Page 62 of Desperate Measures
It’s only when he’s gone that I consider this could be a trap. But to what end? Henry could have just as easily attempted to do what both Jafar and Ali did—use me to send his shooting star right to the top of the hierarchy. It might even work. It seemed to well enough for the others.
If it’s not a trap?
Perhaps there are those who don’t want to rock the boat. Who were pleased with the way of things before Jafar’s coup and would be just as happy to go back to that at the earliest opportunity. I can’t blame them for the desire, for wanting to throw their lot in with the person they believe will make that happen.
I make my way slowly to the foyer. My dress leaves red marks on the tile behind me, which is a mood all on its own. I keep my chin up and shoulders back, even when faced with twenty men, each of whom could kill me with the brush of a finger against a trigger. No one looks particularly aggressive, but it’s up to me to ensure things stay that way.
They part to allow me through to the stairs, and I feel their attention like a physical weight against my skin. So much expectation, and I’ll only have one shot to convince them I can deliver.
I take a shallow breath and project my voice. “I am my father’s daughter.” The truth, even if it sits ill in my chest. “We have had pretender after pretender attempt to use me to cement your loyalty.”
The thought of Jafar almost stops me cold. He’ll never forgive me for this, for snatching this power right out from underneath him. This operation was something he’d planned on since he took the position with my father, and now I’m placing myself squarely between him and his ambition, forcing him to choose.
I’m not sorry.
I love him. I think he loves me, too. But if there’s one thing Jafar worships in this life, it’s power. How can love compare to that kind of devotion?
“Swear fealty or get out. This will be your only chance. Insubordination will not be tolerated.” I spread my hands, knowing all too well the picture I paint. The bloody bride who will murder any man who tries to bend her to his will. “You know the price of disobedience. Decide now.”
One man turns and walks out. I recognize the one who wanted Jafar to share me that first night. I wait, but no one follows him. It’s better than I dared hope.
I nod to Henry. “Bring in the ones who scattered at my father’s death. Give them the same choice, and respect it.” I turn my attention to the rest of them. “Set up a perimeter. We will have to retake several of the facilities, but you’re more than up to the task. Reclaiming my father’s legacy starts now.” The words taste foul on my tongue, but it’s a sentiment these men can understand. Can respect.
I start to turn to move up the stairs, but one of the men rushes into the foyer. He skids to a stop as he takes in the situation. I don’t recognize this one, which could mean anything. Everyone tenses, waiting to see if he’ll fracture the fragile balance of the moment.
It’s Henry who tips the scales in my favor. He steps forward. “Speak.”
“Um…” The guy clears his throat. “There are cars coming toward the gates. Fast. It’s an attack.”
Jafar.
Henry looks at me. “What do you want to do?”
My first order as leader of this territory. I should tell them to send Jafar away, or to shoot until there are no potential enemies left. Even the one I love. But…he came for me, nearly quick enough to save me, even if I hadn’t managed to save myself. As much as I want to cling to the idea of us, to the alternate universe where we could have been together, I have to know.
Will he bend a knee? Or will I lose him forever?
I lift my chin. “Let him come.”?2
21
Jafar
We make it to Balthazar’s house in record time, and even then, I know it’s not fast enough. Hours have passed since Ali took Yasmina, hours in which he could have done anything to her. He won’t have killed her, but that is the only thing I can guarantee. Next to me, Jeremiah keeps a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel as we take the winding curves leading to the house at reckless speed. I can’t relax, can’t affect an unconcerned tone. My ability to dissemble has disappeared alongside Yasmina. “We do nothing to jeopardize her safety.”
He clears his throat. “That puts us at a disadvantage if he starts shooting the second we pull up to the house.”
“Nothing, Jeremiah. That’s an order.”
It takes five minutes longer to reach the gate, and I spend the entirety of that time going over the different choices I could have made to prevent Yasmina from feeling like she had to run from me. Fuck, how many times did I offer to get her out? Rationally, I know that my giving her an out isn’t the same as her taking one for herself, but fear surpasses logic time and time again.
She’s in danger.
She’s suffering at Ali’s hands right now.
It’s my fault.
We stop in front of the gates, the trio of cars behind us falling in line. It’s closed, barring access to the property, but I expected no less. What I didn’t expect is Balthazar’s former head of security standing there with his arms crossed, his gun on full display, sweat dampening his brow as if he ran to get here ahead of us. Henry didn’t make the jump with me, and last I heard, he wasn’t exactly pleased with Ali either.
