Page 146 of Rescuing You

Jasmine seemed strong. The confrontation with Waleed hadn’t cowed her but had, strangely, infused her with courage.

Would that Leila and her sister could both be strong at the same time. To what end, though? They weren’t getting out of this. Any hope she’d held onto had been squeezed out of her by Waleed’s fingers against her windpipe. What could one pathetic rusty nail do to these men?

Leila and Jasmine would be returned to Iraq. Or they would die.

Leila would prefer death over a lifetime with Waleed. What would he do to her when she refused him on their wedding night?

What pain did she have to look forward to?

Why would God leave her here? Why didn’t You take me?

At least she hadn’t been murdered in front of her sister. For now, she and her twin still had each other. When Leila was alone with Waleed, she would pray for death.

They approached the sedan, where they were certain to be tossed in the trunk again.

But Jasmine froze a few feet from it, stopping Leila as well. “We will not be treated like baggage.”

Waleed spun and bent to get in her sister’s face. “You will do as you’re told, or I will tie you up like a pig.”

“I’ll tell him. And he’ll kill you.”

“You overestimate your value, Yasamin.”

“You overestimate yours, Waleed.”

Leila ducked away, overcome with shame for abandoning her sister.

Jasmine wasn’t cowering.

But Leila wouldn’t survive another show of Waleed’s strength, and he wouldn’t let Jasmine’s words go unpunished.

He glared. Then spoke over her head. “Yasamin will ride in the front seat with you. My bride will sit with me.” To Jasmine, he said, “If you try anything, I will hurt her.” Waleed swiveled and marched to the car.

Jasmine whispered in Leila’s ear. “Are you all right, sister?”

“I-I…” Her throat wouldn’t work. She had no sound, no voice.

Jasmine glared at the back of Waleed’s head as he walked away.

The young driver hovered behind them, the flow of his words finally cut off.

With only two men to guard them, there probably wouldn’t be a better opportunity to try to escape. But Leila didn’t have the strength to fight, and thanks to Jasmine’s illness, she wouldn’t be able to run. To attempt it now would be suicide.

Or worse, they would survive and be punished.

Leila had to hold onto hope that there would be an opportunity.

Even if that hope felt as elusive as fog.

She settled in the backseat beside Waleed. He wasn’t as big or broad as Michael, yet he took up far too much room.

She leaned against the door, as far from him as she could manage.

Jasmine sat in front of her, the driver taking his place behind the wheel. “Straight there?”

“Everything should be set up and wired.”

The driver dipped his head. Gone was his exuberance. He looked pale and nervous. Was he afraid of what was to come? Or had the events—Michael’s murder and whatever they’d seen out that window—caught up with him?