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

“Why can’t I? Does it matter? She will be dead by tonight.”

No, no, no, no, no. Why is this happening? How is this happening?

“Later, we will take turns. We will make video. Khalil will see and hear her screams.” They all chuckled in amusement.

I felt cold steel against my neck, and then the leader of the group whispered at my ear in a much accented English, “I hope you enjoy being tortured, young lady!”

I continued to sob and sniff and sit in my wet jeans. Oh Omar, please find me. Hurry. I prayed.

I don’t how long it was, or even what time of day it was. It was significantly cooler than earlier, so I guessed it was evening or early night. I was still in the chair, my wrists tied behind my back and my ankles to each chair leg. The chair itself must have been secured to the floor because I tried to move or rock it when I thought I’d been left alone, all to no avail.

My head ached from where someone had conked me with what I think was a rifle butt. My left eye socket throbbed too and even without the blindfold, I wouldn’t have been able to see out of it. I was pretty sure that eye was going to remain swollen shut for days. Who punches a girl in her eye? Who does this shit?

The leader returned numerous times and even went so far as to begin cutting off my jeans, until someone barked orders and he fled in a hurry. He’d commented on the lingering bruises from my love, the ones I was proud of and had worn with pride. They were the marks of my lover and future husband, and I could still feel him on my skin longer after we parted ways earlier that morning. I like those bruises, but to the onlookers, it told a different story, and to men such as these it spoke of abuse. Little did they know or understand.

I wish Omar would find me, but I am beginning to give up hope. I am also severely dehydrated and my head continues to swim in and out of consciousness. I feel battered and everything hurts.

Someone startles me when they speak, but this man has less of an accent and seems educated. “Do you understand why you are here?”

“No.”

“We are sending a message to Khalil. We are not happy. The division in our classes is dramatic and severe. Our poor are still living in huts with dirt floors while the royals live in buildings that touch heaven

. Your death will bring notice to our cause.”

“He will kill all of you.” I declare with certainty.

The man made an amused sound, “I don’t believe so. From the looks of it, my men simply brought back a whore that Khalid would eventually grow bored with. You are nothing other than a symbol—or perhaps you would prefer the word, pawn? He would not start a civil unrest for the likes of you.”

I chuckled sarcastically, “Okay, go ahead and think that.” And then I have a thought. “You do realize that Khalil supports his people in a lavish lifestyle? Even all of his servants live better than I do in the states.” There was no reply, but I felt my debate training kicking in so I continued to argue my point. “In fact, I would venture a guess that Khalil alone is responsible for the employment of thousands of people, not just hundreds, but thousands! He is a generous man. Perhaps you have targeted the wrong man?”

My captor’s voice held nothing but ignorant disdain, “It does not matter, he is our current ruler, and only through birth does he hold that title. He has the power to change the class divide, and yet he turns a blind eye and ignores our pleas. Killing you will bring us the attention we deserve.”

“It’s too bad you are so stupid.” I said with equal contempt.

“I’ve given the men permission to use you as they wish. You will be dead within five hours.” He walked away and I again began sobbing.

Again the leader returned, and he proceeded to cut off what was left of my jeans. I was shaking now and I couldn’t stop wailing as his hands roamed over me. When the cold steel of his knife sliced up through the denim covering my thighs, it caught my skin at my hip, and I could feel the warm trickle of blood as it dripped down my leg. He departed quickly, and then returned to gag me with a rag that tasted of dirt and grease. He cut my hands free, and then all the restraints on my legs and he picked me up and flung me over his shoulder. I peed again, and this time I didn’t care that it soaked down my legs and onto his chest.

He threw me onto an old mattress that stunk and springs pushed up against the thin covering. I tried to brace my fall, but was too late, and my forehead hit the ground hard as the rest of me splayed onto the filthy surface. It was then that I began flashing in and out of consciousness. Before I could move or struggle, he re-tied my hands behind my back and held my legs.

It was then that I heard the gun shots outside, and my captor began shouting in Arabic. I was trembling and my teeth would have chattered if not for the thick rag between them. Please let this be Omar’s men—PLEASE!

Within seconds, I heard the door kicked in. There were so many loud shouts in Arabic, that it seemed as if a swarm of men had invaded the compound. Someone fisted my hair and yanked my head back. I felt icy steel at my neck, and more words I didn’t understand, but I knew I was now truly in harm’s way. They were bargaining with my life. There was an eerie moment of silence followed by one gunshot that seemed to fire right at my ear, and rendered me completely deaf. The man holding my head fell away from me, and I again felt warmth run down my neck. But I was still alive and I knew it wasn’t that bad, at least not bad enough to kill me.

I began hyperventilating and within seconds my entire world went dark.

CHAPTER TWENTY

I woke up long before I actually let it be known I was. I assessed my surroundings by sound first and surmised I was in a hospital; at least that was what it sounded like from the consistent beeping at the head of my bed. I didn’t hear much in my general vicinity, but sometimes I heard voices off at a distance, female voices, so I relaxed.

When I finally cracked open my eye, the right one, and only one that worked, I immediately saw Omar asleep in a chair, and I instantly noticed his bandaged hand.

“Omar?” I croaked. He didn’t move, so I cleared my throat and in a louder voice I said his name again.

He jerked awake and rushed to me, “Anna!” He took my hand and fell to his knees at my bedside. “How can you ever forgive me?”

“Omar, what happened? Are you okay?”