Page 61 of Desperate Measures
There is no right time for this. The hungry way Ali watches me tells me everything I need to know. He’ll try something tonight, likely right after dinner. If I’m smart, I’ll wait for us to be alone to make my move. Surely he won’t have his men watch him try to take me. I don’t know, and because I don’t know, I can’t risk it. That’s not the only reason I’m not willing to wait, though.
Always a pawn but never a queen.
That’s how I’ve considered myself since the beginning. If I want to change that, truly change that, then it has to be public, and it has to send a statement that cannot be refuted.
I close my eyes and fling a prayer into the universe. I’m not sure I believe in higher powers, but if they exist, if they’re listening, I can use all the help I can get for what comes next.
“You’re not even paying attention,” Ali snarls.
I open my eyes and wrestle my expression into something resembling a smile. “Of course I am.”
He snaps his fingers. “Come here, Yasmina.” His slow grin makes my stomach clench in revulsion. “I haven’t gotten a look at you in that dress I bought you.”
He waits for me to obey, to push to my feet and round the table to stand before him. The dress is fine, if not something I would choose for myself. It leaves my shoulders bare and hugs my body down to my thighs, where it flares out to drape dramatically on the floor around me. I forewent a bra, and the way Ali’s gaze zeroes in on my chest is the reason why. If he’s so focused on my breasts, he won’t be watching my wrists, won’t be wondering why I wore elbow-length gloves to dinner.
“Do you know why I chose white?” Ali asks conversationally.
Pretending to be interested in this conversation makes me sick, but I manage to keep the emotion from my tone. “Why did you choose white?”
“Because it’s our wedding day, Yasmina.”
That stops me short. I finally look at him, really look at him. “I’m not marrying you, Ali. I was never going to.”
His easy smile remains in place, but his dark eyes flare with anger. “That’s where you’re wrong. You’re bought and paid for. Whether or not your father lived long enough to enjoy the riches doesn’t change the fact that you’re mine by contract. Desire has nothing to do with it.” He gives me another long look. “But it doesn’t hurt that you’re beautiful.”
My rage rises again, so strong it steals my breath from my lungs. I glide a step closer to him. Almost within reach now. “Beautiful, yes. Rich, too, once you reclaim my father’s assets from Jafar.” I almost, almost stumble over his name.
“You’re a prize. There’s no doubt about that.” He holds out a hand. “Come here.”
I place my left hand in his—the one without the knife—and allow him to pull me close to stand between his thighs. Ali isn’t particularly large, but he’s strong. Stronger than I am at least. I will my body soft and pliant. “You want to get a look at what you purchased.”
“Can you blame me?” He keeps a grip on my wrist and runs his free hand over me. My stomach. My breasts. My pussy. The way I imagine a man examining a horse for purchase might. There’s no heat in his touch, but that doesn’t stop me from fighting not to be sick. Finally, Ali sits back, his expression contemplative. “Definitely a prize.”
I search for words, but I have nothing except rage. “Ali?”
“Yeah?”
I lean down slowly, my gaze fastened to his mouth. I pretend he’s another man, one with a close beard and wickedly curved lips. Jafar. No, I can’t think of him. Not in this moment. I tug on my wrist, and he releases me so I can run my thumb along his bottom lip. “Can I tell you something I’ve never told another person?”
“What’s that?” His gaze goes a little hazy as I shift closer to perch on his thigh. I have to be close for this to work. I have to be able to strike before he can counter.
I lean down until I’m sure he can feel my breath against his lips. “I would rather die than let you fuck me.” I jam my letter opener into his throat and wrench with all my strength.
He shoves me away, but it’s too late. We’re both covered in blood. His blood. He struggles, sliding out of the chair and onto the floor, making a hideous gurgling sound. I straighten and force myself to watch as the life flees his dark eyes. I did this. I chose this. I will bear witness.?1
I lift my blade as the two men reach his body. “You have a choice right now, gentlemen. You can bend a knee, or you can join him.”
“You bitch.” The stranger starts for me, violence in his gaze.
He makes it two steps before my father’s man shoots him in the back. We watch him sink to the ground, and then I turn my attention to…Henry. That’s his name.
I raise my eyebrows, determined not to show the fear slithering through me. “You have something to say, Henry?”
He slides his gun back into his shoulder holster and considers me. “Your father saw you as a daughter rather than a person.” When I simply wait, he continues. “You’ve proven that you’re his heir in every way that counts.” He nods at Ali’s body. “Not everyone will follow you, but enough of us will.”
This is what power feels like. The heady sensation leaves me dizzy and breathless, but I let none of it filter through to my expression. I glance down at my dress. Red paints the front and soaks the hem. As much as I want to rip it from my body, it sends a message I would be foolish not to utilize. “Gather them.” I absently clean my blade on the dress and roll my shoulders. “The foyer.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
