Captive- Veiled Desires (5 page)

He raced towards the room and threw the door open. Mateen had her pinned against the wall, his dick pulled out of his pants and rubbing it against her crotch.

He was incensed with rage as he yanked him by the collar and punched into his face. Mateen didn’t hold back, hitting with all he had.

“So, this is how it is?” Mateen minced. “You will fight your own brother for the sake of a woman?”

“I will not have you raping one while I’m around!”

“You’ve grown soft, Adam. Just like a woman.”

“I am where I am because of a woman. If you had half a brain, you’d respect them too.”

“I have no respect for whores. And none for men like you who grow pussies and not dicks!”

“I don’t give a fuck about your opinion. But you will stay away from her.”

“You like her,” Mateen sneered.

Adam riled, sitting atop him and then began punching into his face, wanting to wipe that sneer off him.

“She belongs to Darul-Ilhaam,” Mateen croaked, his face bashed and beaten, his mouth cut deeply.  “If you fuck her, we
all
get to fuck her.”

“You will not touch her!” He punched into Mateen’s face again.

“Why? Why?!”

“She’s my woman!” he screamed, shaking with anger. He pulled out his knife, angling it towards Mateen. The other man blanched.  But Adam got up and walked angrily towards Nora.

The woman shivered on seeing the knife. He wrenched her by the hair and cleanly sliced a lock of her dark tresses.

He held up the lock high and proud. “She is mine!” he roared.

Three days later

Two guards strode in with ropes. Nora’s eyes widened with shock. She tried to scramble towards the end of the room, kicking at the men’s hands as they tried to hold her legs together.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed. What was wrong with these people? One minute they were raping her and the next they saved her. Now, they were going to bind her again, perhaps to kill her. They could well do that, but she was going to fight all the way to the slaughter house.

“Let me go!” she screamed again.

But one of the men hauled down her legs, holding them tightly as the other bound them together. In her weakened state, she was no match for the men.

They grabbed her hands and bound her wrists as well.

“What are you going to do?” she cried. “What will you do to me?”

Then the man returned. The one who had saved her from Mateen. She knew it was him because he wore the same outfit. In the three instances she had met him, he had never changed. It was always the same gray
[6]
partoog-korteh
, dark waistcoat and
[7]
Pashtun lungee
on his head. But more than that, it was his translucent gray eyes. She had seen them somewhere but she couldn’t quite recall where. There was an air about him also that told her he was a leader. He commanded authority and respect. Much different from Mateen. Mateen craved worship.

The two guards moved back, allowing the man room to talk to her.

He knelt down, looking directly into her eyes. She felt a current run up her nerves. Why was she attracted to his? This man was a terrorist. He may have saved her from being raped by Mateen but that didn’t make him any less a criminal.

He removed the end of his
[8]
paktay
that masked his face and she caught her breath. He was deathly handsome. He was clean-shaven, his jaw-line strong and unyielding. Her eyes ran eagerly over his face and then she remembered.

She bit her lips to prevent the cry from escaping them. It was the man from the pier. Suddenly everything was making sense. Why she was abducted and why Mateen was desperate to get his hands on those pictures.

“I’m going to ask you once and once only.” The man spoke in a deep, heavy voice. “Are you a spy?”

“No,” she replied softly, her eyes narrowed with curiosity, studying him.

The man glanced down, thinking.

“You’re American,” she said slowly. It wasn’t a question but a statement. She couldn’t be mistaken about his accent.

The man glanced back up at her.

“Why won’t you help me?” she sobbed. “You’re American, like I am. Why won’t you help me then?”

“Nora Jennings,” he said. “It’s true I was once an American. But I am now an Afghan. My name is Adam Afridi. And you’re going to be my wife.”

“What?” she uttered in disbelief.

He stood up, not bothering to explain himself.

The two guards walked back up to her and began to gag her. She screamed, thrashing about on the floor.

“No! No! No!” she cried out as they muffled her with a rag.

One of the guards tipped a bottle onto a towel. The sweet, pungent smell from the liquid drifted into the air and towards her.

She writhed violently, shaking her head. It was the same antiseptic smell of chloroform. Her tears rolled down her face as she glanced up at the man who would be her husband. She begged him silently, but he looked down at her coldly while the guard masked her nose with the towel.

She squirmed and twisted, trying to shake him free. But it was to no avail. Her vision clouded, her body grew numb and her hearing faded. And then she returned to darkness. Utter darkness.

“Do you need another glass of wine?” Amy called out from the kitchen.

“No, thanks,” Jake replied as he scanned through her collection of music CDs. “I can’t believe you still keep these.”

“What?” she asked, emerging with a bowl of popcorn.

“These.” He waved a bunch of CDs at her.

“Why?” She tossed in a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

“Well, in this day and age, isn’t it more fashionable to store them digitally?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean CDs are dead. They maybe in the decline, but they certainly aren’t dead. And besides I like to collect them. Like my parents collected records and still do.”

He smiled. “Well, it does remind us of our youth. I suppose that’s why we collect such things.”

She grinned. “And what do you collect?”

“Books.”

“I should have guessed with you being a journalist and all.” She slumped into the sofa. “Did you always want to be one? A journalist?”

“I was a news junkie in my teen years,” he said as he sat beside her. “I loved to read. One thing led to another and I soon found myself doing a degree in journalism. It wasn’t planned, but I guess it was only natural that I would head that way.”

“I’m glad you did. You’re a wonder at it.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Carlton Richards doesn’t think so. I’m afraid I would have to stick around being a copy editor for a while.”

“Well, he’s an ass if he doesn’t recognize that you can be one heck of a journalist.” She folded her arms stubbornly across her chest.

He observed her with amusement in his eyes. “You really believe that I can do it?”

“And why not? I’ve seen some of the stuff you write and they’re very impressive.” She brightened up suddenly. “Why don’t you show a few of those to Richards? I’m sure he’d like one of them.”

“I already have. The ones you read were rejected pieces by the editor himself.”

She scowled. “I stick by my opinion then. He’s an ass.”

“Oh, he sure is,” Jake said, taking another sip of his wine. “If he accepts an article by the ravishing Madeline Bridges on why Cheryl Cole’s rose tattoo on her butt failed, then he most definitely is a major idiot.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she mouthed slowly with shock. “Those butts were goddamned beautiful and with those roses on Cheryl Cole’s cheeks, they were massively hot.”

He chuckled. “I know. But we may possibly be the minority holding to that opinion.”

She leaned into him, nuzzling her nose into his neck. “Don’t you worry. Someone’s bound to recognize your gifts sooner or later.”

He pulled her head up by her hair. “Like you did?”

“There’s a lot more talent you possess other than writing,” she murmured, running her fingers down his pants.

“Well, isn’t it unfortunate then that Richards doesn’t take it in the ass?”

She glanced up at him with stupor and then burst out into a series of hysteric laughter.

“What?” he asked with puzzlement, annoyed that she had broken the moment between them.

“Come on, Jake. Sometimes you do spurt out the most wildest of ideas.”

“I was being serious.” He shook his head with disappointment and then leaned over and grabbed a handful of popcorn. “If the guy was even the slightest attracted to men, I would have possibly tried seducing him into bed.”

She arched an eyebrow with interest. “Have you ever slept with a man?”

“Not yet.” He smirked. “But there is always a first time. And he would have given me a good reason to try out new experience.”

She threw up her hands. “Okay, that’s it. I need to gargle out the disgusting bile in my mouth.”

“What did I say? You’re not homophobic, are you?”

“No! Of course not,” she dismissed fervently, downing a half-glass of wine in one gulp. “It’s the vision of you wasting your first time on a weasel like Carlton Richards that’s got me puking. First times are meant to be special. You share them with someone you have at least some degree of feelings for. You want to remember it forever. And to think you’d remember it with a douche like Richards… gah! Oh, get that image out of my head. I can’t believe you said that!”

He let out a laugh. “I’m sure he isn’t that bad. He might even surprise me with some talents of his own.”

She squealed, playfully kicking at him as he came over her.

He caught her hands and pinned them above her. “What about your first time? Do you remember that?”

Her first time? How could she ever forget?