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14
ROYA
ICOULDN’T COMPREHEND WHERE I was when consciousness rooted down into my psyche, nudging me from blackness. I couldn’t fathom how much time had passed. All I remembered was the break-in, the kidnapping, that odd sharp piercing at my neck.
I was numb.
Cold.
Rough, damp stone wall scratched against my back . . .
I lifted my eyelids slowly, the weight so heavy it was nearly an impossible feat. They must’ve injected me with something to knock me unconscious.
I tried to move, but the futile effort was accompanied by a leaden clang. I turned my head even as horror descended.
My arms had been outstretched, my wrists cinched by hard, sharp-edged manacles hammered right into the stone wall at shoulder height.
I glanced down to find my ankles similarly shackled, blood already seeping out to stain the tops of my feet.
I was chained.
Spreadeagled.
Naked.
Nothing like the lined handcuffs Aris used.
Aris . . .
The beaten gold bangles still circled my wrists and ankles but that of course meant less than nothing now.
With my heart knocking faster and faster against my breastbone, I scanned around. Small and square, the cell comprised of a dirt floor and roughhewn walls, a cool breeze seeping beneath the timber door.
A dank and mostly dark dungeon complete with flaming medieval torches on the wall that completed the macabre décor.
Slight tremors coursed up and down the length of my body, and my voice rasped painfully when I attempted to call out.
The door creaked on rusty hinges and another cool gust blew into the cell when it opened. My demented uncle entered with two very tall, very blocky guards. The pair of them had probably been part of the abduction crew.
They both leered, practically drooling at my state of undress and cruelly displayed body.
Uncle was no better. His eyes feasted, and sweat began to dot his florid face and balding pate.
Any grogginess quickly dissipated although I still felt like I’d swallowed a mouthful of cotton wool.
As the trio eyed me up and down, I became aware of one other thing. Although they’d denuded me completely, someone had placed a stupid hijab around my hair. The cloth threatened to unfold over my eyes when I thrashed my head back and forth so I stopped.
I glared, making my eyes as hard as black diamonds, but my venomous expression only made Uncle Abdullah snicker.
I couldn’t even cross my legs or shield my breasts to protect my modesty.
Ignoring the hoarse shakiness of my voice, I asked, “What is this? Where am I? What have you done?”
My crazy uncle nodded to one of the underlings, and the door was finally shut, the draft almost contained. Now, I was enclosed with Uncle and those two massive henchmen.
He ranged closer to me, an unhinged gleam to his eyes.
Perhaps he really was mentally diseased, for no man in his right mind would do this to a family member.
“We are in Hormozgan Province”
More disbelief and dread drilled down to my core. “On the coast of Iran? Why would you . . . What do you intend to do to me?”
“Now, now, Roya. I have been so very patient. It is time for you to be as well.” He rubbed his hands together before lifting one toward me.
I shrank back as much as possible, and he gave a saddened noise. I pressed my head away, my face to the side, sickened just by the sight of him. He had the same hooked nose as Father, but his face was wider, his frame bulkier, his eyes more deep-set and highly disturbing as they gleamed feverishly.
“One question at a time, dearest niece.” He retracted his hand, clasping both behind his back as he began a slow circuit around the cell.
His guards loomed like ugly gargoyles on either side of the door, their dirty leers never once straying from my nude and shackled body.
Uncle raised an index finger. “I had you brought to this delightful Iranian fortress for one simple reason. The great Sheikh”— derision colored his tone—“has zero control in this region. Here, I can pursue any lengths, use any means at my disposal to achieve what I want. You are helpless.”
Those strangely manic eyes returned to me, and a cunning smile crossed his lips.
“This is inhuman!” I shouted, struggling, but my jerky movements only increased the biting pain at my wrists and ankles, causing more crimson blood to trickle from my cut flesh.
Uncle stood in front of me, observing with utter disinterest. Again, his gaze roamed my nudity to halt at the exposed juncture of my thighs.
He pointed there. “One thing I do not understand about young women these days is your preference for trimmed pubic hair, or even shaving it off altogether.”
I shuddered, whimpering, wishing I could cover myself from the gross ogling.
“Do I distress you, dear? I am only stating my penchant for a full bush.” He shrugged, still staring at my sex. “Mind you, after years with Fatimah’s smelly muff, I probably wouldn’t complain.” Turning to his two goons, he asked for their commentary on the subject of my pubic hair. “What about you? Preferences?”
