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The one on the right licked across his lips. “Looks tasty enough to me.”
The other grinned, and I noticed a long jagged scar running from the corner of his mouth all the way to his earlobe. “I like it just like that. All soft and sweet with a little tickle for my nose.”
Bile rose up to gag against the back of my throat.
Uncle laughed evilly. “Well, you both may get the chance to try her out a little since you orchestrated the kidnapping so successfully.”
I closed my eyes, curling my fingers against my palms.
My arms and shoulders had begun to ache, but the pain was nothing compared to the idea of being raped repeatedly.
“Tell me, Roya. Do you know what they used to do to women—daughters and wives—who ran away?”
My eyes popped back open, and I scathed, “I’m sure you can’t wait to tell me, but I really don’t care.”
He kept leaping from one thought to another, making little sense at all. But what did I expect from a deranged egomaniac?
“They cut off the feet of those disobedient females.” A frosty sneer curled his lips off his teeth. “I for one approve of such old-fashioned measures. Women used to know their place, but don’t worry. We’ll get there in the end with you, hopefully without any mutilation necessary.”
So, as I’d thought. A veritable torture chamber from the Middle Ages.
Then a first spark of real anger stiffened his jaw and hardened his face. “I had no choice but to take you, you see. I cannot believe Nasir arranged your betrothal to the Swine of Dubai so quickly.” His voice rose in pitch as his color heightened. “To think, I wasn’t even given a spot on the guest list to the grand affair. An affront that I couldn’t abide.”
Well, it turned out that being wed to Hamzah might’ve been preferable after all. Life did have a funny way of surprising you.
“Maybe that’s your fault? After all, you did try to abduct me. Twice,” I spat out.
Uncle wheeled toward me and marched straight over. He pinched me sharply on the inner thigh, nails digging in when he twisted. He kept up that twisting and kicked his foot against one of my ankles, the shackle there gouging into thin skin.
I bit my lip as hot white spots spun behind my eyes.
“Yes. That’s another thing. Volkov’s constant interference caused a lot of collateral damage. The number of times he thwarted me and the fine men he killed . . . I will not stand for it again.” Uncle pulled his pinching fingers away.
It was my turn to get a dig in, and I crowed, “I think Aris enjoyed doing it too. The killing, that is.”
“He won’t get another chance.” Abdullah lashed out again, harshly tweaking the same spot on my sore thigh. “You will not marry the swine. And Volkov won’t be keeping you safe anymore. You will be wed to Rafiq and under my protection. Or imprisonment, as it were.”
I couldn’t believe he really intended to force me to marry my cousin. “But this is insane! I’d never agree to a marriage with Rafiq. And neither would Father consent to it.”
“My brother is too important. The family is unbalanced.”
“You are clearly unbalanced. You’re absolutely sick in the head!”
“He should share the wealth and prestige. Instead he leaves me to rot in a principality where I have no real power.” My uncle leered at me. “You give me power. Over him.”
“If you think he’ll fold—”
“He won’t. I know Nasir. But he’s just shallow enough that when his rebellious daughter turns up pregnant—”
“Pregnant?” Aghast, I stared at him.
He couldn’t really force my young cousin on me, could he?
“He’ll want to save face and the family name. Just as he tried to do by marrying you off to Hamzah. And I’ll finally have a seat at the table.”
“This is barbaric!” I hissed.
His grin twitched. “I will teach you what my pretentious brother never could. Discipline and obedience so you’ll serve my son as a proper wife.”
My brain went as numb as my arms at his twisted proclamation. As I listened to Uncle speaking in his creepy monotone with his fussy diction . . . ice moved through my veins.
Wrenching my head forward, I snarled. “I will never be some subservient female to be trained. And I will rip Rafiq’s cock off if he even tries to touch me!”
“You will guard that whore tongue of yours.” Abdullah barged against me so his shirtfront pressed disturbingly against my breasts.
His fingers gripped my cheeks with bruising force, and I swore if he got hard against me, I’d find a way to castrate him too even if I had to do it with my bare hands.
“Because if you don’t, I will have it cut from your slut mouth.” He released my face only to slap me so hard my neck snapped back.
My head hit the stone wall, the pain disintegrating my voice.
Then he yanked the scarf down to encircle my throat and tied a tight knot at my windpipe. My breath became forced and short, the dizziness compounding.
Squeezing the air from me, Uncle slapped my face again, the opposite side. A tortured sound leaked from me along with a high wheeze when he punched me in the stomach.
The intense pain of that blow made me ache to double over, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t block any of his strikes. I couldn’t even breathe with the scarf cutting off my oxygen.
I felt my eyes bulging, my vision going fuzzy.
Uncle, almost foaming at the mouth, made me look at him when he taunted, “My men here would like a go at you. You heard them. Maybe that’s how the training will begin.”
My lungs felt like they were bursting as the choking continued.
After another vicious punch to my midsection, he finally released the knot in the hijab. I gasped and gagged, saliva pouring from my mouth mixed with blood. My teeth had cut the insides of my cheeks from his hits.
Uncle breathed harshly too.
My head hung forward and, if let loose, I would have slumped onto the dirt of the floor.
Using the material of the headdress, Uncle swiped across my face. Then he carefully rearranged the soiled scarf to conceal my hair once more.
“There. I’ll leave you to think about your behavior. Perhaps come to your senses.” He pivoted, and, when he departed, the two thugs did as well.
I didn’t hear any scrape of a key in the door after it was closed, but that didn’t matter. I was going nowhere.
The aches in my arms and legs—my cut wrists and bleeding ankles—blended with the pounding of my head, the swollen feel of my face, the welts on my stomach . . .
The stinging in my eyes warned me that I was on the verge of sobbing, but I would not have that. I would not.
And I would not succumb to his mad idea of marriage.
But . . . good god. He’d transported me to Iran. How would anyone ever locate me?
What if Father thought I’d just snuck away again to skip out on the wedding to Hamzah?
Would Aris even know if I was missing?
Of course not.
He’d cut all ties . . .
A wretched sound of despair wailed from me.
* * *
