Page 97 of Enemy of My Enemy
“What is happening?”
An older Saudi man moved down the hall, loose, dark robes trimmed in gold flowing behind him. Beneath the white ghutra on his head, haggard lines etched deep furrows on his face, made worse by his glowering scowl. His gaze flicked from Doc, frozen, to the two bouncers pinning Adam against the wall.
“You,” the older man breathed. “What areyoudoing here?”
Adam coughed, and his feet kicked weakly.
“Yallah,” the older man grunted to his security guards.
The bruiser gripping his neck dropped him, letting him fall to the ground in a sprawl.
Doc took a step forward. The bruisers squared off against him. Doc froze.
“You, you pretended to be that journalist,” the older Saudi hissed.
Slowly, Adam pushed to his feet. He coughed, rubbing his throat, but kept his eyes and his head lowered when he stood. He used the Saudi’s full title, pouring all his respect into his words. “Your Royal Highness, Governor of Riyadh, Prince Abdul al-Saud,” he grunted. “I’m here to see your nephew.”
“It isforbidden!” Prince Abdul, the crown prince of Saudi Arabia, heir apparent to the kingdom and next in line for the throne, hissed at Adam. “Faisal told me it was finished! That you hadlefthim!”
Adam cringed. “It was. Itis,” he said quickly. “But he’s hurt—”
“And you think you have some kind of right to see my nephew?” Prince Abdul’s dark eyes blazed. “After what you did!Wallah!You will stay away from him!”
“I love him,” Adam breathed, the tough exterior he was trying to cling to shattering. His face twisted, and he gasped again. A year’s worth of anguish, of burying his feelings, of bullying his own heart into cold dejection, exploded and a sob strangled his voice. “Ilovehim!”
Doc’s eyes burned into Adam.
“That makes itworse!” Prince Abdul grabbed Adam’s arm and hauled him down the hall, away from the hulking security guards. “Do younotunderstand? Themutawwa’incould kill him! He is not safe from their punishments just because he is royal. Not anymore!”
Themutawwa’in, Saudi’s infamous religious police.
“We were careful—”
“This isnotcareful!” Prince Abdul shouted. “Storming into the hospital? How many saw you? How many will ask questions?” The prince closed his eyes and exhaled. He turned away from Adam, his hands clenching the gold braided edges of his robes. “When Faisal’s father and mother died, I promised my brother’s memory that I would raise his son and care for him. That he would be safe, and he would be loved. Faisal is my blood.” He turned, a fierce glare burning straight through to Adam’s soul. “Myblood. Myfamily.”
“Please,” Adam whispered. “Please…Can you tell me if he’s all right?”
Prince Abdul was silent for a long moment, staring at Adam like he was looking at spoiled garbage. “His liver was punctured. Almost all of it has been removed. He’ll need a new one cloned and another surgery. But… for now, he is resting. They say in time, he will recover completely.”
A sob burst from Adam’s chest, his heart finally unclenching after it had seized back in Tampa. Tears blurred his vision and he turned away as he buried his face in his hands. He’d thought, when he heard Faisal’s voice, that it was the end. He’d thought he’d be too late.
Prince Abdul watched him weep into his palms, watched him try to collect himself, try to gather the bits and pieces of his shattered heart and scrape them together into a mound of splintered glass. He heaved one shaking breath after another and, finally, wiped his eyes and faced the prince again.
“I thought,” Prince Abdul said slowly, “that he was merely exhausting his lust. It’s not unheard of for young, virile men to seek out a willing body for their needs, provided they end up with a wife in the end.”
Adam looked away. “It was so much more.”
“And yet, you abandoned him.”
Silence, as Adam’s soul shriveled.
“It would have been easier if it was just lust,” the prince growled. “Love makes it complicated.” He shook his head and peered at Adam, his eyes narrowed. “Are you familiar with Abu Hurairah?”
His head ached, the pressure and fear over Faisal finally bleeding out of him, but he wracked his memories. “A bit. Faisal used to speak of him. He was a scribe of Mohammed?”
Prince Abdul muttered in Arabic, the words of blessing said after the prophet’s name. “′Alayhi as-salam.Yes. There is ahadiththat speaks of Abu Hurairah’s torment as a young man. His lack of desire for women and marriage, namely. He went to the prophet, begging for advice. Four times he asked for the prophet’s guidance, and on the fourth time, the prophet spoke. ‘The pen is dried to what you are experiencing,’ the prophet said.” Prince Abdul paused. Held Adam’s stare. “What is fixed is fixed,” he elaborated. “A man’s fate is sealed when the pen’s ink over his life dries.”
Prince Abdul rubbed his forehead, his fingers running along the creases furrowing his brow. “Al-hamdu lillah,my nephew’s ink may be dried in this matter. Faisal has refused all talk of marriage. He’s refused all of the brides I have arranged for him.”
