Bought And Paid For: The Sheikh's Kidnapped Lover Page 3

  She continued to push and prod the little pin into the lock, hoping and hoping that she would see it magically spring open. Each passing second made her more and more anxious, and when she heard a doorknob turn, she yanked the pin out, let the lock swing with a loud crack against the iron bars, and threw herself onto the bench.

  The small woman from before appeared just as Jenna was sliding the pin back into her hair. The woman glanced down at the lock, still swinging, and raised a single eyebrow.

  Oh no, now you’ve gone and done it, Jenna thought grimly.

  The woman pulled a key out of the pocket of her dress and slid it into the lock. Jenna barely dared to breathe as the woman opened the door and stepped into Jenna’s cell.

  “Come,” she said, and it took Jenna a moment to realize that she had not spoken in English.

  Jenna blinked up at her.

  “Come,” the woman repeated in Arabic, a little more forcefully this time. She reached down and grabbed Jenna by the arm, pulling her to her feet. She pulled her out of the cage, and Jenna was so shocked that she didn’t try to pull away.

  The woman’s grip was like a vice on her arm, almost painful. There was another guard waiting in the hall, but Jenna was only slightly relieved that he didn’t look like the men who had kidnapped her the day before. He had dark hair that was balding and a closely trimmed beard. He glared down at her, and the woman passed Jenna to him.

  Who is this guy? What is he—

  He turned her around and tied her arms behind her back again before grabbing her arm, just as the woman had, and steering her down a narrow, dilapidated hallway. Jenna was turned around a corner, her mind racing again, feeling a nausea filling her, before she was lead out into the rapidly cooling air.

  She took a deep breath, glad that she was able to see the sky once more. Part of her had wondered if she ever would again. The relief didn’t last long, as she was shoved into the backseat of a black car, the door slammed shut behind her.

  The man who had brought her outside slid into the seat beside her, not even sparing her a glance. There was a driver in the front, another dark-haired male, and she wondered if either of them actually were her captors from the bazaar. They had been wearing masks, after all, so how would she know?

  The man in the backseat said something to the man in the front, but Jenna didn’t understand what.

  She felt like she was being subjected to an acute form of torture as they drove through the city, and she could see it all, just out of her reach. It wasn’t fair, and she felt as if she might throw up. Part of her thought it might be worthwhile, just to show them how much she despised them, but then she wondered what they might do to her in response, and that thought scared her more than she wanted to admit.

  They weren’t driving for long before the buildings became smaller, less on top of one another, and there was a long stretch of road with nothing but a barren landscape beyond.

  The car pulled up to a lofty mansion, with lights and large windows and gaudy statues out front. There was a bubbling fountain with a large stone basin. Jenna didn’t have much time to admire the setting, though, before she was whisked to a door and down a flight of stairs beside the house, into what she assumed was a basement.

  The atmosphere in the room through the door was entirely different than what she was expecting. There was a group of women, all immaculately dressed in dresses of silk and tulle, with bright colors and pinned hair and jewelry. There was laughter and music and tastefully draped swags of fabric.

  Jenna wondered if she had stepped into a totally different sort of nightmare.

  One of the women greeted her at the door, throwing an arm around her shoulders, and as soon as the door was closed, she had the ropes taken from Jenna’s hands.

  Jenna looked around in shock as she rubbed at her sore wrists, wondering if she was dreaming or if she had died and woken up in some strange sort of purgatory.

  The woman who had taken her inside had dark hair with some streaks of gray, all pulled back into a tight bun. She wore a traditional silken dress, and she kept grinning at Jenna as she pulled her farther into the room.

  Gesturing to a wooden stool, the woman wordlessly instructed her to sit down, which Jenna did hesitantly. Before she knew what was coming, a swarm of women rose up and came upon her with brushes and perfumes and steaming towels. One of the women placed a wet, hot towel on her face, and, thankfully, she was gentle as she cleaned the muck and grime and tear stains from her face.

  The towel moved over Jenna’s cheeks and forehead as gently as a mother would wash her own child. Jenna couldn’t believe how much better she felt after the woman pulled the towel away and stepped back, smiling down at her. Another woman had taken her hair tie out, as well as her trusty bobby pin, and had attacked the rat’s nest that was her hair. Another appeared in front of her with a large makeup pallet, a foundation brush, and a tube of mascara.

  Jenna realized then that she was being made up for something, and that prospect immediately made her blood turn cold.

  After she was all done up, they threw her into a corner, behind a bamboo screen, and tossed a dress over the top. Jenna wondered what would happen to her if she refused to change into it, but then she remembered the men who had brought her here, and decided to comply for the time being.

  The dress was pink, in a disturbingly lovely shade, like a hibiscus flower in the middle of summer. It was such a contrast to what was happening to her that the silkiness of the material and the sheer exquisite detail of the dress made her eyes fill with tears. How she longed to have found something this beautiful at the market, within the safety of the tour group. She only wished she could have spent more time with the people from California and maybe made some new friends who she could keep in contact with when she went home.

  Home.

  She choked as she cried, trying to keep her sobs as quiet as possible. She wanted to be able to email her parents and tell them that she had lied to them, tell them where she was, and that she was safe. She wanted to be safe.

  There was sharp, impatient knocking on the side of the bamboo screen, and Jenna forced herself to finish dressing. She wiped the tears from her eyes, knowing that some of her makeup must have been spoiled now, and stepped out from behind the screen, clutching her clothes to her chest.

  The woman on the other side of the screen snatched the clothes from Jenna’s arms and tossed them carelessly into a basket. Jenna mourned their loss almost as acutely as the loss of her sense of security. It was the last connection she had to the life that she had been living yesterday— a life that could very well be over, she realized with horror— and she debated grabbing for at least her T-shirt. The image of her alma mater taunted her from the basket as the woman pulled her across the room toward a set of stairs.

  Jenna was placed in the middle of the room, next to a gorgeous dark-haired girl with pale, almost translucent skin. She and Jenna made eye contact, and Jenna saw the pain and sadness that she was feeling reflected back at her.

  Something was very, very wrong here. Jenna felt a welling sense of anger that pushed aside her sadness and fear.

  Who are these sickos? she thought. Who do they think they are?

  She still wasn’t even sure what was happening, but there was a new feeling, a new determination that was starting to rise up within her.

  The woman who had done Jenna’s makeup suddenly appeared and touched up where the tears had messed up the mascara and eyeliner. Without hesitation, she started to fix it with her soft brush and eyeliner pen.

  Jenna stared at this woman who would not meet her eye.

  “Where am I?” Jenna asked. She was surprised at the steel in her tone.

  The woman didn’t appear to have heard her.

  “What’s going on?” Jenna snapped, raising her voice. “Why am I being held here?”

  The woman only shifted her eyes to Jenna’s, and Jenna almost recoiled at the scorn she could see there.

  No, not scorn. Warning.
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  Jenna’s mouth snapped shut, and she allowed the woman to finish applying the makeup. When she had completed it, she stepped aside to the other girl to check her as well.

  Jenna swallowed hard and felt her blood turn to ice. Was the woman being kept here against her will, too?

  She looked over her shoulder at the dark-haired girl, who appeared even paler than she had when Jenna had first seen her. She clenched her jaw and shook her head ever so slightly. Her dark hair was like liquid night, as silky as the ocean at midnight.

  Jenna wanted nothing more than to comfort her. But as she attempted to take a step toward her, the woman who had fixed her makeup set a firm hand on her shoulder, holding her in place. She shot her another look of warning.

  Before Jenna ever felt she would be ready, she was forced up the steps, to a door that slammed behind her.

  Behind the door were glaring bright lights, and Jenna had to hold up a hand to shield her eyes. She felt herself being dragged along, and then, when she was released, she lowered her hands and gasped.

  She was standing on a narrow stage inside of a huge ballroom, in front of a crowd of dozens of people—all of whom appeared to be men, behind the masks they wore. Jenna felt an uncontrollable fear well up inside of her as she looked around the room.

  A voice was calling out from the side of the stage behind an old, outdated-looking podium, and it sounded like…numbers? Numbers into the thousands, or more?

  Jenna gasped. She was at an auction. Only…she was the item being auctioned off. How despicable, how disgusting, how—

  And then, the anger returned. It came like a torrent, washing over her and fueling her with a strength that she was not aware that she had. As the auctioneer continued to list higher and higher values, as more and more men lifted their paddles into the air, saying that she was worth more money than the man before him believed, she discovered that her fear was gone.

  All of the anxiety of not knowing what had been happening to her in the last two days had finally been revealed, and it was as bad as she had thought it could be.

  She would not be some man’s plaything, nor would she be a good little wife who could be bought. She would not be a slave, nor a servant, nor a mistress. She was a free woman, and she was going to stay that way. She wasn’t sure how, but she realized that now she knew what she was up against, she was going to beat it, whatever the cost.

  She thought of the dark-haired girl who would be experiencing the same thing in just a few minutes’ time. Who knew where she, or Jenna, might end up?

  I will get out of this, one way or another.

  At the first chance she could find, she would escape. Even if she had to lull her buyer into a false sense of security. Maybe she would poison him on her way out.

  She was unaware of how high the bidding had gone, but something must have given. Jenna was wrenched from the stage again, and instead of going back down the stairs to the basement, she was led down a small staircase along the side of the stage. She was ushered up the side aisle, past the men, and she wondered which of them had been her buyer.

  She couldn’t wait to meet him, and to spit in his face.

  Jenna was taken outside of the mansion, where several long, black limousines were waiting. She was pulled to the very last one in the line. The gruff man who was practically carrying her across the dirt pulled the door open and shoved her inside, slamming the door shut behind her.

  Jenna huffed, and blew a stray strand of hair from her eyes, happy that her hair was no longer perfect.

  Good. Let whoever this sicko is think that I’m less than perfect.

  “Good evening,” came a deep, manly voice from the opposite side of the limousine.

  Jenna nearly jumped out of her skin as she turned to see who it belonged to.

  Chapter Six

  A ridiculously handsome man was seated against the back wall of the cab. He had dark, neatly styled hair and a beard that was short and well-trimmed. He wore a cream-colored suit that had to have been worth more than her entire college education, paired with shining leather shoes and a dark gray pocket square. His eyes, shining like black diamonds, were gazing at her curiously.

  Jenna swallowed hard and leaned back against the seat. She kept her jaw clenched tight and glared at this man who thought that a price could be put on her.

  “Hello,” the man said, and Jenna blinked in surprise when she realized that he had addressed her in English.

  She didn’t allow her surprise to show on her face. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  The man smiled at her, and Jenna could see that there was no malice there, no lust.

  The man turned to the little window separating the back of the limo from the driver, and knocked on it with one knuckle. She saw a silver ring on his forefinger. The driver apparently understood what the knock meant, for they started to move. Jenna looked out of the window, up at the mansion, and felt torn.

  She was so glad to be out of that situation, but being out of it meant that she was where she was now, with who she was with. And she had no idea if she was safe or not.

  The man straightened his jacket and settled his hands in his lap. He looked at her intently, his thick brows furrowed, as if he were surveying a young girl who had just come inside covered in mud from playing outside.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked, her hands clenched at her sides. Her fingernails were digging into her palms, and she thought the pain she felt was the only thing keeping her from passing out from fear.

  The man bowed his head for a moment, and then spoke.

  “My name is Sheikh Balal El-Djourani, and I am here to help you.”

  Jenna shrank back against the seat.

  “Please, you do not have to be afraid,” he said, his voice calm and his expression gentle.

  Knowing the name of her buyer did not help; if anything, it made it that much more real. Jenna’s eyes stung, but she wouldn’t allow him to see her cry. She would not give him the satisfaction, if that was what he was looking for. Something else registered in her mind, though, even if it was brief.

  Recognition.

  “Djourani…” she murmured.

  The man arched an eyebrow and nodded his head, appearing amused.

  “Yes, Djourani. My cousin is the ruler of this country.”

  And somehow I got myself mixed up in a royal family? What in the world is happening?

  Now that some of the shock had worn off, Jenna could see that he was rather handsome. His skin was tanned, but less sun-weathered than some of the other people she had seen in Al Mezinda, as if he had spent more time indoors. But she did not linger on it. He could stop being handsome at any moment, and turn into a monster.

  “Now, I know what you must be thinking,” Balal said, leaning forward slightly.

  Oh yeah? Try me, you creep, she thought, crossing her arms across her chest.

  “I’m not sure what exactly happened to you, but I can assume that some men grabbed you when you weren’t paying attention.”

  She glared at him.

  What does that mean, when I wasn’t paying attention? How was I supposed to know that getting kidnapped was a realistic possibility?

  “Then they brought you to a house somewhere in the city; somewhere where the cops are paid not to check.”

  Jenna shifted uncomfortably, chewing on the inside of her lip.

  He’s being vague. It can’t be that hard to guess what happened.

  “And then, you were dropped off at the mansion to get prepared before the auction.”

  It was still hard to believe that all of this had happened to her. It was so surreal, and she wondered vaguely if she was in shock. She wondered if maybe it would all hit her eventually, and then she would have to roll up in a ball and cry until she couldn’t cry any longer.

  “Does that sound about right?”

  She looked up into his face and nodded, her eyes still glaring.

  Balal nodded, and smiled. “This is not the first time that I
have seen this.”

  He reached down into a small cabinet along the side of the limo and pulled out a chilled bottle of white wine and two glasses. Jenna’s mouth watered without her control, and she scolded herself. She hadn’t eaten anything in almost two days—she needed food, not wine. But she could see the condensation beading up on the bottle, and she dreamed about what it might taste like on her tongue.

  “Can I offer you a drink?” he asked.

  She shook her head violently. How do I know that you haven’t poisoned it?

  He found a corkscrew in the same cabinet and drove it into the cork. When he finally pulled it out, she realized that there was no way that he could have tampered with it, since it was obviously just opened for the first time.

  He poured a glass and offered it to her. Jenna looked at it, her physical thirst tempting her, but she shook her head once more.

  “Suit yourself,” Balal said, and he leaned back against the seat, languidly holding his own glass of wine.

  “Your English is great,” Jenna said, suspicious of every word, every motion he made. “I haven’t met many people here who can speak it as well as you.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched.

  “I went to college—Yale—in the States; I think that might have helped a little.”

  Yale? Who the heck is this guy?

  “I got my master’s in business before I returned to Al Mezinda and started my company. Fast forward three years, and here we are.”

  Jenna studied his face, everything starting to come into focus as she contemplated the fact that he had spent so much time on the East Coast. Even some of his mannerisms were familiar.

  Jenna swallowed hard, the lump in her throat unrelenting. She couldn’t understand why he was treating her like an equal—like a guest, even—considering he had just bought her at a human auction.

  “Well, if you don’t want to talk, then allow me. I think you will find what I have to say most interesting,” the Sheikh said, breaking the silence that had stretched out between them. “First of all, what is your name?”