Chapter 15 #2
Another sniff. “That’s why I was so ticked out there. Maaz basically told me to stand down, so Rayan could have you.” He chuckled. “And the guy was lit just now, seeing the way you looked to me when he spoke to you. He hates that I’m here with you and he’s not.”
Concern churned through her at his words. “Arousing their anger is not a laughing matter.” Didn’t he understand that Ummi—
Ummi is safe, she reminded herself.
As she stood there, Leighton grew aware of all these fear reactions that had become second nature to her, like breathing. She had lived and breathed fear. Every response fear-driven. And mercies of heaven, she was so tired of it. But she wasn’t really sure how to live any other way.
Serengeti, Tanzania
The relatively short plane ride to Kogatende Airstrip in Tanzania proved uneventful, even the loading and unloading. Then, once again, they piled into Land Cruisers to reach the final safari migration camp, where they’d spend the next few days on Princess Daria’s pre-wedding adventure.
“This has to be a joke,” complained the princess-bride as they hiked through the brush to the lone tents anchored by a large acacia tree. They explored the first and largest of the tents.
“No more complaining, Daria,” Hassan huffed. “I know you are tired of the heat and bugs, but so are we all.”
“But it barely has more than a bed,” she whined. “Is there even a shower?”
As he neared that tent, Owen noted a shower. He could see it from here. No walls. No curtain. Just a shower head jutting from a panel in the exterior wall.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Leighton murmured as she came alongside him. “Do you think our tent will be like that too?”
“Probably worse.” They’d gotten the short end of the stick at every camp, and he did not expect that to change, especially with suspicion on him.
A shove came at his back. “Keep moving.”
Surprised at the blow that made him stumble a step, Owen glared at the guard behind him. “What the hey, man?”
“Nouri,” someone barked—Maaz. He stood to the front with Rayan and his sister. “You will room with Princess Aliyah at this camp.”
Lips parting, Leighton swung her gaze to Owen. “What about—”
The same guard who shoved Owen took it upon himself to do the same to Leighton. “Do not argue with the prince!”
Rage ripped through Owen. He rammed into the guy.
Threaded his arm around the guard’s chest. Hooked his neck and used his own leg to swipe the guard’s out from under him, effectively face-planting him.
Knee in the back of the guard’s neck, he drove his gaze to the entourage of princes.
“Nouri stays with me. I will not let anyone abuse her.”
Thick brows drawn tight, Maaz flashed a glower at him.
A blow came from his right. Nailed Owen in the temple. He staggered sideways. Tripped and crashed down.
“You do not tell me the rules,” Maaz growled. “We have been too soft on you, American. Nouri is ours. You are a hired gun.”
Warmth slid down Owen’s temple as he pushed himself straight. Refused to cower to these weak-kneed royals. “Who can’t do his job if—”
The guard came at him again.
“No, no!” Leighton rushed in front of him, holding a staying hand to the guard and one to Maaz. “Please—I’ll go.”
“No!” Owen struggled to his feet. “This isn’t—”
She caught his arm and tugged him back. “Please, don’t,” she whispered… Brown eyes pooling with tears pleaded with him to stand down. She pulled herself straight and faced Maaz. “He is badly injured from the lion attack, and it’s infected. There is no need for more violence.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Owen hissed to her, shifting closer. He looked to the crown prince. “Don’t listen to—”
“I do have to,” she said, forlorn eyes coming to him. “I can’t let you get hurt anymore.”
“I can handle it,” he bit out, catching her wrist.
“But I can’t,” Leighton whispered.
Feeling his world collapse at the thought of not being with her, his chest squeezed.
Probably hadn’t done his stitches any favors tackling that guy.
“I can’t protect you if I can’t see you.
” He was certain the royals’ interest in having her with pit-cheeked princess was about separating them, isolating him. Preventing him from keeping her safe.
“I knew it was too much to hope for…” She bent and retrieved her bag, paused for a breath, then started up the path.
Fists balled, he watched her go. When Rayan reached toward her, Owen lunged, but two men hauled him back.
Ghalib stepped into his path. The broad-chested bodyguard of the crown prince stabbed a hand to Owen’s chest.
Fire seared the stitches, and Owen growled through the pain of the intentional, well-placed strike.
“Know when to quit,” Ghalib snarled, his curly black hair glistening with sweat. “You would not want her to see you beaten and bloodied right here.” By the looks of this guy, he’d do it too.
“The king hired me to protect her,” Owen ground out. “I answer to him.”
“And when King Faruq is not around, you answer to Prince Maaz.” Ghalib’s dark eyes sparked, as if begging Owen to fight. “He has spoken.” He swiveled to the side and pointed to a long, narrow tent that easily spanned forty to fifty feet. “You will bunk with the other guards.”
Owen’s gaze slid past the burly royal cousin and found Leighton watching him. Her rigid posture, that look of terror, made him want to raze the camp and flee with her. “If anything happens to her…I swear you will regret it.”
He’d messed it up. Again. Everything. So close to victory and then the ground got ripped out from under him, dumping him into a quagmire of defeat. He was supposed to have protected her. But she had protected him.
“She is a princess and belongs with them.” Ghalib let their shoulders collide in a not-so-subtle message. “Not with you. Not with an American.”
“Nobody cared that she was a princess when they locked her in a concrete cell away from the world and light.”
Ghalib’s expression remained neutral for two seconds. And with strength and speed that belied his burliness, the royal coldcocked him, plunging Owen into darkness.
He awoke sometime later, head thundering. Remembering the fist driving at his skull, he tried to sit up. And instantly regretted it. Groaning, he lay there, allowing his body to recover. To get his bearings. He cursed himself for not anticipating that sucker punch.
He’d been right—the guy had it in him. Felt as if he’d hit a brick wall. At least his nose had been left out of the blow this time. But his jaw ached like nobody’s business. Probing it, he came to grips with another failed mission.
Just like the Rangers.
Just like the Green Berets.
He’d done his best and through no fault of his own that could be named, failed.
There was only one conclusion: I suck.
Would he ever be anything other than the guy who always came up short?
Slowly, he peeled himself off the cot and eased his feet to the ground. Sat there for a long second, pounding head in his hands, trying to sort through what to do. Was there a chance to save this complete trainwreck?
The extraction hadn’t happened—yeah, he’d messed up by losing the comms piece—but Dante said not to change things. And pretty much everything had changed. Was Omen even in play now? He didn’t believe Maaz’s claim that Mugo had arrested them, but that did not necessarily make it a lie.
And forget all that—Leighton. The one good thing to ever come into his life… The one person who truly, deeply needed him to get it right for once—and he’d failed. Failed her.
If ever there was a time to talk to Dad, get advice, this was it. But then, Midas had never met with the incessant failings like his screwup son, so what advice could he share?
“May I make a suggestion?” a man asked quietly.
Owen lifted his head and found Rayan’s cousin, Rafi, standing on the threshold of the bunkhouse, holding the door open, daggerlike sunlight piercing the darkness.
It made the back of Owen’s eyeballs ache, and he groaned. “As if I could stop you.”
“My people respect strength. True strength. But more than that, we respect honor.” Rafi eased in a few steps and paused. “I would…”
Great. Here we go. A lecture.
But when the guy didn’t continue, Owen eyed him.
“Go outside. Be present. Do not back down.” Tall and scrawny, Rafi shrugged bony shoulders. “The king… It would not bode well if he learns you hid in here when he entrusted his daughter to your skills.”
Was he for real? Why was this guy trying to help him? Owen gave him a long look, saw Rafi’s hunched posture, the way he shifted his feet. Nervous? Why would he be nervous?
Understanding dawned and drew Owen straight. “What do you know?”
Rafi’s expression faltered and he checked over his shoulder, out of the tent.
Owen followed his gaze and spotted the royals gathering around picnic tables. Seeing Leighton standing there in a teal kaftan, one arm over her midsection—as if holding herself together—gutted him.
“I would recommend,” Rafi said, “you stay at her side, even if she does not want you there.”
Not want him there… The guy assumed that because she’d told Owen to stand down. He came to his feet, not liking the warning in the guy’s tone. “Why? Is something going to happen?”
“It is considered poor to speak ill of one’s family,” Rafi said quietly, glancing around, as if making sure nobody was eavesdropping, “but I know two things: they do not like Americans, and all are aware of the circumstances of Nouri’s illegitimate birth. As such, to them, she is a blight.”
Hot coals burned in Owen’s gut.
“Daria will not have her wedding overshadowed by an illegitimacy. She will keep Nouri close, control her, so she ensures she is not outshone. Her fierce protection of family extends to Aliyah,” he explained solemnly, the whites of his eyes all but glowing in the dim light of the bunkhouse, “who sought your favor and was rejected.”
Cringing at that, Owen wouldn’t offer an apology. He hadn’t been here for fun times and flirting. “So, feelings were hurt.”