The Sheikh's Virgin Mistress 2 (Jatar Sheikh 2)

Armand, his second and his right hand man, was with him and quickly dashed to the command room to follow out Omar’s previous orders. No one said a word as Omar entered the penthouse.

“Who was the last to see her?”

“I, Sir.” Said the female that handled all of his wait staff. “I tried to stop her Sir, we all tried Sir. We went after her—She was just gone, Sir.”

Armand returned with a grim expression, “Your Highness; we’ve been sent a video.”

Omar’s heart sank and he rushed after Armand to the large command room. Anna was blindfolded and sitting in a cinder block enclosed bunker. There was today’s paper in her hands. The infidels held up cardboard placards that read; she dies tonight. Free our people. Share the wealth.

“What do they want? There are no demands?”

Armand pushed more buttons and shook his head, “Not yet Sir. I assume soon though.” Omar stared at the blank screen and a lump formed in his throat. Armand offered, “We can find her, I’m certain of it. Give me an hour and I will secure her location.”

Without thought Omar nodded and stated flatly, “I shall accompany you. One hour. I am heading to the armory.”

Armand gave his leader a slight bow and then went back to his study of the computer. Omar motioned for his men to follow him and on the way he barked orders for ten more men to be brought in and the helicopter fueled and ready to take off in one hour.

They gathered at his well-stocked armory and everyone loaded up on both ammo and weapons of every imaginable kind. Forty five minutes later and they were fully dressed in combat gear and had gathered in the foyer, waiting for news of her location.

Armand buzzed him on the walkie, “Sir, I know where she is.”

Omar replied, “Roof now.”

Omar could not believe the situation he was facing. How dare they steal his female! How dare they barter with her life as if it meant nothing?

He was silent as he clenched his teeth and waited for Armand and the other men to join them. All twenty soldiers loaded into the large helicopter and they took to the skies without a word. They’d drilled and practiced extensively and even Omar himself was a trained warrior in multiple disciplines. He’d seen hand to hand combat on the rare occasion and had never flinched away from a threat or a challenge to either himself or those that were closest to him.

Anna was now a living part of him, part of his very anatomy and he planned on killing every single soul that had touched her and used her as a pawn in their petty jihad.

The chopper banked sharply left and headed out into the desert. Oil rigs serenely continued their methodical see-sawing, looking like lazy trebuchets’, tossing invisible cannon balls out into the blank canvas of white sand, but never ceasing their hypnotic sway.

They landed behind a dune, and all but Omar departed the chopper. They went back up into the air, and he watched from his vantage point as the men silently crept across the desert and towards the innocuous farmhouse surrounded by a high barbed wire fence. They used hand signals to communicate and they were soon at the far back wall of the cinder block barn. Omar was in direct communication with Armand throughout the process. They had told Omar to wait, for he would be placed in great danger.

His men surrounded the small deserted looking building, and Armand took point. He rounded the corner first and shouted a warning before firing his gun. The area erupted into a volley of gunshots and men began running and ducking for cover.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I can’t believe I was so stupid. Even at home I rarely left my apartment alone, and I never went on walks through cities I didn’t know. And here I am now, like a cliché hostage in a terrorist movie. They even had me hold a newspaper. Thank god they haven’t really hurt me yet. Yet. It’s not like they were nice though, and my arm feels like it might be sprained from where I struggled and fought their grip. My ankle hurts too where someone kicked it so I would crumple. Yeah, that worked.

I need to pee. “Hello? Anyone there?”

“What do you want?” A very gruff and accented voice answers from the corner of the room.

“I need to use the restroom.”

“No.”

“But Sir, I don’t want to urinate on myself.”

His deep chuckle seems full of evil amusement, “You pee all you want, that is the least of your problems.”

“What does that mean?” Oh shit, I hear his footsteps coming closer. Slap! Oh god that hurt. “Why? What did I do…?” Slap! Ouch! Oh crap, I taste blood, I hope –shit, loose tooth. What am I going to do? Will they rape me? I wonder if they are going to ransom me. SLAP! “STOP slapping me!” Now I’m just plain mad. How dare they?!

Hard yank on my pony tail, “You will cease the noise this instant. No crying, no sounds! If you make another sound I will give you something to cry about.” His lips are at my ear, and I can smell his hideous breath. My stomach roils and I gag, but I think I remain as quiet as I can. I think. Harder yank on my ponytail and I grunt.

My scarf has just been ripped off and I hear snickers from whoever just saw my bruises. They speak in Arabic and then they all laugh. Next I feel cold steel at my nape, and within seconds someone has sliced off my blouse.

I can hear the men standing around, looking at my pale skin and bra covered breasts. I am mortified, and now the real threat of rape seems probable. The heated air of this room burns my exposed flesh. I am sobbing uncontrollably now and when someone grips roughly at my right tit, and then they squeeze it until I scream out, I end up peeing my pants. Oh god, please god, please don’t let them rape me.