The Sheikh's Reluctant Queen. Оливия Гейтс
her lungs. Rashid had killed before. But it had been as a soldier in three wars. Here, it would have been different. And she couldn’t have even those thugs’ deaths on her conscience.
As he stood appraising his handiwork, she sensed his demon scratching at its containment to be let loose to finish its job. But Rashid seemed in control of their symbiosis again, back to being the ultramodern desert knight who had the world at his feet and everyone in it at his disposal.
He produced his cell phone, called the police then an ambulance. Then he turned to her. “Did they hurt you?”
At his question, she suddenly felt the imprint of their hands all over her arms and back. But the epicenter of pain was the left side of her jaw. Her hand flew to it instinctively.
He urged her below a streetlight. She stumbled at the feel of his hand on her arm, then again as he kicked one of the thugs in the head when he began to stir. The contrast between his violence with her attacker and his gentleness with her was staggering.
Once within the circle of light, his hand moved hers away from her face so he could examine it.
“Maybe I will kill them after all.”
She almost flinched at his verdict, attempted to make light of it. “For a right hook?”
“That was the beginning of the abuse that would have left you scarred for life, if not physically then psychologically. They do deserve to die.” She grabbed his arm as he moved, feeling she had as much chance of stopping him as she would a hurricane. His muscles eased beneath her frantic fingers. “Relax. I’ll only make them wish I had killed them.”
“How about you leave it to the law to deal with them?”
His hooded eyes grew heavier with disapproval. “You’d rather let them get away with it?”
“Certainly not. I just believe in appropriate punishment.”
Those lethal eyes flared ebony fire. “What would be appropriate for abusing and kidnapping a woman, putting her through hell fearing for her life, before maybe ending it?”
She bit her lip at the terrible scenario that could have come to pass if not for him. “When you put it that way, a death sentence doesn’t look too extreme. But that didn’t happen.”
“Only because I stopped them.”
“And now we can’t punish them for what could have been, only for what actually was.”
“That’s according to the law—here. Where I come from only hadd’al herabah is appropriate punishment for this heinous crime.”
She shuddered again as she imagined the ancient punishment sanctioned in their home region for those caught red-handed in major crimes like this—amputating an arm and a leg from opposing sides.
Deeming the subject closed, he turned to the fallen goons. And she saw it. A glistening wetness below his coat.
Sick electricity forked through her as she grabbed his arm, jerked him into the light. He pulled away from her frantic grip, made her grasp him to restore her balance. Her hands sank into the unmistakable warmth of blood.
She tore them away, looked down at her crimson-stained palms before looking up at him in horror. “You’re injured!”
His gaze moved from her upturned hands to his midriff before travelling up to hers. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” she exclaimed. “You’re bleeding! Ya Ullah!”
Something like… annoyance? Impatience? simmered in his eyes. “It’s just a scratch.”
“A scratch? Your whole left side is drenched in blood.”
“And?” There he went again with that and of his. “Are you squeamish? I hope you won’t faint.”
“Squeamish?” she exclaimed. “It’s you I’m worried about…”
Dread clogged her throat, more suffocating than anything she’d felt on her own account. His nonchalance had to be shock. His wound had to be severe to bleed that much, to not have registered its pain yet. Adrenaline and cold must be all that was keeping him on his feet. By the time the ambulance arrived, it might be too late…
Stem his bleeding. Buy him time.
Tearing her scarf from around her neck, she lunged at him, pressing its creamy softness against the tear in his sweater. He stiffened, his hands covering hers as if to push them away.
She threw her weight at him, pressing him back against the side of the building, panting now. “We must apply pressure.”
He stilled against her, stared down at her, his face a mask. Was he on the verge of losing consciousness?
He undid her hands, replaced them with his. “I’ll do it.” She sensed that he would, not because he believed he needed it, but to keep her away. “You can go now.”
Huh? He didn’t only want her to stay away, but to go away?
She shook her head, hands smeared in his blood trembling. “I have to be here when the police arrive.”
He reached for her hands, wiping them clean with the other end of the scarf. “I’ll say they attacked me. Those lowlifes will welcome my adjustment. A jury will give them a lesser sentence for attacking me rather than you.”
“But you wanted them to get the harshest punishment possible.”
“Whatever sentence the law passes won’t be that. I am bound by no such limitations, and I’ll make sure they’ll never think of doing this to anyone else ever again.”
“You mean you want them to get off lightly so you can administer your own brand of justice…?” She threw her hands up in the air. “What are we talking about? You’re injured. And I’m going nowhere but to the E.R. with you.”
“Since I’m not going to the E.R., the only place you can go now is home.” At her head shake, his voice hardened. “Take my car and drive a few blocks away. My guards will come to escort you back home. They’ll come up with you to make sure the coast is clear and will stand guard until we make sure this abduction plan had no contingencies.” When she didn’t move or answer he exhaled forcibly. “Go now, before the police arrive. You’ve been through enough on those scums’ account. Walk away and forget this ever happened.”
“I can’t and won’t leave you. And you will go to the E.R. Is that your car?” She indicated the imposing Mercedes.
He nodded. “I stopped to send a file from my phone.”
“And that’s when you saw me being attacked.”
He didn’t nod again, his gaze growing incapacitating.
“Give me your keys.” A formidably winged eyebrow told her what he thought of her demand. “I’m driving you to the E.R.”
“As you pointed out, I can’t leave the crime scene. The police will be here in minutes.”
“They can take our statements at the E.R. You might succumb to hypothermia and shock in those minutes.”
“I will succumb to nothing. I’ve had injuries a dozen times worse, endured them for days in conditions that make these pleasant in comparison.”
She knew he wasn’t exaggerating. She couldn’t imagine what he’d endured in war, couldn’t bear to think what kind of injury had given him that blood-curdling scar that slithered like an angry snake from his left eye down to his jaw, neck… and below.
Noticing her eyes on his scar, his lips compressed. “As you can see I’ve survived far worse. Don’t concern yourself over this glorified paper cut.”
Retorts fired in her mind, froze on her tongue. What did he think her? A selfish twit who’d grab the easy way out and run away?