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

“We’re not going to the hospital,” Nibal said.

“Sarah and Adham need medical attention,” Saafir said, stifling the urge to yell. If Nibal was losing his cool, Saafir didn’t want to escalate the situation. Nibal had never been as rock-steady as Adham under pressure.

Nibal lifted a gun to the driver’s head and had a second gun pointed at Saafir. “No hospital. I’m calling the shots and I’m telling you that we are not going to the hospital. We’re ending this agreement with the Americans and we are ending your rule as emir.”

Scorching anger in Nibal’s eyes confirmed his words—he wasn’t interested in helping Sarah, Adham or Saafir. “We will take Sarah and Adham to the hospital and then we can talk about the trade agreement. Sarah and Adham are not part of this,” Saafir said. His hand crept down his pant leg to his ankle holster, carefully and quietly unsnapping his gun. It had been a long time since he’d used it, but it would be like riding a bike.

“She is part of this,” Nibal said narrowing his eyes at Sarah. “They are all part of it.”

“They” being the trade agreement committee or Americans? Saafir had heard this extremist “all” speech from too many fanatical groups in Qamsar. Desperate individuals and groups who needed someone to blame and who took action to make a change. Unfortunately, the action rarely led to accomplishing anything other than hurting people.

This new reality for Qamsar wasn’t one that Saafir embraced. It made him angry and frustrated. Those emotions were sidelined by the woman in his arms who needed him to remain calm, defuse the situation and get her medical help. Adham hadn’t spoken, but his skin was pale.

The driver kept glancing at Nibal and was visibly shaken by having a gun locked on him. The car swerved in the road, left and right, narrowly missing cars parked along the street.

“Keep the car steady. Do not try to alert the American police,” Nibal said.

“Please don’t shoot. I am not alerting anyone. I want to go home to my wife and daughters,” the driver said, fear vibrating his voice.

Sarah’s face was unmoving and her eyes were closed.

Saafir tried again. “Nibal, this is not the way to get what you want. Please let everyone out of the car and we’ll talk.” If he could keep Nibal’s focus on him, perhaps Adham, Sarah and the driver could get to safety.

“No,” Nibal said. “No talking. Action. I am making a point. You are the wrong leader for Qamsar. You were never meant to be the emir. I am doing my duty and removing you from your position before you destroy everything we hold important.”

Saafir understood the sentiment. He had heard it many times from his political opposition.

Nibal planned to shoot him in cold blood. Saafir reached for his gun and slid it along his leg. He positioned it against the seat of the car. Every time he had used his weapon, he had done so because he had no other choice in defending himself or the people he was protecting. This was no exception.

Two shots and shock registered on Nibal’s face, his mouth opening in a silent scream. Saafir’s aim had been true.

Nibal’s body slumped to the side and the driver shrieked and slammed the car to a stop.

Saafir slid his gun back into his holster. He turned to the driver who was staring at Nibal. He had shoved the body against the window.

“I will drive us to the hospital,” Saafir said. Of the four of them, he was in the best position. His arm ached, but he didn’t feel light-headed and he wasn’t losing a massive amount of blood or in a state of shock. Saafir stroked Sarah’s hair by her temple. “You will be safe, my goddess. Hold on a little longer. Help is coming.”

Adham situated himself to hold a hand over Sarah’s arm. Saafir withdrew his phone and called the American police to meet him at the hospital. On American turf, he’d play by their rules.

“We’re almost there, Sarah. Stay with me,” Saafir said, taking the wheel and praying for Sarah and Adham.

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