The Sheikh Who Stole Her: Sheikh Seduction / The Untamed Sheikh / Desert King, Doctor Daddy. Dana Marton
Couldn’t be bandits. She’d seen those beat-up old army trucks all over the city. People bought them after they’d been decommissioned by the military, and used them for everything from furniture moving to selling Middle Eastern fast food on the streets.
The sound of a round from a machine gun—the truck was definitely not selling melon sherbet—sounded over the growling rattle of the Hummer’s engine, which the driver was pushing to the limit now. Bandits! her brain screamed in disbelief, as she shrunk instinctively, trying to make herself as small a target as possible.
From the corner of her eye she saw Tariq roll down the window and return fire. Spent shells pinged to the floor at her feet. Oh, God, oh, God, help us. An acrid smell lingered in the air, which after a moment she realized was the smell of gunpowder from the weapon’s discharge.
Blood rushed in her ears, and her body vibrated with her growing panic. This couldn’t be happening. Had to be a dream.
On her first night in the country, she’d had a torrid dream of being abducted by a mysterious sheik, a story line straight out of a book. Now she was dreaming about a bandit attack because she’d been watching the regional news, which had reported the kidnapping of a group of journalists in Yemen, across the border. The terror around her couldn’t be real. The front desk would be ringing with her wake-up call any minute now.
Instead, their car slowed, sending her panic into higher gear. She glanced up and caught a glimpse of the driver draped over the steering wheel, half of his face missing. She squeezed her eyes shut, holding her breath.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said, but nobody was paying attention to her.
Tariq exchanged some words with Husam in Arabic as the vehicle rolled to a halt in the sand. Maybe he was Beharrainian, after all. Or Beharrainian-American. She tried to focus on that instead of on the bile rising in her throat as she lurched to the floor, whimpering when bullets sprayed the side of their Hummer.
Jeff tumbled from the vehicle on the other side. “We have to run for it.”
She followed him out, then flattened herself on the sand, using the tires for cover.
The attacking truck was coming closer, Tariq still firing from his seat, his face a mask of concentration as he focused on the task. The scene would have easily fit into an action movie—dashing hero saving the day. Except that even motion picture heroes couldn’t win against an opposing force this overwhelming. A second truck had appeared behind the first.
Fear pushed her to flee from what she knew to be certain death. But where? Husam was outside now, keeping low to the ground and running. The driver of the first Hummer had realized that the second one had been disabled, and turned around, coming back for them.
“Let’s go for it.” Jeff grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up.
For a moment she hesitated, too scared to leave their cover. But maybe he was right. Husam had nearly reached the other vehicle already. Maybe they, too, could make it to relative safety. The Hummer was lighter and faster than the trucks. They might be able to outrun the attackers.
She pushed herself to her feet and sprinted forward, focusing on their goal. If she looked around, if she considered for even a moment the massacre surrounding her, she would have frozen, providing an easy target for the next bullet.
“Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Keep low,” Tariq yelled from behind them, covering them as best he could.
They were twenty feet away when Jeff stumbled and dragged her down with him. The sand scorched her bare palms as she put them out for support.
“Come on. Get up.” She pulled, keeping an eye on the beat-up military truck, which was dangerously close. When Jeff didn’t move, she glanced at him. His eyes were gazing into the distance, a frozen look on his face. He was dead, his fingers still locked around her arm. “Jeff?”
Dead. Gone. She stared at him, immobilized by mind-numbing horror, barely registering the sight of two men jumping off the back of the still-moving truck and running for her.
They wore camouflage uniforms, their heads completely covered with white headdresses. By the time she was fully cognizant of the danger and could act again it was too late. One of them grabbed her, rough fingers digging into her flesh, yanking her away from Jeff’s prone body on the sand. “No! Let me go!”
The other reached for her, too, but then crumpled to the ground with a surprised expression on his face. She spun around and saw Tariq running toward them. Her captor welcomed him with bullets.
Everything was happening too fast. She couldn’t think, didn’t know what to do, which way to run.
Blood spread on Tariq’s arm. He slowed, his expression even fiercer, more determined than before. He didn’t look like the type of man who would give up while his heart beat in his chest. And neither could she.
“Get away from me!” She whipped back to face her captor, kicking and screaming, though she knew it was useless. Tariq wasn’t going to reach her. She was only delaying the inevitable.
Sara had always wanted to see the desert. Now she had done so. It wasn’t nearly as romantic as she had thought. The place was scary and dangerous, and dashing heroes didn’t ride about saving damsels in distress.
“No!” She fought with her nails and teeth, her feet and elbows, even attempted to butt the man with her head. But her efforts were neutralized as easily as if she were a child. Bodies littered the sand now. She would be next, she thought, nearly hysterical with fear and breathless from her efforts.
She should be dead already, she realized then, in a moment of clarity. The bandits could have shot her at any time. They hadn’t. They wanted to take her. The recognition brought a fresh wave of panic. “What do you want from me?”
As she twisted away from her attacker, she expected to see Tariq sprawled on the sand next to the others. But miraculously, he was still coming. The sight of him, bloodied but undeterred, gave her new strength to claw at the menacing, gap-toothed bandit who held her in a viselike grip.
“You’re not gonna take me!” she grunted. “Let me go!”
Then Tariq was there, finally, and her captor fell dead at her feet the next second. Tariq grabbed her arm and ran with her toward the other Hummer, the closest cover. Bullets flew all around them, from men who fought on the sand and those who’d stayed on the trucks.
She ducked behind the car when they reached it, hoping there’d be someone there to join, to gain strength from numbers. But nobody was alive save for her and Tariq, and the vehicle had been shot to oblivion.
“Why are they doing this?”
Tariq didn’t answer. He was too busy returning fire.
His arm was covered in blood. He’d lost too much. How long would he be able to keep up the fight? Sara planned to take the gun from him and continue shooting if he wavered, but the handgun clicked with his next shot. Empty.
He glanced at her, his dark eyes swirling with barely restrained rage that softened as he held her gaze, the look turning into something akin to regret.
This was it, she thought. As good as he was, he could do no more without firepower. They had seconds at most before the bandits reached them. And then … She couldn’t bear thinking about what would happen next. Her mind was filled with the gruesome images of the men who had been mercilessly massacred already. Jeff …
Sand flew up around them. The bandits had plenty of ammunition and were not afraid to use it.
“Take off your jewelry.” Tariq cast his useless weapon aside, then rolled up his sleeves to pull off an expensive watch. He buried it in the sand, along with his cell phone, which had the No Signal message on its display. “Quick,” he said when she hesitated, wondering about his request.
She slipped off her two rings, although, facing certain death, those few grams of gold were