C.J. Miller - Under the Sheik's Protection

* * *

Saafir felt like a perfect idiot. He could pinpoint a number of moments after learning Sarah was the event coordinator for the trade summit when he could have told her who he was. The emir of Qamsar. Four simple words. She had slipped out early in the morning while he’d been sleeping and neither of his guards had stopped her, although Adham had trailed her home to be sure she’d arrived safely. He hadn’t mentioned anything about her apartment. He must have left before she’d discovered it.

Saafir had made the mistake of thinking he could step out of his role as emir for a night and that being the emir wouldn’t matter to Sarah. He wanted to be himself—no title and no responsibilities. Of course that wouldn’t turn out well. Denial about his position seemed to creep in at the strangest times. Saafir knew his responsibilities, but some part of him clung to his old, inconspicuous existence. Before becoming emir, he had gone about his day-to-day life with little interest from the public. He could focus on those topics that meant the most to him, like prison reform and social progress, without comment from his family or countrymen.

Now he couldn’t speak aloud what he was thinking, not without it becoming a sound bite to be used to cause further instability in the country.

He should let Sarah go. She had made it clear that she wasn’t interested in continuing their personal relationship. By sleeping with him she had become someone’s target. Her home had been invaded. His enemies would stop at nothing to harm him or find a way to exploit a perceived weakness. Saafir wouldn’t let them hurt Sarah. If he stayed away from her, his enemies would lose interest in her and she would be safer.

He was disappointed with the conclusion. Spending time with the spirited American had made him feel more relaxed than he had in months. She was fun and beautiful and different from other women he had been with.

Sarah adjusted her black suit jacket and drew his attention to her waist—likely not her intention. “Saafir, I think we need—”

Gunfire crackled into the crisp morning air, sending a loud echo through the alley. Saafir instinctively reached for Sarah, his protective instincts triggering an immediate reaction. He drew her close and to the ground.

“Shots fired!” Adham yelled.

Adham hovered over them, trying to shield them. Another loud burst of gunfire and Saafir tucked Sarah further under him. She felt small in his arms, and his military training roared to life. Protect. Defend. Retaliate. He shoved her behind the Dumpster, hoping it could provide some protection.

His guard Nibal rushed out of the building, pulling his gun and aiming it high. “I don’t have a visual. The car’s en route. I repeat, no visual on the shooter.”

The sound of gunfire continued at a rapid rate. It was either an automatic weapon or multiple shooters. Bullets kicked up shards of asphalt and concrete, biting into Saafir’s skin. His choices were to duck back into the building, remain crouched behind the Dumpster or wait for their car. If they ran for the back door, standing would open them up for another attack and staying pinned down wasn’t the safest option.

Saafir’s rented black town car screamed around the corner and pulled to a stop in front of him. Adham opened the car door and Saafir pulled Sarah to her feet. He shoved her inside the car and then climbed inside behind her. Adham got into the car and Nibal clambered into the front passenger seat. The driver pulled the car out of the alley, tires squealing.

“Sarah, are you okay?” Saafir asked.

Sarah was pale and staring at her blood-covered hands. “I’m bleeding.” She sounded like she was in shock. The sight of red on her hands prompted a primal rage in him. He had to help her, shield her. She was his to protect.

“We need to take her to the hospital,” Saafir said. He searched her, removing her jacket and finding the source of the injury. Her shoulder was injured, the skin abraded. Was it from the fall or had she been hit with a flying bullet or rubble?

Too much blood to be superficial. Saafir cradled her in his arms and pressed down on the wound. Sarah moaned in pain.

“Where is she hit?” Adham asked, shifting to help.

“Her shoulder. Looking for other injuries. I think she’s in shock,” Saafir said.

Adham shifted to get a better look at the injury. Saafir contained his fear and anger at the sight. She should never have been pulled into his problems within his country, and this attack had to be from one of his political enemies. Sarah had nothing to do with them.

“Drive faster,” Saafir commanded the driver.

His hands weren’t staunching the blood flow. “This might hurt. I’m sorry, Sarah.” He shed his jacket and removed his shirt, pressing it hard over the wound. Sarah let out a cry of distress.

She was still conscious and that was good. “I know that hurts. It will only be for a few minutes more. We’re getting you help,” Saafir said. The amount of blood pouring out of her seemed too great. He’d had some medical field-training and knew that stopping the blood flow was priority one.

“It doesn’t look good,” Adham said in Arabic. “She is losing too much blood. I can’t see if the bullet is lodged inside or if it passed through. Captain, are you hurt?”

Saafir’s arm stung, but he wasn’t loosening his grip on Sarah to check his injury. “She’s my primary concern.”

“And you are mine,” Adham said.

His guard took his duty seriously. He had earned Saafir’s unwavering trust. Saafir looked away from Sarah for a moment. Only then did Saafir notice Adham had sustained an injury. Deep red was darkening the front of his black shirt.

“Adham, you’re injured,” Saafir said.

Adham hesitated a moment. He was the latest in a long line of men who served Qamsar’s emir, pledging his life in defense of the emir, dedicating himself to the emir’s protection. It was a thousand-year-old tradition with an impeccable history. Every man named a Qamsarian Warrior had served honorably. Adham hid injuries and hurt behind his sense of honor and duty. It was that sense of honor that would force Adham to tell the truth, especially when Saafir addressed him. “I was hit.” His face registered no sign of pain.

“Sit back against the seat. Hold this over it,” Saafir said, handing Adham his suit jacket.

Adham obeyed the order.

Saafir turned in his seat and noticed a car speeding behind them, aiming for them. “We’re being followed.”

“Do you have tactical driving experience?” Saafir asked the driver.

“None in the last ten years.” The man’s anxiety was evident in his voice.

“Keep the car on the road. Don’t turn onto any side streets,” Saafir said, wishing he were driving. It was protocol for the emir to be chauffeured, but if he were behind the wheel, he could lose the tail.

Saafir looked around for an opportunity. The light in front of them turned yellow.

“Hit the gas,” Saafir said. If they stopped, they’d be cornered and shot.

He did as Saafir asked. They sailed through the intersection. Their follower pursued, but was struck by oncoming traffic.

“That should slow them down,” Saafir said. “Nearest hospital.”

“Change of plans,” Nibal said. “No hospitals. No help. I’ll tell you where to drive.”

Saafir braced for more danger ahead. He looked from Sarah to Adham to Nibal. It was unusual for Nibal or Adham to disagree with a direct command unless they’d identified a security threat. Nibal seemed off and somewhat nervous. Saafir had never seen him that way.

“Tell me the problem,” Saafir said. He struggled to keep his voice calm and not overreact. With Sarah bleeding in his arms and Adham injured, that took every ounce of strength.