Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) by Manda Mellett Read Free Book Online Page B

heavy, determined footsteps approaching. I’ve only been back a few hours, but that’s long enough to know that even after three years I’m still something of a novelty. People can’t hide their curiosity about the savage sheikh, who brought such shame to the family and the country. Three dry years in every sense of the word. Most of the desert tribes are strictly Muslim, meaning no alcohol – not good for the times I’ve just wanted to drink myself into oblivion. With such a high price put on virginity I’ve not had the chance to dip my wick, not that I have any inclination to do so. The thought of the hidden violence inside me makes me avoid women like the fucking plague. My hand and a tube of lube have become my new best friends over the last thirty-six months.
    The footsteps draw closer. As they pass, I see they belong to Kadar, my eldest brother and heir designate, who sweeps through the corridors of the palace, his robes flowing out behind him, muttering under his breath, ignoring the servants who salaam, bowing almost to the floor as he passes. His demeanour shows he’s not in the best of moods, and I share his concerns. The emir should be concentrating on shoring up the diminishing finances of our small emirate state, not drawing up ridiculous plans to kidnap an innocent British citizen as retribution for a crime committed against our nation. His priorities and the means to achieve his ends are, as we both agree, illegal and immoral. But he’s the ruler, the absolute monarch. He can fucking do what he fucking likes.
    I know Kadar’s destination is the same as my own, but something makes me want to delay the inevitable confrontation. To give Kadar time to get ahead I wait a few seconds before stepping out of my hidey-hole and start walking again, following the direction he has taken, ignoring the guards stationed along the corridors of the royal quarters. Their presence has been a way of life as long as I can remember, and so have become little more than part of the furniture, serving only to remind me how much I detest the formality of the main palace.
    Eventually arriving at the small, secure conference room reserved for the immediate royals, I halt before turning the handle to open the door, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to compose myself. Sheikh Rushdi is ruler first, father second, and I need no reminder of that. He has complete control of life and death over all his subjects. And that includes his sons. Arranging my features to show the requisite measure of respect, I step inside and make a deep bow before taking my allocated seat at the table set for four. My brothers Jasim and Kadar have already taken their places.
    Sheikh Rushdi nods, acknowledging my entrance, but it’s Jasim who draws my attention. He looks out of place. Kadar and I – and, of course, the emir – are dressed in traditional robes but Jasim, typically, wears a Western-style Armani suit. He looks uncomfortable in his chair, as if he’s wishing to be anywhere but here, and I sympathise, realising he’s feeling weighed down by the restrictions and outmoded customs of our small Arabic state that have caused his summons back to Amahad today.
    He doesn’t greet or acknowledge me. I’m not surprised, although disappointment still floods through me. He has barely spoken to me since the events in Paris and I wonder how long it will be before he forgives me – if ever. He’ll be leaving for the West again soon, where he’s made his home, and I can’t help but envy him, especially in the light of the decisions I’m anticipating will be determined here today.
    The room teems with testosterone; four dominant men who haven’t felt the influence of a woman’s presence in the palace – except for my younger and totally spoiled sister Aiza, currently away at finishing school in Switzerland – since my mother died during Aiza’s birth. My father has never brought another woman here, and I can only assume he has his appetites