Chapter 9 #4
Those words thudded against his conscience, blurring with the ones Leighton had just hissed at him. “I don’t know that she’ll go.”
“Chief says to get your head on straight. She’s emotionally compromised and doesn’t get a vote. You were put here to get her out, not ask her opinion.”
“You sorry—”
“Not my words, man. Take it up with the chief.”
“I will.” Owen lowered himself to a crouch, plucked a stalk of grass with one hand, and found the device with the other. “This whole thing is muffed up.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve got ticks sucking me dry, and you’re playing cozy with a princess whose father is a merc.” The grass rolled and the camo face vanished in an impressive, stealthy fluid motion. “Not sure if you’re lucky like your dad or just plain dumb.”
“Just dumb.” He had, after all, volunteered for this.
The slow, almost casual roll of the grass easily blended into the soft, teasing fingers of the wind across the plain. “Get it done, Apollo.”
He pushed upright, took a breath, and glanced at the lodge—yep, guards were watching and Maaz was heading over. Owen braced for impact, sliding the comms device into his pocket. Nostrils flaring, he prayed nobody caught on to the drop that just took place out here.
“You are not to leave her!” Maaz barked as he closed in on him. “Or you will both be locked in the room until I can have you flown back to Jeddah and secured in the dungeon.”
“You’d be doing me a favor,” Owen bit back. The anger wasn’t a mask this time—it ticked him off that she wanted to stay here. What, had she really developed feelings for Rayan?
The prince stepped into his path.
Owen stopped short to avoid a collision and prayed this wasn’t about to get ugly. Instead of meeting the prince’s gaze—which he guessed would be taken as an open challenge—he focused on the half dozen guards who peeled away from the building’s shadows.
“You forget your place, Mr. Apollo.”
Now Owen couldn’t help but look into the dark eyes. “With a cracked rib and bruised neck, kind of hard to forget.”
Maaz’s cheek tightened. “The king hired you to protect Nouri. How can you do that if you cannot even see her?” Malice colored the prince’s visage. “What if she is, even now, having the life cut from her lungs as you sit out here and pout instead of taking her in hand?”
The question seemed like more…like a threat. No, a promise. Or a warning. Owen’s gaze slammed toward the building. He spotted Rayan and Nasir. But no Hassan. No Ghalib.
He flicked his gaze to the prince, who smirked, then brushed past him. Did everything in his power not to break into a sprint. Where was she? He would kill anyone who went after her!
Inside, he swept the area in search of her. His gaze collided with Rayan, and he envisioned punching that straight nose right into the guy’s gray matter. He shoved aside the impulse, noting more than a little concern in the guy’s expression. “Have you seen her?”
Hesitating for a second, the prince stood in silent challenge.
Owen could not believe Rayan wanted to challenge him. “Where is she?” When no answer came, he surged at the prince. “So help me, if anyone hurts her—”
A voice—her voice—in conversation sailed through the open restaurant doors.
Punched the burning air from his lungs. Thank You, God! Relief and anger warred that she had left him. That she was sitting in the open, public. Smart girl—that way, he was less likely to rail at her.
That’s what she thinks.
Sliding a smug smile at the prince—it was petty, yeah, but it felt good—he pivoted and headed into the restaurant. Easily spotted her at the same table they’d been sitting at yesterday. However, this time, Aliyah was with her.
The princess’s wide, wary eyes rose to him. “Mr. Apollo…”
He didn’t miss the stiffness in her words. Or that she was referring to him as “mister” again.
Leighton shrank in on herself, hugging her arms. Avoiding his gaze.
Thoughts tangled and roiling, he told himself to get it together like Pike had warned. She was safe—that was the point. Acutely aware of the eyes on them, he pulled a chair up next to her and sat. But as soon as he did, he knew he couldn’t maintain this facade. “We need to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk,” she growled.
“We need to,” he repeated, adding emphasis.
“Nouri, is there a problem?” Rayan stood at the table—again—fingers pressed to the black. “You seem uncomfortable.”
Really? The guy was going to play loyal protector now? Where was he when everyone was ignoring her or backhanding her? Either way, Owen wasn’t playing this game. He rose. “King Faruq tasked me—”
“Hey.” She caught his arm and pulled him back down to the chair, shooting a manufactured smile to the prince. “I’m okay. Really. Thank you.”
Sitting, Owen met the guy’s gaze and held it.
Sick as it might sound, this felt like that time he’d trained his family’s Belgian Malinois and knew if he looked away, Echo would assume the alpha role.
And while the prince might have everything—money, power, control, the interest of Leighton—Owen would never submit to him.
“You two were arguing in the field,” Rayan persisted. “What was that about?”
Her hand was still on his arm, and he felt it tighten, then slip away. “I…”
Owen shifted his gaze to hers and stilled at what he saw. Not a threat, but something far worse—belief. Belief that if she told the prince what Omen had planned, that there was an operator out in the fields, it would stop Owen from extracting her. He felt sick.
Please…please do not do this, he silently begged her, locked in a visual duel with her.
She wet her lips, gaze sliding back to the prince. “He—”
“Religieuse,” Owen subvocalized for her ears only.
Leighton’s eyes shuttered closed. She swallowed. “N-nothing.” She gave a nod to the prince. “It was just a long day.”
“That argument did not look like nothing.”
Enough already, Prince. “It’s my job to protect her, Prince Rayan. Even when she doesn’t like it.” But as the words left his mouth, Owen knew they had too much edge. “Sometimes, when I suggest things for her safety and protection, it’s not what she wants to hear.”
Why was he explaining anything to this guy?
“And sometimes,” Leighton spat back, “he thinks too much of himself, as if he is my master.”
Aliyah scowled at Owen, and the prince shifted into a more possessive stance.
The impact of that accusation felt nuclear, shifting Owen’s gaze to hers. “No.” Was that really what she thought? How she felt? Regret tore at him. “Never.”
Surprise leapt through her olive complexion, but like him, she was skilled at holding her ground. “It felt that way.”
He had a choice—stay mad, maintain his position in the standoff with Rayan, or let it go and make peace with her.
He had never been one to back down, but he realized in that silent duel between them that Leighton held a power over him none else had.
“I’m sorry,” he said, releasing his venom and pride.
“That was unintentional. You are prisoner enough in this life, and I would not be a part in that.”
Searching caramel eyes glinted in the afternoon sun that pierced the window. A clear yearning to believe what he said seemed to soften her features. The slightest bob of her head hinted that she accepted his apology.
“Nouri?” Rayan prompted.
Sitting back, she touched her temple. “Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. It has been a long, hot day, and I think I need to eat and rest.”
“I can get you something,” he offered.
Owen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Well, he’d meant to, but Mom always said the Metcalfe blues had a life of their own.
Aliyah snickered at his lack of restraint.
Stiffening, the prince tightened his jaw then refocused on her. “There is a dinner tonight at eight with the wedding party,” he said as he stepped back. “You can be my guest, Nouri.”
Rankled at the way those words were not an invitation or a request—it seemed more an order—Owen huffed. “Why would she need to be a guest? She’s a member of the wedding party, right?”
“She is—”
“It’s okay,” she said to Owen, setting her hand on his arm again. Then she looked up at the prince. “Thank you for your kindness. I accept.”
Why in black blazes was she agreeing to that?
“You mentioned wanting to rest,” Owen suggested, coming to his feet. Anything to get her away from this guy. Something wasn’t adding up. Like she’d said—the royals were suddenly being too nice.
“Yes, of course,” she said as she stood and inclined her head to the prince. “Again, thank you.”
“Until later,” Rayan said solemnly, then shifted aside. In a blink, he skewered Owen with a menacing look and pushed into his space. “You should do your job better. She could have been injured out there.”
Owen moved into the challenge. “Says the man who watched her get punched by another man and did nothing to stop it.”
Rayan twitched, myriad expressions flickering through his dark features. “How—”
Leighton spun to Owen and set her hands to his chest, urging him back. “No,” she said emphatically. “Please.”
Jaw clenched, he indicated toward the doors. Paced her across the lobby and down the hall to their suite. There, he punched in the room code and let them in.
Leighton moved robotically to the sofa, sat down, and dropped her face into her hands. Quiet sobs shattered whatever bravado had buffeted Owen into facing off with a prince whose uncle held both their lives in his hands.
Rawlins had it right—Owen was dumb.