Desire In The Desert. Ryshia Kennie
she knew that. She prayed her repentance would be enough.
She pulled her knees up tight and took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. Her tormentor was heading her way. His advances had become more and more intimate and she knew that the last time she’d been lucky.
She knew him and yet he was like a stranger, a frightening stranger. The man she remembered had been an average-size man with a glint to his dark eyes that indicated he loved a joke. And she’d told him many, at least when she’d been younger, before tragedy had struck.
Now he was lean to the point of skinny and the planes of his face were rough, wrinkled and almost feral. And then there was the scar. It wasn’t the horrid scar that disturbed her the most, but more the way those dark eyes skimmed over her in an almost hungry way that made her draw back and pull her knees even closer to her chest as if that would somehow protect her.
“What do you want?” she asked and realized that she might know exactly what he wanted. She could see the lust in his eyes. There was a time when she couldn’t imagine him looking at her like that and, in fact, in all her life he never had. But he didn’t always see her as Tara anymore. There were times when he had, briefly, in the beginning. She’d pointed out who she was once, but she now had a bruise on her cheekbone that ached when she touched it, to remind her to not do that again.
“I’ve wanted you for so long and yet you only looked at him.” He frowned as his knuckle skimmed her cheek.
Who? she thought. She tried to think clearly through the confusion of his words.
“Who?” she whispered. She was both scared to engage and scared to not know what he was speaking of.
He cursed and raised his clenched fist.
She couldn’t back down. She fought not to do just that.
“Your husband, of course. Who else?” He relaxed his fist and ran his hand through his grizzled, uncombed hair. He looked away from her and then turned back, a hard look in his eyes. “How did this happen?” he asked. His eyes were now, seconds later, reflecting genuine concern as he looked at the bruise on her cheekbone. It was as if he could not remember his actions from one moment to the next.
Tara fought with her control but it was so difficult to not pull away. She couldn’t, not yet.
“I would have given you everything,” he said, his voice soft and yet oddly hoarse. There was an edge to it that hadn’t been there before. “But, no, you wanted Ruhul.”
Was it possible? Ruhul Al-Nassar? Her father? Who did he think she was? Her heart was pounding so hard that she could barely think. But she knew in her gut it was critical that she was amiable and went along with whatever insane belief he had.
“Why do you shrink from me?”
She looked up at him with every ounce of willpower she had and smiled, hoping it was sweet and innocent, as her insides clenched so tight they hurt.
“I’ve wanted you for so long, Raja,” he said gently, as if repetition would somehow get him what he wanted.
It didn’t matter who she was. In the last few hours a new horror had been foisted on her. It was clear he was confused, at best. At worst, insane. She only wanted to curl up at the horror of it all. But she knew that wouldn’t save her. She had to act out his obvious delusion. If he believed her to be her mother, then that was who she would be. Tara knew it was a survival tactic on her part. She’d learned that and more in a number of psychology classes.
It was a horrible role to play, a terrible thing to contemplate. She wasn’t her mother.
Tara tried not to show her disgust or fear as his hand continued to stroke her cheek. She had to stop this before it was unstoppable, for he was quick this time and his hand had dropped from her cheek and was inside her blouse, under her bra. It was clear what he wanted and that this time he might not be ready to wait.
Fear combined with her full bladder and suddenly she couldn’t control either. She peed her pants.
She saw his eyes look downward to the stream of urine pooling around her and saw the look of disgust on his face. He stood, took two steps back and strode back to the others.
For the first time since her horror began, Tara had the upper hand.
Hopefully her brothers would find her before her time ran out.
Tuesday, September 15, 10:00 a.m.
They were heading south and east with a slight wind that was causing the unseasonal light rain to lash against the windshield, turning the sand hitting the glass into a paste that slid along the window, obscuring the view. The Jeep’s wipers beat a losing rhythm that wasn’t enough to keep the window clear. They’d had to stop frequently to clear the clogged wipers.
The charts Kate had checked on her flight to Morocco had indicated the local weather had been unpredictable for the last few weeks. Now, that same unpredictability, the unseasonal and unusual rain, was making for slow going, and the abnormally cool daytime temperature wasn’t helping.
“You’re okay?” he asked. His hand ran along her wrist and the heat that ran through her at his touch made her shiver.
“Fine.” She nodded, pulling her hand free and pushing a strand of hair back. It didn’t help. Her nerves were on edge—and not because of the assignment but because of his nearness, because of what he made her feel. It wasn’t how it was supposed to be and yet that awareness had been between them from the beginning.
The Jeep rocked as Emir made a slight turn to the right, adjusting for the ridges in the sand and the breeze that was now a buffeting wind. The vehicle slid as the tires kicked up sand chewed out of the ruts it was creating.
Her finger was on the map, marking where they were and where they were going. The journey had been slow. They’d had to adjust their direction a number of times. She reached for the grab bar with her right hand as the Jeep’s back tires spun and for a moment it seemed like they might get stuck in the middle of nowhere.
She looked at the compass. They were going by latitude and longitude. It was a get-back-to-basics way to travel. Even the Jeep was basic, built for this type of expedition without tracking or mapping. It reminded her how easy Google Maps had made everything.
She glanced at Emir and saw the brutal way he clasped the vehicle’s steering wheel, as if it were someone’s neck.
They drove in silence and yet with the promise of hope between them.
The landscape began to change as another hour ticked by. Now the flat sand and occasional rolling dunes had become steeper and were framed by larger ridges that signaled imminent foothills. The rain was gone and the desert looked like it always had—clearly, like there’d been no rain in months.
“We’re getting close,” Kate said. “Maybe twenty miles from El Dewar.” So far they’d made poor time, a combination of both the terrain and the weather. “No one knows the desert like the Berbers,” she added as Emir navigated a small dune. “Hopefully they know something more at El Dewar that can add to what we learned at Kaher.”
“I’m betting that it won’t be so much a matter of them knowing but of them telling us,” he said.
The side windows were closed but still the sand seemed to seep in. She pulled a tissue from the packet on the dash and wiped the corners of her eyes.
His hands tightened on the wheel as the front tires began to dig into the sand. He turned to the right and she knew he was hoping to veer out of the rut before they got stuck.
The consistency of the sand was subject to change and dependent on so many things. In an odd way, like snow. It would take all his focus to drive and navigate the unstable conditions. The desert was a challenge to drive at any time and now, with worry, little sleep and what might be a