“We’ll make it,” he promised her, even as he prayed he could keep that promise.
“We’re coming up on the clearing,” Tariq stated. “Yassir has lost sight of Jafar and his men.”
“They’re close then, aren’t they?” Paige guessed, her gaze tracking the darkness as the first, weak rays of dawn began moving in.
“I have a feeling they’ve been close from the beginning,” Abram stated as he watched the shadows closely.
Dawn wasn’t far away. Extraction should arrive within minutes of the gathering legate, revealing the presence.
“Ten minutes,” Tariq stated quietly. “We’re almost home free.”
“Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. Is that not your American saying?” Jafar stepped from the shadows as Abram brought his horse slowly to a stop.
“Let it go, Jafar,” Abram warned him. “Look at it this way, with me gone, you can control the province.”
Jafar hooked his fingers in the leather belt he wore over his tunic and watched Abram carefully.
“Ah yes, a perfect plan but for the fact that within two weeks the province reverts back to the regime if you are unable, or unwilling, to accept control of it. And you cannot appoint a successor for at least ten years in the event you have children.”
Abram leaned his arms on the pommel of the saddle and regarded his cousin assessingly.
“There is that,” he agreed. “But perhaps you could have ensured the vow was made at the very least if you and Azir had not dragged the Matawa into this.”
Jafar grimaced. “That was not a decision I made but one Azir jumped into when he learned Pavlos and Marilyn Galbraithe were preparing to travel to the American embassy in Riyadh to protest the kidnapping of their only child, Paige Galbraithe. And I do believe our king himself must have been threatening repercussions against Azir despite the Matawa’s protestations of your sexual deviancy.”
Abram dismounted slowly, the knowledge that they weren’t going to escape unless he managed to diffuse Jafar uppermost in his mind.
He’d wanted to leave Saudi Arabia without shedding blood; he especially hadn’t wanted to shed Jafar’s blood.
It didn’t look like he was going to be able to get out of it.
He looked around at the men materializing behind their leader.
“You’ve wanted to know if you could beat me for years now, Jafar,” he said.
“This I have.” Jafar nodded with a pleasant smile. “And always you have denied me this opportunity.”
“Let them go.” Abram nodded to Paige and Tariq, ignoring their sudden protests. “And I’ll give you the opportunity.”
“What are you going to do, Abram?” Paige whispered desperately. “You can’t do this.”
He kept his gaze on Jafar’s thoughtful face.
“Where is this a benefit?” Jafar drawled. “Your escape simply for the pleasure of the fight? This will bring me little comfort when the land of my father is taken by the king and we are asked to leave.”
Abram nodded slowly. “I see your point. Let’s make it worth both our time and blood then. You let Paige and Tariq go either way. If you can beat me until I cannot stand then I’ll stay, take the vow, and give you the ten years to ensure your possessions.”
Jafar’s brows raised in surprise. “And if you can beat me to the point I cannot lift myself?”
“Then you ensure my escape when the extraction team arrives. Even against Azir and the Matawa.”
A smile touched Jafar’s lips.
“Abram, please,” Paige whispered behind him. “Please don’t do this.”
“Does your woman not have faith in your ability to win?” Jafar laughed.
“I don’t have faith in your ability not to cheat!” Paige shot back.
Abram winced at the savagery in her voice as she spoke, and at the insult she delivered to Jafar.
“Strangely, neither do I.” Jafar laughed as stared back at Abram. “Are you willing to risk this?”
12
Abram couldn’t say that he had ever felt another person’s pain or fear until now. His flesh prickled with a deepening, dark sensation as he felt Paige’s grip tighten. Her breathing was louder than before, the anger that had been brewing inside her was building.
If she’d had a gun Abram feared she would have planted a bullet in Jafar’s head the moment he revealed himself. Her hatred of him was becoming absolute.
“A trade then?” Jafar chuckled. “Are there any rules?”
“Let’s keep it interesting,” Abram suggested, almost looking forward to the coming fight. “Fists, elbows, or knees only. Just as we did when we were boys.”
They hadn’t fought since they’d reached adulthood. The battles that they faced in their lives had made their familial grievances seem petty in comparison.
Jafar stepped forward, his thumbs hooking into the belt loops around his lean hips as Abram shed the coat he wore.
Before leaving the fortress he’d dressed in jeans, a thermal undershirt, denim overshirt, and leather hiking boots. He was not just prepared for the cold desert night, but marginally protected as well.
The clothes were well worn and comfortable, soft and relaxed.
Jafar paused and stared at the clothing almost longingly before giving a little sigh and stretching his shoulders.
“Abram, you are mad,” Tariq hissed. “He always beat both our asses when we were boys.”
“We are not boys any longer.” Abram gave a tight, anticipatory smile as he stepped away from one cousin to face the other man. “And I have a reason to win.”
There was no posturing and no preliminaries. They went right at each other, fists flying, snarls erupting from their lips and pure male testosterone fueling each punch.
He had been needing this. A chance to beat some fucking sense back into his cousin since the day he’d realized Jafar was fighting alongside Ayid and Aman.
“Fuck!” he snarled as Jafar managed to deliver an iron-hard fist to his jaw.
“For shame, cousin, such language,” Jafar chided him as he jumped back to avoid Abram’s answering blow. “I have told you, such disregard of decency will only bring you to a sad end.”
“That or my damned family,” Abram retorted with a tight grin. “Tell me, Jafar, when did you stop dreaming of freedom and begin to dream of controlling lives instead?”
Jafar paused, his eyes narrowing in affront. His nostrils flared as something akin to an insane rage seemed to glow in the odd, celadon green of his eyes. That rage was the distraction Abram had awaited.
He took the advantage and slammed his fist into Jafar’s jaw and followed it with a quick, striking knee blow to the groin.
Jafar’s eyes widened in agony as he inhaled roughly. A tight whistling sound spewed from his lungs as Abram caught his shoulders and slammed his knee into his cousin’s diaphragm. He followed that quickly with a hard right to his face, slamming a blow into his jaw, and throwing him backward to be caught by one of his men. The older, bearded fighter gave a wicked grin and threw his commander back into the fray.
Abram didn’t have the time or ability to draw this little battle out. He could hear the low hum of the helicopter moving in stealth mode, much closer than he had anticipated. Within minutes the extraction team would be in place and ready to collect them.
He couldn’t let up. He had managed to gain the advantage, something he had never accomplished as a boy and assumed he would never accomplish as an adult. With fists, feet, and another knee to both the groin and to the stomach, Abram dropped his cousin to the dirt with a savage snarl of triumph.
“I win,” he rasped, his voice sounding ragged and torn as he stared down at Jafar. “This time it mattered more than my father’s pride.”
Jafar stared at him, his breathing harsh and labored, his face bloodied, his odd green gaze strangely amused despite the pain that filled it.
“Be careful, cousin,” Jafar warned, his voice low. “To allow a woman to be such a weakness—”
Something flashed in Jafar’s eyes, something bitter and filled with wild rage as he cut the words off.