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Action Adventure / The Demon Lover Chapter 18
Chapter 18
The group from Beirut that Ismaili would allow in his more intimate presence included himself, Angel of course, Ian, Nidal, Georges and he would tolerate Jamil, Mustafa and Hassan. Bukra was already inside and he didn’t envy him as the minutes ticked by. Served the fat motherfucker right for leaving Angel to starve and freeze down in the goddamned basement. He was starting to hear more of that story, and it added to the edginess of his mood.
As the group waited tensely outside what had been a business conference room off the main lobby, he was surprised when Abed also joined them. He didn’t speak to Karim—just sent him a nervous, ‘This is it’ type glance. Usually the good doctor avoided coming into the Terror Lord’s sphere like the plague.
Karim had propped Angel in her teetering high heel shoes by the door and now leaned over her with both hands on wall. It was the best way he knew to keep her from falling off the damned things as nervous as she was—which had happened twice already on the stairs. This posture was possessive, and also kept her hidden as much as possible from the ogling eyes of Ismaili’s guards, aides and assorted hangers-on who milled about. Not to mention that it gave Karim ample opportunity to ogle her himself. From this angle, he could see almost down to her navel. It seemed a good time and place for public display. He toyed with her hair, dropped one hand to the small of her back then leaned down to kiss her, but she actually told him, somewhat crossly, “Stop. You’re… going to get lipstick all over you and me both.”
He couldn’t help the laugh, and which prompted more kitten-like bristling. He went for her neck instead. Tasting makeup, he grimaced and flung back her hair, seeing that she’d attempted to cover up the suck-marks on her neck. He borrowed a Kleenex from Abed hovering nearby, and dabbed it away while she glared up at him.
“Angel, you need to remember, we play this thing my way—no ad-lib, got it? When we go in there, say as little as possible, and no inane questions. Let me do the talking.”
“Yes, I’ve got it,” she hissed back.
Karim laughed again and went for the other side of her throat. He was glad to see she still had a lot of fight left in her. She was going to need it. What he had to do now—how he needed to act, was certainly going to disturb her at least as much as his highjacker routine on the plane. Maybe more. This would be so much more personal.
The door opened. One of Ismaili’s efficient young aides in his business attire flecked impassive eyes over them. “He’ll see you now.”
Karim scooped Angel in by the waist and turned her around so that she faced outward from him. He gestured for Ian and the others to go first. He pulled Angel protectively against him as Ian passed. One thing he did like about those shoes, they put her little ass perfectly even with his crotch. Being obviously horny and hyped up could only add to the realism and excitement Ismaili would look for.
Abed passed them last. Again they exchanged glances. Karim’s eyes narrowed when he saw that the doctor already looked slightly ashen. He wanted to say, ‘Abed, get the fuck out of here. You really don’t want to see this.’ Instead he threw him another warning glance. He’d been handing out a lot of those lately, and with little effect—especially on St. Abed.
He fell in behind of the doctor, propelling Angel ahead him. “No heroics,” he whispered under his breath, leaning slightly forward over Angel’s shoulder and using the more obscure Druze Arabic, which had been the language of his mother and Nidal’s. The stiffening of Abed’s beefy shoulders told Karim that he‘d heard.
Entering the room, Karim looked to the left and right and saw that Abed was seating himself in an unobtrusive corner (thanks be to Allah), while Nidal and Mustafa sat well forward of him. The disorderly mix of folding chairs was gathered to each side along the walls—perpendicular to a long conference table, which left the middle of the room open. Ian already lounged directly across the open space from Nidal and Mustafa. Flanked by the seriously muscled and unsmiling Somali guards, the Lebanese Colonel was seated at the table, head and center of several more men in suits and uniforms.
The Terror Lord’s eyes scanned the room—narrowed, ever discerning and processing—irises flat, black, and as perfunctory as stone. Karim started forward with a purposeful stride, shoving Angel roughly ahead of him. Ismaili honed in—first on her, then taking in Karim behind her. Karim again seized her arm to propel her along more swiftly. Ismaili cleared his throat and the room instantly fell silent. Karim prayed, Angel don’t fall off the damned shoes.
The snake eyes returned to Angel, registering a bit of rare surprise. The scar across his cheek started to tick.
The first-time sensation of being casually dissected by the Terror Lord’s cold, unblinking stare must have stunned Angel because she suddenly faltered, halting the forward momentum, which Karim could not allow. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her off her feet without breaking his stride. At this point, he needed to make sure the Lebanese Colonel had little time to properly digest all that Angel’s sweet face and eyes could give away. Shock and fear he would be expecting. It was the usual first reaction…
Karim stopped directly in front of Ismaili with his special delivery already starting to struggle in his arms. He wondered if she was starting to get the impression that he was about to toss her—literally—into the jaws of the beast. Meeting Ismaili’s expectant gaze with a smirk, he shoved Angel toward the him. Predictably, the shoes gave way, but Karim was ready for that. He lightly supported her by her hips with one arm as he pushed her face and upper body down onto the table before Ismaili like a philistine offering. The fragrance of strawberries wafted as corn silk curls cascaded in every direction, trailing over the table and into the Terror Lord’s lap.
The Philistine god of crops, war and virility in the region 3,000 years ago—Dagon himself could not have been more pleased. Ismaili lifted up a blonde curl and sifted it with his fingers. He met Karim’s eyes with a pleasantly amazed gleam that shone with a flicker of evil light like the red glow of brimstone. Karim knew this announced the welcome escape from business as usual—which might as well be slow water torture to Ismaili. The ruby ring that matched the one Karim and the others were supposed to be wearing—but most of them weren’t—flashed in the florescent light as the Colonel pushed back all the glistening hair and finally found and seized Angel’s chin, forcing to her look into his eyes. Karim felt her go stiff, then shudder as Ismaili peered into her face for a long moment.
“Extraordinary,” the Colonel murmured with satisfaction. He addressed Karim, but his eyes never left Angel. “Yes, a good excuse for your tardiness. You are forgiven,” he said. He continued to pilfer through her hair. “Natural, golden blonde… You don’t see that much anymore with the mongrel Americans.” His eyes finally raised to meet Karim’s expectant stare. “She’s everything you described—and more. Perhaps you were holding back on me a bit about your new toy, Habibi? What is the name to call the unusual shade of her eyes?
“I call them, baby blue,” Karim answered, breaking into his own wicked glint. He could see now that the conversation was going to take place in English, probably for the benefit of Ian and the Russians he noticed were still hanging around. He’d hoped for Angel’s sake they could have stuck to Arabic, but it couldn’t be helped. What mattered right now was that he knew he held his audience’s rapt attention. So, let the games begin…
Karim gathered Angel, now visibly trembling—into his arms, but only briefly. The Terror Lord started around the table, holding up the ruby-bejeweled hand to stay his guards. Karim made sure the Colonel was watching as he slid his hands over Angel’s body in a lingering, familiar way. He rubbed his face against her hair, breathed deeply, then shot Ismaili another wicked grin as the Terror Lord rounded the edge of the table. At his approach, Karim planted Angel firmly upright by her shoulders. He took a few short steps back from her, knowing Ismaili wanted an unfettered and more close-up inspection of the goods. The back view of Angel’s perfect ass, completely detailed by the clingy, too-tight fit of the dress, gave him further confidence. Ismaili may have other leanings, but he’d know the commodity before him could be labeled, “Prime Quality.”
Yismaili moved in to less the a foot from his quavering target, pacing a half-circle around her like a shark sizing up lunch. He pressed two fingers to the undamaged side of his face as he perused her thoughtfully. The hand with the ruby suddenly shot out and jerked back the curtain of hair hiding her neck. At Angel’s soft gasp, Karim willed himself not to show any hint of the anger that griped his insides like a vise. Ismaili wound his hand around a hank of shimmering tresses in the back, then used it like a twist cord to tilt her head so he could get a better view of Karim‘s handiwork. The Terror Lord’s gaze traveled downward. Another one-sided smile bent the scar into a serrated, sunken half-moon. With long-talon-like fingers he seized the front of the dress and inched one side of the neckline down, studying the other reddish-purple mark Karim had left on her breast. His gaze lifted over her shoulder to view Karim, who now stood with his arms folded over his chest, hips thrust slightly out. Ismaili suddenly threw back his head and laughed.
Karim cocked an insolent brow. “What?”
“Oh Karim, Habibi, you never let me down. But I must say this penchant of late for marking your territory... Its very animalistic for one usually so refined.”
Karim answered with another grin. He sensed the moment the deep scratch on his cheek and the nail marks on his arm also registered with the Colonel.
Ismaili no doubt knew—but ask him anyway, “What are those? Scratch marks?”
“Yes, as a matter-of-fact. She bit me too,” he held out the side of his palm with black and blue teeth marks for him to see.
“I thought you indicated that this was a mutual arrangement?” Ismaili’s eyes darted to Angel again. He’d released his grip on her hair but now lightly caressed her shoulder.
“Ah, yes, well—sometimes it is.” He didn’t have to lie on that one either. A fleeting thought for him at that moment was that so far, this was all going surprisingly well.
But then Ismaili did the unexpected. With eyes fixated on Karim, his pleasant facade suddenly evaporated. His hand strayed from Angel’s shoulder, over her breast and began a exploratory descent over her midsection. Still testing for reaction, he moved the hand downward over her hip and then abruptly, thrust it between her thighs. Angel turned toward him, startled. She took a step backward, toward Karim, who had dropped his casual posture and now glared opening at the Lebanese Colonel.
Mutherfuck! What was this?
Karim scarcely had time to react as Ismaili, eyes now glittering with menace, seized Angel’s arm and suddenly hurled her in the direction of Ian, who thankfully—like Karim, had been so stunned by the Lebanese Colonel’s strange performance, he didn’t realize what was coming until it was too late. Ismaili must not have put much force behind it, because even in the shoes, Angel managed not to sprawl, but went down to a sort of crouch position, halfway between Karim and the Englishman. She quickly scrambled up, and practically leapt the last few steps to Karim as he was reaching out for her.
Angel’s arms wound tightly around his waist, body melding against him as she buried her face into his shoulder. Karim hands went to the back of her head, stroking softly, the other arm wrapped securely around her.
“What the fuck was that all about?” he demanded from Ismaili, who didn’t answer.
Ian had also leapt to his feet, dividing a murderous glare between Karim and Angel, and the Terror Lord. His AK assault rifle had tumbled to the floor, but Karim noticed the English’s hand was poised over the holster at his waist.
Ismaili started laughing, and some of his Bekaa people joined in. They all knew the rivalry between the two Beautiful Ones that the Colonel liked to promote. The sound was like a pack of hyenas. Angel’s head lifted briefly from Karim’s shoulder. She looked up at him with a glance that was both dazed and questioning.
“Shhh, its alright sweetheart,” he whispered and continued to stroke her hair. He caught out of the corner of his eye that Nidal and some of the Beirut group had also stood to their feet. Karim did nothing. He knew he didn’t have too. Ismaili had played right into his hand without realizing it. But he knew he’d also given him—and Ian—a weakness to exploit. A weakness called Angel. That would have to be fixed somehow, but he couldn‘t worry about it now.
Still red-faced with mirth, Ismaili also ignored Ian’s thunderous Cockney show of temper and returned his attention to Karim and Angel, whom he once again half-circled. Karim kept his own unblinking gaze locked with the snake eyes. Ismaili was the one who finally broke the stare-down, but only because he paused to take in Angel’s ass, and Karim’s hand stroking just above it.
“So, this is how it is,” Ismaili’s eyes fairly gleamed. The hand with the ruby went to his heart to feign a mock flutter. “You know what a hopeless romantic I am,” he sighed heavily, as if he believed this to be true of himself.
Ian took a step toward Ismaili and the Somali body guards tensed and flexed big arms, reaching for their weapons. Ismaili half turned and shook his head, giving them the “stand-down” signal.
“Ian, pet,” He said, still smiling. He turned toward the English’s hulking, red-faced form. “Sit down, Habibi. No need for tantrums… You know I have something for you to enjoy later, something you’ll like very much.”
More thunder and curses came from the English’s direction but a chair groaned as he tossed his big Nordic frame into it. He added with a sulk, “Still think I should have a go at the quid. S’not very communal of the son-of-a-bitch if you ask me.”
“Yes, but this is different. You need to understand this. This is about Arab Unity... Karim is correct on this, in that this is about a symbolism we are trying to invoke. I forbid you to go against my wishes on this, Habibi,” Ismaili said with sudden icy warning. He returned his attention to Karim. “And what do you have to say further, Ya aaneef… Jameel?” He added in a soft, almost sing-song whisper, "‘ebbi jamalu fatanna…”
He’d called Karim his fierce one, Beautiful One, then quoted from a very old Arabic song, ‘with his beauty, he charmed us.’
Karim was starting to smirk again. “I’d say I’m going to have to kill your English dog if he tries to fuck with her again. Just fair warning…”
Karim didn’t have to fake fierce at this moment. He knew his eyes glittered with murderous intensity. He dropped his hand to Angel’s ass in a possessive gesture. Her head suddenly came off his shoulder. He shoved it back.
Ismaili laughed again, but it didn’t reach his cold eyes. “Just remember, Habibi, she belongs to me. My property, on loan for only as long as I wish. Though I know you are used to taking what you want, this is what you need to remember.”
“I’ll let you know when I tire of her,” Karim said with the usual arrogance Lord Oafkir had come to expect from him.
Ismaili studied him thoughtfully before saying, “Yes, and usually that doesn’t take long.”
“Yes, usually,” Karim squeezed Angel’s ass again. He felt her stiffen.
Ismaili held up a finger on the bejeweled hand. “And do not mar her… Understand, I can see she may need beating soundly at times, but see if you can‘t find other methods.”
“I’ll just let her beat me.” Karim smiled with a little too much real enthusiasm at the thought.
The smile morphed instantly into hard lines as Ismaili reached into his pocket and pulled an antique gold pocket watch out, perusing it. Karim’s grip on Angel tightened suddenly to the point where she gave a little strangled cry.
Ismaili put the watch away. “It seems she tires of us! Well, it is lunch time,” he added, starting back around the table. “Make sure she eats. I don’t want her starved again. ” he lingered to shoot Bukra a cold stare as he passed him. He waved a hand behind him, more like an afterthought as he said, “Run along and play now, children—no more fighting. I have a most wonderful event planned for you all tonight.” Karim knew this meant ’dismissed’ in Ismaili world, i.e. when he started getting bored, but the Terror Lord paused one more time and called behind him, “Oh, and Karim, one thing—I want that video tape to be quality. You know—make much of the symbolism.”
Karim heard Mustafa sigh. For him this meant, rewrite.
Ismaili paused again, and turned around, eyes flecking over Angel. “Remind me, what is her name is again? I want to remember it when I watch the news.”
Karim was about to answer, Jennifer Wiley, but to his acute surprise, Nidal—who had remained standing through the whole last part of the drama—cut in. “She likes to be called Angel. Its her nickname…”
Karim’s jaw tightened. Another what the fuck? moment. He instantly understood the play that Nidal was trying to turn—that one of them could slip up, but Habibi, what the fuck? He had to get her out of here before there were anymore of these ad-libs.
“Nickname?” the Terrorist leader looked to Karim.
He supplied, “Pet name. Its just a common name of affection in America.”
“Ahhh, how well-fitting,” Ismaili commented. He seemed to forget he’d asked for her real name. No one reminded him.
Karim threw a weighted glance at Nidal when Ismaili finally turned away. He received back an arch of one perfect, inky brow like his own—the one without stitches, and a shrug. Another thing he’d deal with later.
Karim had to pretty much untangle himself from Angel, who’d wrapped herself around him like he was a tree and she was trying to escape an attack of wild dogs—not far from the truth. He didn’t want to wait for the next unexpected thing to happen and grabbed her roughly by the arm, propelling her out the door with almost the same speed he used to bring her in to the Terror Lord.
Mustafa was hurrying to catch up with him. “The video tape—I’m not ready. Do we have to do it now?”
Karim tossed back at him, “No, she needs some time to recover. Let‘s hold off until tomorrow…” Next week. …never… But he knew from Ismaili’s enthusiasm, he’d have to put Angel through this too at some point.
Karim paused in his brisk pace only because she was tripping in the damned high heels again.
“Goddamn it, what is it with you and shoes? Don’t you wear them back home on the farm?”
He didn’t released her arm, so Angel was now balancing on one foot, using her free hand to try and secure the stylish, but not very practical high heel back in place. It suddenly occurred to him, these were designed for eye candy only.
When she managed to get the shoe back on, she turned on him with a glare. “Are you kidding me? You’re talking to me about shoes? After… After that? …When you tire of me? Oh my God! I can‘t believe you!”
She attempted to wrench her arm free, but he held her firmly. He looked at her incredulous. A minute ago, she’d been too terrified to speak… He had the impulse to remind her, it was all an act. But then he would feel the need to qualify what was truth and what were lies, because what was left inside of him—those traces of underlying honesty—would demand it. He felt momentarily annoyed that she brought that out in him.
He let go of her arm and refastened his grip on her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. “Damn it, Angel. Just… come on.”
He started to walk again but this time slowed the pace. After all—he was 6’ 1” and she was what? Sans heels, about 5’4”? Glancing down at the shoes, he commented, a little more gently, “I can see your point. Why women wear such stupid things, I can’t fathom.”
“Why men stare at women wearing them, that’s what I can’t fathom. You seem to like them well enough…”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
He shot a thoughtful half-smile in her direction. She must have forgotten herself because she didn’t even stammer that last line. It was well-delivered. Once again, he’d expected histrionics—maybe even a dead faint, especially after Ismaili put his hands on her like that… The slimy fucker. He’d been rattled himself, and he knew she’d been terrified. Her hand still trembled slightly against his, but otherwise, she was… still standing. Unless, of course, she fell off the shoes again. With her, fear seemed to lead to anger—this he understood. Then her anger would give way to… what? He wasn‘t sure. That she was angry at him for some of the things he’d said and done in front of Ismaili seemed reasonable enough. He’d expected as much. But what came next? Karim found himself brooding on the allure of further discovery of Angel as he rested his hand lightly on her lower back and guided her through the clinic double doors.
Abed hadn’t come back yet, but Majed was there to greet them in the hotel’s breakfast room turned medical clinic. There were no other patients in the room. He led them over to a cot all readied and surrounded by medical paraphernalia. There was a saline I.V. on a push pole, even an oxygen cylinder with the mask hooked up and lying on the pillow in readiness.
“What’s all this?” Karim asked. He sat Angel down on the cot. She was eyeing the I.V. pole warily.
“Dr. Abed said she might need medical assistance after her encounter,“ Majed said with his usual solemnness.
Karim tried to not to smile at Abed‘s propensity for melodrama, remembering that he too thought she‘d be much worse for wear at this point. “I don’t think she’s going to need all this.” To Angel he said, “Can Majed get something for you? A soda, glass of water?”
“Water would be nice, thank you,” she answered, but didn’t look at him. He noted how she sat—knees pressed together and slanted very primly sideways instead of crossing them, which would have shown a lot more thigh. Somehow, Angel’s way was more sexy, he decided.
Her hands were folded very lady-like in her lap. She stared around absently—looking anywhere but him. He sat down beside her, but resisted the urge to take her hands up in his. Majed came back and handed her a glass of water. Karim sent him a look that said, disappear. Majed did. Here was a kid who had great potential…
Karim had to swallow another smile when she held up the glass against the light, inspecting water and glass before she drank.
“No creatures?”
“No,” she said softly, finally chancing a shy glimpse his way.
“It’s bottled,” he supplied.
“Oh.”
So how to talk to this woman, about something other than sex? Although the thought of it—sex with her—didn’t linger far below the surface after having her in his arms most of the morning. Not touching her now, he felt kind of deprived.
He willed his tone to remain light. “Abed and Nidal will be bringing us some lunch soon. Can I get you anything else for now? Oxygen, a Kleenex, a shoulder to cry on?”
She’d looked away from him again, but now she turned back and met his eyes. “So, you’re going to tease me some more? I hope you don’t start yelling again, because I’m really not in the mood. And I am not going to cry, so don‘t look all worried like that.”
Did he look… worried? Okay. Now he‘d gotten himself into something he mostly managed to avoid. Except when Abed wouldn’t let him… Emotional exchange. He wanted to run. But her blue eyes waited expectantly. And she did look like she was about to cry. Karim sighed. “Obviously, you’re angry at me, deservedly—”
“No… I mean… yes. I mean I am angry. I just haven’t figured out the whole ‘deservedly’ part yet.”
Two syllables in yes… Emphasis on the ‘am’ and deservedly. The “I” like “ayh” that reminded him of “ahhh”. The breathy pauses—even when she was mad. Karim thought he’d prepared himself for the affect her voice had on him. He was practically clenching the edges of the cot to keep from saying ‘hell with it’ and just kissing her into submission. But that would be the wrong thing. He could feel it. So this meant, for the sake of the peace, he needed to attempt to decipher what she was actually trying to get across? She was saying something else now—even more whispery and murmured than before—like Marilyn Monroe with a Southern drawl. Karim couldn’t focus on her words. Instead he was looking at the faint imprint her lipstick had made on the glass she held. It looked as if it was about to spill because she now held the glass at an angle in her hand, as if she’d forgotten it. He took the glass from her, drank a few sips, touching his mouth where hers had touched, then put the glass on the nearby table with Abed‘s implements.
She stopped talking and stared at him.
He tried to look apologetic. “Angel, honestly, I don’t have a clue of what you just said. Could you come again, and I‘ll try to listen more effectively this time.”
“W-What? Oh never mind…”
She turned her face away. He wanted to make her look at him, but once again, for some strange reason, held back. He did seize a hand from her lap and started toying with it. “I already know you’re mad, so let’s just back up to the deservedly part.”
She turned back toward him, but mostly stared down at his hand, calloused and scarred, now intertwined with her slender one. “I-I don‘t know what I was saying either—probably best you didn‘t hear me.” She drew in a deep breath and paused, as if trying to bring some type of organization to her thoughts, then said, “Look, I do see that you are trying to protect me… And that you’re not evil, not like that awful man.” She paused and shivered, but she’d not pulled her hand away from his. Her eyes, so blue, and brimming with unshed tears, met with his penetrating stare. She had his attention now. “But, you say and do things I don’t understand. I don’t know which part is supposed to be an act. You yell and order me around, try to seduce me, then the next thing I know, you’re ready to fight or shoot someone—which means they could kill you first—if they seem to want to hurt me. You highjacked a plane… I—I hope I don‘t sound ungrateful, but I really am confused…”
Karim’s jaw tightened. All this—just like she’d laid out and more—and she was worried about sounding ungrateful? He’d been an Class-A asshole pretty much from the beginning toward her, even worse than his usual belligerent self. How could he explain all this to her, when he wasn’t even sure himself from one moment to the next—which was the act or what was real?
But Angel was real, and she was right here in front of him, looking back at him, awaiting his response. Some type of real one…
He blew out a heavy breath he didn‘t realize he‘d been holding. “Angel, you really don’t have to apologize for being angry and confused. I’m a bitch to deal with, even in my better moods—I freely admit it. However, you discern correctly that for as long as you’re here, I don’t plan on allowing anyone to lay a hand on you. They will at least have to go through me first.”
That was the best he could do…What he knew right now that was actually the truth.
Her gaze searched his face, eyes a mystery of deepening azure. “And who… is going to protect me from you?” she asked softly.
Karim stared back at her for a long moment, attempting to process the hint of vulnerability in her voice she made no attempt to hide. He felt a stab of guilt, and of wistful longing. He had this strange urge to take her in his arms and just hold her. Kiss all her fears away. That it had nothing to do with sex took him by surprise and had him fumbling for a response that was more within his comfort zone. He wanted her. That was something he was clear on. He’d made up his mind. Eyes guarded, but full of heat, he broke into a slow, simmering smile.
“Well now that, sweet girl, would be up to you. I’ve already stated my intentions.” He pulled her hand to his lips, pressing a light kiss to her fingers, then turned her hand over and allowed his lips to linger on her palm. “I can’t be satisfied with just a taste. I want everything—I’m just that way. So now its up to you decide. What is it that you want, Angel?”
Her posture was already near perfect, but she squared her shoulders anyway, with all dignity. She pulled her hand from his, then, in a gesture that set him off kilter again, drew her feather-light touch downward, to his chest and over his heart, the beat of which immediately increased to a rapid, pulsing thud. To Karim’s surprise, she continued to hold his gaze without flinching.
“I want you… to stop treating me like some object—your shiny new toy—its demeaning. I understand what you have to do when the others are around, and I think I understand why, but otherwise, you need to find some of those manners you keep promoting… I honestly don’t think the other is you anyway.” She sighed and dropped her hand back to her own lap. The searching blue gaze fell, then trailed back up from his gun belt area up to boldly meet his eyes. She added, “Also, I am a woman, not a girl. You need to remember that.”
Mmmm, Angel… Yes, baby. All woman. Very much a lady…He hadn’t known many. It added to her mystic… her allure.
Right now, he wasn’t sure he could remember his own name, much less what they’d been talking about. It didn’t matter that once more, she’d delivered the knock out punch with one little swipe of kittenish claws. She was the regal princess in her high tower, and he wanted in—but he was conducting this assault with all the wrong methods. He realized he needed to put away the battering ram. Prepare for slow siege.
He would have been unable to resist kissing her again—slow and gentle, of course—and had actually gotten as far as putting his arms around her waist and pulling her toward him when the double doors opened and Abed and Nidal walked in.
Abed was carrying a cardboard box which probably contained lunch. Karim stood up and offered a hand to Angel. She now had one arm draped over her legs and one hand she’d brought up to cover the expanse of cleavage the dress exposed too much of. She looked uncomfortable. Karim knew Abed would be uncomfortable—and Nidal would try but be unable to contain his horny-18-year-old-male stares. As she took his hand and stood up, Karim leaned down and grabbed the folded, hospital-green sheet from the cot.
“Here baby, you look like you might be a little cold,” he offered. While the cooling system in the building was struggling again today and the air was starting to drip humidity, Karim couldn’t help but notice that her nipples were erect and winking at him through the thin dress, which wasn’t from any temperature changes—at least not the external. Mixed signals from her again. He blew out a breath for control, snapped the sheet open and draped it around her shoulders. Angel shot him a surprised, but grateful look and wrapped up with the sheet to her chin.
Abed headed for the kitchen, where Karim knew he had a little eating area set up. Nidal headed for Karim and Angel.
Nidal’s eyes darted to Angel and looked a little disappointed. No more skin. Sorry Habibi, show’s over for now… Karim wished he had a damned Chador to cover her from head to toe, then felt annoyance at himself for what he perceived as the traditional Arabness of the thought. The Christian women in his village had covered themselves too.
Nidal said to Karim in Arabic, “Ismaili’s already talking with Mustafa about that video tape. You aren’t going to be able to avoid it.”
“Well I am for now. Tough shit for Ismaili. Angel’s had enough for this afternoon—so have I, and its going to be a long evening… I‘ll talk to him later about doing it tomorrow morning.” Karim put an arm around Angel’s shoulders as they started for the kitchen behind Nidal.
Majed and Abed were bringing out a few steaming bowls and some plates and napkins from the box Abed had brought in. There was a whole stack of fresh-baked pitas, Hummus dip—the must have—then some rice, Tahini sauce and Kibbeh, which were little torpedo-shaped fried meatballs made with bulgur and ground meat. Yes, and good for Abed—there was also some tabouli salad, fresh peaches, orange slices and grapes for Angel. She needed the nutrition. He’d talk to Abed about getting her some vitamins…
Karim sat Angel down at the institutional-style folding table with matching chairs which Abed had probably gotten from some hospital cafeteria when they were going to throw them out. He made a plate for Angel first, then himself. Majed brought a couple of beers for Nidal and Karim, along with bottles of water for himself, Abed and Angel.
When Karim sat the plate down in front of Angel, containing a sampling of everything—but heavy on the fruit and tabouli—she looked up at him with big eyes that told him she was wondering if he was going to force feed her again. He handed her a fork and napkin, then sat down and angled his chair toward Abed and Nidal and away from her, hoping she’d feel more comfortable.
He glanced at Nidal, who was already shoveling food, still-growing-boy-style, before taking a swig of beer himself and picking up his own fork. “So Habibi, what was that bullshit you were trying to pull off in there? I tell you constantly, no fucking ad-lib with the Colonel.”
Nidal ignored the sternness in Karim’s tone. He also talked with his mouth full, mumbling something Karim didn’t bother to decipher because it further pissed him off. How many times did he have to pound these things into the Habibi’s thick skull? He pulled off a bite-sized bit of pita and dipped it into the communal hummus bowl.
“Chew first, then talk,” Karim snapped, before popping pita and hummus into his own mouth. He heard a short rattle from the folding chair behind him and knew his gruff tone had startled Angel. He’d have to modulate better…
Nidal was saying, “I said—Mustafa and I had already slipped up twice with some of the Bekaa guys, calling her Angel. Sorry.”
“Talking trash, no doubt…” Karim muttered.
“Yeah, well, Sorry.” Nidal sent a grin Angel’s way. Karim brought the hand with his fork down hard on the table and sent the little horny bastard an un-ignorable glare of warning. This time Angel didn’t jump.
“Hiisa, mon, you’re like dealing with fucking Hassan today. Shit,” Nidal didn’t even bother to try charm.
“Just clear it through me next time,” Karim said. He tried as unobtrusively as possible to peek at Angel—make sure she was eating. She was picking at the food—some had disappeared—but when she sensed his eyes on her, she stopped chewing. She’d taken the sheet and secured it under her arms like a big bath towel so her hands would be free. She’d eaten some rice and part of the Kibbeh—if probably tentatively. No doubt even tabouli was foreign to her, which was really just chopped parsley—used more like a garnish in the West—-with diced tomato, onion, a little lemon juice and olive oil, and a sprinkling of pine nuts and bulgur/cracked wheat. Karim liked it with a lot of red pepper. He remembered how it was for him with American food at first, but he’d acquired a taste for it fairly quickly. A growing boy back then, like Nidal, he would have eaten anything that didn’t eat him first. He still especially liked peanut butter, steak and the various Italian dishes Zelda liked to make. He suddenly had to work hard at not thinking of Angel in context with peanut butter and jelly…
“Angel, eat some of the salad—its good for you. And some fruit,” he ordered, but tried not to be an asshole about it.
Satisfied when she picked up the peach he’d put on her plate, he quickly turned away. He didn’t want to think about Angel and any type of juicy fruit right now either. There’d be time enough for that kind of thing later. In fact, there was so much more he’d like to try out on little Miss Prim and Proper, the Lady Angel, that could involve food—or not. So many ways he could ensure that the time they spent together was quality time…
“Abed, you’re being entirely too quiet,” he said, sipping more beer.
Abed shrugged. He didn’t seem to be eating much. His eyes didn’t look distressed like earlier, but just more pensive than usual.
“Things went well,” Karim assured him. “In spite of the more bizarre moments—which we all know we should expect anyway when Ismaili’s involved.”
“Yes,” Abed said with a sigh. “It all just made me a little ill. Frankly, I almost feel the need right now for a good all-over dousing with disinfectant—of the strongest surgical variety… I really don’t know how you can stand to deal with him like you do. I’m not criticizing, mind you. Thanks be to Allah you have such skill. It was like watching one of those Bollywood-Indian films, where the script is horrible beyond belief, but the acting in this case was certainly done with Hollywood-level expertise.”
“Yeah, well thanks. I think.” He’d seen some pretty bad Hollywood movies too. Karim continued to eat, truly pleased that Abed was not going to go off the deep end about how it all went down. He was determined to keep it light—not just for Angel’s sake, but also for his own. He would do the replay in his mind for all the meaningful highlights later, when some of the creepiness wore off for him too.
“Angel seems be holding up remarkably well,” Abed commented.
“Didn’t even need oxygen…” Karim teased, finishing off his rice, in which he’d mixed bits of Kibbeh and smothered with Tahini. “In all seriousness, she is much less fragile than she seems, trust me on this.”
Abed sighed and drank water. He picked around some more with his fork, then sat it down, glancing back over at Karim with a deep frown. “I’m glad to see you’re giving her some space right now. Again—I do strongly advise that you don’t push too hard, Karim. The whole marks on the neck thing—”
“Completely necessary.” Karim has seen that one coming. He sat his fork down too. It was starting to get too damned hot in the kitchen now to eat a heavy meal. “I suppose the damned air units are failing again,” He remarked.
In answer to Karim’s initial comment, Abed said, “I know, I know. I took in the whole scene—not something I‘ll care to repeat anytime soon. You may think I’m naive, but I get the jest of your plan a lot better than you think—especially after seeing the whole lurid affair unfold before my eyes.”
“Well, I had hoped you wouldn’t come in there. In fact I was surprised you did.” Karim finished off his beer and leaned back.
Abed leaned in toward him, glancing at Nidal and Majed with seeming relief that they were engaged in their own animated conversation. “Look, I’m just asking you to remember that she is a just a scared, helpless young female who has been delivered into our hands through fate, the Will of Allah—whatever you want to speculate. She’s already been victimized enough with all she’s been through. And Karim, she does seem very innocent… She‘d never even had a drink of alcohol before we gave her some Arak tea last night…”
“Enough already, Abed. Damn it! I have some of those same concerns… I’m not completely heartless. But don’t harp on me too much about the innocent part. American girls start getting laid when they’re about thirteen—they aren‘t the same kind of ‘innocent‘ you‘re thinking of by comparison with the sheltered females over here.”
Karim wanted to add, Take my word—she responds in ways that might surprise you, St. Abed… But the good doctor was already blushing. Karim wasn’t sure why the subject of Angel’s sexual experience—or lack of it—disturbed his own equilibrium so much. He could deduce that she was shy, sweet—the fairly unworldly sort, but she was an American, and the product of a culture even he had to admit was far too steeped in sex. Even TV commercials selling hygiene products and floor cleaner had sexual overtones. Of course, with Americans—all roads led to dollar signs.
Karim shoved back from the table. “Nidal, are you ready? Abed, we’re going to take Angel back upstairs now.” At Abed’s weighted stare, he added with the hint of a sneer, “I’m going to put her down for a nap, Abed—to sleep. We’ve still got the damned Ismaili party to get through tonight.”
He glanced at Angel, whose must have heard her name interspersed in the all-Arabic conversation. In spite of the hospital-green, which flattered no one—she managed to look like a pretty, exotic flower, albeit one that was starting to wilt.
At the word ‘party’ Nidal was out of his chair. He launched into a bad rendition some vaguely familiar, really abominable American pop song, “Yeah, we’re going to fight, for our right, to part-ay…”
“No,” Karim cut him off. “We’re still in serious mode, Habibi… Tonight you can blow off some of that energy… Christ, I keep hoping you’re going to outgrow the teenager bullshit soon.”
“Its music, mon! You like music too. Its not something you outgrow,” Nidal protested.
“Well, you do acquire more refinement… You have a wide repertoire, but you need more, ah, discerning tastes.” Karim noticed how Nidal’s gaze strayed to Angel with a big grin. “Yeah—it extends to that too,” he added.
Karim looked at Abed, whom he expected to disapprove. The good doctor was shaking his head, but he was staring at Majed. The boy’s face was as long as Nidal’s was bright. The green eyes looked resigned but miserably deprived, like a cinder-fellow who was not going to get to go to the ball.
Karim decided to help Abed out. “Not this time, Majed. Not only are you too young, but we’ve explained to you the danger. You understand the implications of this, and the need for you to stay completely out of sight, right?”
Majed nodded, but still looked forlorn. Karim could sympathize. They all really needed to blow off some steam. It had been a long, strange week, and it wasn’t over yet. He knew Majed would obey—even if reluctantly. It was a difference in temperament between Nidal and Majed—and even Mustafa. Of course, Nidal had elements of the more wayward characteristics in the family…
“Be alright with it, kid—you‘re time will come,” Karim commented to Majed.
Karim turned to Angel and extended a hand, saying in English, “And now, its back to the tower for you, princess…”
Like Abed, she didn’t seem to find any humor at all in his comment. Reluctantly, he unwrapped the sheet and handed it to Abed, who was already averting his eyes. Seeing the way Angel also cast her gaze downward, Karim felt that little prick to his gut.
“Abed, I guess I don’t have to warn you away from tonight, right?”
“Wild Arabian stallions couldn’t drag me back into the presence of Lord Shaitan, believe me. I just went in there this morning because I… Well, I had to make sure you guys were going to be okay.”
“You really did think I was going to bomb, didn‘t you?” Karim playfully accused, but somewhere inside of him he did feel a new sort of peace with Abed’s camaraderie.
We’re all in this together…
To offset the whole sloppy-sentimental tone, he tossed a light scold Abed’s way. “You didn’t really give her Arak, did you?”
With a sheepish blush, Abed shrugged. “I needed to warm and calm her. It can be an effective medicine.”
“Yeah, and it doesn’t take much to lay guys like me with heads like rocks on our asses… No wonder she gave you such a hard time.” He grinned at Angel. She was glaring back at them like she understood she was the jest of the conversation. Lovely, sweet Angel, the subject once more, and not the percipient…He hadn’t forgotten himself how humbling that could be, when things just kept happening to you… Whether by arbitrary fate, the powers that be—whatever the hell went on out there in the cosmic scheme of things—something beyond your control was dictating your circumstances and there was nothing at all you could do about it. Prostrate before the Universe…
He said his goodbye, Salaam, to Abed, and borrowed Majed with his rifle to assist Nidal and himself in negotiating Angel safely through the potentially treacherous corridors and up the backstairs to the apartment. He left her in the bedroom and advised strongly that she rest. She didn’t argue and seemed relieved for the break. He worried about leaving her with only Majed, Nidal and the recently returned Mustafa as her guards, but really had no choice. He had to put in appearance with Father Oafkir about the video taping session. He’d entrusted his “prize hostage” into Karim’s care, right? Deep down, the Terror Lord appreciated Karim’s reliability—but not quite as much as his flare for ‘Theatre of the Absurd’.
He hoped to conclude business quickly. In all honesty, he had to admit—he looked forward to more time spent with Angel this evening. Checking her out in the black dress… Oh yeah, Smoke me again, baby… Ismaili would—of course—be on his best manners for a formal evening event, so there should be no problems there. Karim himself had a few more surprises for sweet Lady Angel. Who knows? Maybe she’d respond favorably to his more polished side. He smiled in anticipation at the thought as he made his way back downstairs.
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Interesting story. I don’t think its fit for a action/adventure and I think its more of a thriller or romance. But that’s just me. Long story and I love your style of storytelling. very descriptive.
i love your characters, specially Angel.
But like all good stories, You have simple errors.
suck-marks’ or hickey this is no big deal. that is just another word for it.
‘Mutherfuck! What was this?’ I am asuming u mean ‘Mutherfucker’
. Ismaili half turned and shook his head, giving them the “stand-down” signal.
This is a run on sentence.
you should have put a (;) or (and) instead of the (,) because though it talks about the same action it runson because of the comma. you also started of as past tense and ended in present participle.
if it was: ’’Ismaili half turned to shake his head and gave them the ‘stand-down’ signal.’’ this would have been more appropriate.
other than that your story was outstanding. should’ve published it 12 years ago.
;-)
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