I know you’re trying to protect me. And—and I love you for it. I love you for everything you are, Cam. Do you hear me? I love you!”

There they were, the words he’d known she wanted to say, the words he knew couldn’t really be true.

Then, why did they pierce his heart?

“That’s why you have to let me go with you,” she said. “Don’t you see? I love you!”

He had to silence her. Had to force her to stay behind. There was only one way to do it, even if it hurt her.

Cam took her hands from his chest and yanked them to her sides. “Don’t be a child,” he said sharply. “We had sex, lady. Sex. Don’t confuse it with love.”

She blanched. “You’re wrong. I love you.”

“And I love breathing,” he said, hating himself more than he’d ever thought possible. This wasn’t the way their affair was supposed to end, but he’d run out of choices. Saving her was all that mattered. His honor demanded it. “I’m going outside. You’re staying here until I get back. You got that?”

Her face was white. Her mouth trembled. He cursed, drew her to him and crushed her mouth with his. She didn’t respond and he could have sworn he felt his soul shatter as he let her go.

“Remember to throw the bolt.”

Then he went out the door, waited until he heard the lock slide home and raced down the stairs.

The sultan’s thugs were in the courtyard. Six men. No, eight. Cam felt the old, familiar surge of adrenaline. One last deep breath. Then he gave a rebel yell and started moving, firing as he ran.

Two men went down. A third, then a fourth. Cam raced for the side of the building, bullets whining past his head. He turned the corner and flattened himself against the wall. For the first time, he let himself think he and Salome might just survive this…except, there were more men coming, crouched low as they raced toward him.

Too many men. Too many guns.

This was it, then. He was outnumbered and outgunned. It was time to get back to Salome. Hold her in his arms. Tell her that these few days had been—that they had been wonderful. Kiss her mouth, put the gun to her temple…

Something hit him in the chest.

It felt like a sledgehammer. But why would anybody be wielding a sledge—a sledge—

“Ahhh.”

Pain blossomed like a multi-petaled flower, radiating through his chest, his shoulders, his arms. Cam slid down the wall. He looked down, touched his chest, came away with smears of crimson on his fingers.

The sound of gunfire faded. A boot kicked at his leg. He raised his eyes, saw a man standing over him. It was hard to see clearly—things had become hazy, for some reason—but he knew that cruel face.

“Asaad?”

“Mr. Knight.” A delighted smile. Another prod of the boot. “How nice to see you again.”

Cam grunted and tried to struggle to his feet. The sultan laughed, jammed his foot on Cam’s chest and pushed him back.

“I’m afraid you won’t be going anywhere, Mr. Knight. Did you really think you could escape me?”

Salome. Where was she? Cam had to get to her.

“Are you looking for someone? Of course you are. You’re looking for my harem girl.”

Cam labored for breath. “Not yours,” he wheezed. “Never—”