Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
Noah
The man standing only feet from the orphanage wasn’t Sheikh Omar—and he didn’t appear to be one of his men, either.
No, this was someone unrelated to the sheikh. More commanding in his presence.
This man walked with the authority of someone who gave his allegiance to no one—and didn’t care who he burned down to get what he wanted.
Noah’s hands tightened around the stock of the rifle, his heart steady as he peered down the barrel.
The tremor in his fingers was back. This was bad timing, but he couldn’t let it get to him. Not now.
The door to the orphanage opened, then Jack stepped out, a gun already in his hands. But as Jack’s eyes collided with the man in the street, he stopped short.
Not who Jack expected.
The man swiveled toward Jack.
Click.
Noah froze as the cold metal barrel of a gun pressed into his neck. A rough, familiar voice gritted out in Arabic, “So, Yusef. You show your true face at last.”
Noah nearly hung his head.
Checkmate.
He was now completely at the man’s mercy. Lowering the rifle, Noah then lifted his hands, turning slowly. The sheikh himself stood behind Noah, a rifle in his own hands. Two of his men flanked him.
“Sheikh Omar,” Noah said with a grim smile. “I can explain—”
“Save your words, Yusef. The presence of Sharif al-Rashid is evidence enough of your betrayal.”
Noah raised a brow. Al-Rashid?
Of course.
Prescott must have contacted him.
“I have nothing to do with that.” Noah held the sheikh’s eyes. “The man who has been chasing the American woman—the man who wants to help al-Rashid cover up his crimes—he’s the one who must have told al-Rashid to come here.”
The sheikh gave a brittle laugh. “You expect me to believe such tripe? How would al-Rashid know the precise time to be here if not for you?”
No way around this. He couldn’t give a better explanation than the truth. Noah grimaced. “That … is coincidence.”
“Yusef—” The sheikh’s tone was one of fatherly, patronizing scolding. “Yusef, you cannot expect me to believe such lies.” His gaze hardened.
Noah’s pulse beat hard at his throat. He kept his hands up, kept his composure steady, but everything inside him screamed for time. For Ginger. For Alex. For just one more second to explain.
He doesn’t understand.
The sheikh stepped back. As he did, one of the sheikh’s men moved in, lifting his rifle. The butt of it slammed against Noah’s head and jaw with such force that Noah gasped in pain, a painful crack rippling through his senses. His mouth tasted blood, and one knee crashed down against the earth.
The man who’d struck him grabbed him by the collar, dragging Noah before he could recover.
The tops of the nearby buildings blurred with the dark sky and the glistening stars, his boots scraping against dust and stone as he tried to get a footing until the sheikh’s men dragged him in front of the orphanage steps.
A distant cry reached his ears—Ginger.
The sheikh’s man tossed him to the ground in front of al-Rashid.
Al-Rashid barely blinked. His boot moved, almost lazily, nudging Noah’s leg aside.
Running footsteps approached, then warm arms wrapped around him. “No! No, stop!” He caught the scent of his beautiful wife before he saw her, before he felt her tears on his neck.
“Who is this?” Al-Rashid demanded, looking at Noah with the disdain that Noah had seen men use when finding rats in their quarters.
“This man belongs to you, Kamal. Your faithful servant. Did you think you could fool me?” The sheikh moved closer to al-Rashid, his steps heavy.
“Why would I hire an English dog to do my bidding?”
Noah focused on Ginger—her hand still gripping his shirt, her knees pressed into the dirt beside his face. Her breath stuttered against his neck. “Get out of here,” he hissed, turning just enough to meet her eye. “Get out of here, rohi.”
“No, I won’t leave you,” she said, voice shaking. “I didn’t come all this way to lose my husband to spineless men who would kill women and threaten children.”
“Do you enjoy being their fool, Omar? The way these English dogs make you their puppet?” Al-Rashid sneered, louder now, for everyone to hear. His Arabic was flawless, clipped and precise, the kind Noah had only ever heard from the most influential families.
Straining with effort, Noah drew himself up on one knee, not fully down but not standing either.
His rifle had been stripped away, and the skin around his neck stung from where the sheikh’s man had grabbed him.
Ginger hovered just behind him, her hand on his shoulder, an anchor.
A reminder of what he was fighting for. Who he was.
“I’m no one’s dog,” Noah said quietly in Arabic. He didn’t look at the sheikh.
The sheikh stepped closer anyway, his sandals slow and deliberate in the dust. “No,” he said with bitter mockery. “You’re just a liar. A liar with many names.”
Noah’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t going to apologize again. Not here. Not to this man who had already made up his mind about him.
“I gave you shelter,” the sheikh continued. “I treated you as a guest. And you bring this into my house—” He jabbed a finger toward al-Rashid. “You dishonor me, and now you expect me to believe it was all by chance?”
“I don’t expect you to believe anything,” Noah said, his voice low. “But it’s the truth.”
“Then your truth is as useless as your weapon,” the sheikh snapped as he motioned to one of his men.
The man stepped forward and, with grim efficiency, drove his boot into Noah’s ribs.
Pain knifed through Noah’s side and he folded, air collapsing from his lungs. He coughed and spat into the dirt, forehead pressed to the ground.
Ginger screamed. She lunged—then was caught mid-motion by another figure.
Fahad.
He appeared out of the shadows like smoke, wrapping his arms around her, spinning her back behind him with a low command in Arabic. “No!”
“But he—” Ginger choked out.
“I know,” Fahad said, his voice calm, kind. “I know, habibti. Let me watch your back.” He placed himself between her and the sheikh’s men.
Noah gasped for breath, pain rippling through his body.
He’d never imagined he’d be back here once again—unarmed, humiliated, kneeling in front of two men who had the power to destroy everything he loved.
His eyes flicked toward Jack still at the edge of the scene, just barely restrained by Alastair’s presence at his side. Thank goodness for Alastair. He was always cool under pressure, able to restrain Jack when necessary.
Tension coiled in Jack’s stance like a bow pulled tight, his body half-turned, holding someone back until she pushed past him anyway.
“Stop!” she commanded, breaking away.
Alice Darby.
Noah hardly recognized her.
The last time he’d seen her, she’d been in pigtails. But it had to be her. The resemblance to Jack was uncanny. If Noah had expected some sort of relief at retrieving her, it didn’t come. They may have beaten Prescott here, but the man was still out there and hadn’t shown his face.
And he has Alex.
Al-Rashid’s eyes hardened as they sized Alice up, his dark and striking features fierce. “There she is.” His voice was soft. Gentler than Noah had imagined it could be. “The woman who was never meant to survive. You stole from me, Alice. I do not forgive betrayal.”
Alice’s shoulders heaved. “Stop hurting these people,” she repeated. “You want me, Kamal? I’m right here. I’m done hiding. I won’t have any of these people die for me.”
Jack stepped forward, sliding in front of her without hesitation. His gun was still in his hand, steady. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he said coolly.
“Ah,” al-Rashid said. “You must be the infamous Jack Darby. I’ve been told about you. You’re the one who led us all here, yes?”
“And you’re the man who’s been trying to cover his tracks with blood.”
Al-Rashid gave a small shrug. “Justice, Mr. Darby, is always subjective. Was it justice when our lands were parceled out like spoils of war?” He flicked a glance at the sheikh. “Ask Sheikh Omar about British justice.” He held out a hand toward Alice. “Come, woman.”
Alastair was steps behind him and came to Alice’s other side, grabbing her arm. “Best be on your way, Sharif. As you can see, Alice is already out of your hands. And you’re vastly outnumbered.”
Noah studied the sheikh, better able to see what he was up against now. A half-dozen men hung back in the distant shadows, faces hidden by keffiyehs—al-Rashid’s.
And who knew where Prescott was and how many Blackwell operatives he planned on bringing tonight.
The sheikh had come with eight men, who now stood in a semicircle behind him.
Alice put a hand on Alastair’s. “Let me go, please.”
Don’t do it, Alastair.
But Alastair was too much of a gentleman not to. He did as asked, and Alice stepped away from him. Then Noah frowned. Where was Kit?
He’d seen her exit the orphanage with Jack, but in the midst of everything, he’d lost track of her. Now he didn’t see her at all.
Alice appealed to Jack with wide eyes, a determined look on her face. “Prescott will never let me leave his company, Jack. You know this. He’ll never stop hunting for me. And I deserve any punishment I get. I deserve to pay for all the wrong I’ve done.”
A movement behind him—the sheikh flinched, taking a step toward Alice.
His certainty was brittle. Crumbling.
“Are you really going to allow Alice to hand herself over to this butcher?” Noah asked, locking eyes with the sheikh now. “You made an agreement with me. And with Jack. You promised to protect the girl. You said your honor mattered.”
“Sheikh Omar,” Fahad said gently, his arms tightening around Ginger. “You know what kind of man Kamal is. You know what he’s done. Help us, ya sidi. We are not his allies. We’ve come to rescue the girl, not harm her.”
The sheikh hesitated.
Fast footsteps approached.
A scuffle of sound from the far edge of the orphanage. Several heads turned.
The sheikh stilled.
Al-Rashid’s hand went to his pistol.