“We risked our lives to free you,” he yelled. “You have to trust us. Please.”
“Give us a reason to open this door,” she challenged.
“The royal family hired us to find you.” The man’s voice took on a coaxing edge. “I understand your reluctance, but we really are here to help.”
Aziza glanced over her shoulder as excitement spread, and the women shot to their feet. Even Sunita stood. The hope shining from her eyes made Aziza weepy.
“Aziza, is that you?”
She frowned as her knees threatened to leave her without support. When she recovered, Aziza rushed toward the pile of metal that lay between them and the desert. Tears streamed down her face, and she could barely get her words out. “Ryan, it’s me.”
With the back of one hand, she wiped the tears away from her cheeks. She swallowed the wad of emotion blocking her throat, and tried again in a stronger voice. “Ryan, it’s Aziza.”
An unnatural pause occurred where nothing moved. She believed her heart forgot its pace, too. Then, it took off at a gallop as Ryan’s smooth tenor flowed over her again, “Woman, you’d better open this door before we flatten it.”
He didn’t have to tell her again. She set the gun to one side and dragged one of the flimsy metal beds out of the way. While she did that, her heart tried to find an escape route from her chest.
Although he spoke to her twice, Aziza could scarcely believe Ryan stood outside. She could not conceive how it was possible that he was here in Durabia, but she didn’t care. All she knew was that she needed the safety of his arms. The fact that she was wearing the same housecoat for days should have mattered, plus she hadn’t showered in nearly a week.
None of that meant anything.
All she wanted was to be reunited with the man she loved.
Working together, the women cleared the doorway and Aziza pulled back the latch to fly the door open. It didn’t budge.
Aziza groaned as her shoulders drooped. The rumble of disappointment spread behind her.
“It won’t open,” she yelled.
“Don’t worry,” Ryan said, “We’ve got you. Stand back from the door.”
“You got it.”
When all of them were out of range, Aziza kept hold of the AK-47 for some measure of safety. “You can come in now.”
“Cover your ears,” Ryan instructed.
The explosion was loud but meant little to Aziza because it would free her from the horror that escalated in the last fourteen hours.
This time, when the hinges creaked and one of them sagged, excitement flooded Aziza’s body and soul. She closed her eyes for a few seconds to stay grounded.
A muscular, blond man invaded the container with a gun in his hand. One corner of his mouth tipped into a wry smile. “It’s clear in here, except for the woman with the AK-47.” He looked her in the eyes. “I’m Nicco. Permission to approach?”
When she nodded, he crossed the cement floor, gently took the rifle from her hands and nodded—a gesture of respect. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome and thank you, too.”
Kelsie reluctantly handed him Abdul’s gun.
Over the Nicco’s shoulder, she glimpsed Ryan. They stared at each other as he approached. She didn’t dare blink, in case he was an illusion conjured by her tired brain.
When his arms closed around her, a sob worked its way up from her throat, and she buried her face in his chest. After inhaling as much of him as she could in several breaths, she cried, “They took the children, Ryan. Four little girls—you need to find all of them.”
Chapter Seventeen
Sex slaves.
Ryan’s stomach turned over at the scene before him. The reality of it stole his breath, same as the pictures of the women murdered for their organs.
An array of adolescent females sat on several cots the men had arranged outside the container. The hope that lit the girls’ and women’s eyes far outshone their condition. When they realized they were free, they spilled outside. They blinked as the sun shimmered on the traces of dew that lingered on the blades of grass and weeds that sprouted in patches around their makeshift prison.
The police had arrived, but didn’t seem overly interested in the women. Abdul and Hamid were escorted to the hospital under police guard. The Sheikh’s nephew, Hassan, and one other envoy also traveled with them to ensure the men didn’t disappear, or were released on bail before Vikkas could bring charges against them that would stick.
Ryan’s gaze left the women and returned to the surrounding group, which included two high-ranking police officers, Daron, Dro, Nicco, Bashir, and Angela.
“This isn’t finished,” Ryan said while the policemen shuffled their feet, as if eager to be on their way. “What’s the process for dealing with these women?”
The officers exchanged a perplexed look, then the one wearing a comb-over cleared his throat. “We have to question them and find housing, which might be difficult.”
“Why should that be a problem?” Angela asked, frowning. “It’s clear that a crime has been committed against these women. It’s the state’s responsibility to provide accommodation until they have somewhere to go.”
“This isn’t America.” Nicco’s tone was gruff. “And these two don’t seem ready or willing to deal with this situation.”
The uniformed men hemmed and hawed but didn’t propose any feasible course of action.
Dro eased out his phone, speed-dialed, and put it to his ear. “I’ll get on the line with Sheikh Kamran. He and the Sheikha will come up with something. “
“This is right up their street,” Daron said. “They have a facility that should be able to accommodate at least some of the women.”
An uneasy glance passed between the policemen. “We will contact our headquarters and see how we can work with you to resolve this problem.”
“You had your chance,” Daron said, and waved at them in a dismissive gesture. “We’ve got this.”
A sour smile came to Ryan’s lips. The world over, some people only bowed to affluence
