Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) by Manda Mellett

grateful, Sheikh Rais.” I show my respect with the honorific term, not often used between us. Rais is one of the younger tribal leaders but well respected. While Abdul-Muhsi might not follow his lead, the majority of the other desert sheikhs probably would. It’s a chilling fact that some of them would have preferred to see the bloodline of their enemy erased completely. Although the morning is warm, a cold shiver runs down my back at the thought that an innocent life, to the Western mind at least, could be extinguished so readily.
    It’s my responsibility to keep her alive and, if I need to harm her to do that, I will. I remain mindful of my father’s comments. The desert sheikhs will want to see the daughter of their enemy enduring the retribution agreed for her. Her introduction to the tribes will be problematic if I end up with a feisty wench protesting about her treatment and resenting the marriage. They will expect her to accept her punishment, submitting to her new husband. And that would take a very special woman. Will I be able to make her understand the politics of a way of life so far removed from what she’s accustomed to? Will she accept my protection? Or will force be necessary? I frown. I’ve been given permission, no, more than that, there’s the expectation that I will hurt her. And what sickens me down to my very soul is the thought that I might enjoy it. Fuck that blackout! Did I enjoy beating Chantelle? I can’t imagine there’s anything inside me that would take pleasure from injuring a woman, but while I can’t remember, I don’t know how deep the darkness inside me goes. Jasim was right to ban me from his club. No one, least of all I, can know what might happen if I lose hold of my, usually, tight control. He couldn’t take the risk and, up to now, neither could I. Is Cara Benting to be my next victim? Fuck, I could never lose control, never raise my hand to a woman. But I did.
    Rais glances across at me. “The blood of that bastard might flow through her, Nijad, but she, herself, carries no burden of guilt. We must all remember that.” I throw him a quick look and nod, again grateful to my friend. Then he loosens his reins and lets his horse lower his head for a while.
    “Do you miss it?” he asks me, curiously, a little while later. At my puzzled glance, he clarifies his question. “The jet-setting, the lifestyle you used to lead?”
    I breathe in deeply and then exhale. “In truth? I’m not that person any more. Even if I miss it, I could never go back.” I’m no longer the carefree playboy sheikh. I’ve seen too much … done too much. I’ve turned into a savage, a barbarian, as I’ve adapted to the harsh desert life. Been in too many situations where the choice is simply to kill or be killed ever to be able to relax at the tables of a casino again. I’ve taken lives with my bare hands, seen my men, my friends, fall around me. And I condone extreme methods of torture in an attempt to lessen the loss of life on our side. I’ve got blood on my hands, my mind always plotting death. I’m no longer a man fit for polite and civilised company. Here in the desert is where I belong now.
    Throwing me a serious look, Rais murmurs, “I think you punish yourself too much, Nijad. The woman didn’t die; none of those injuries were life-changing. She’ll have gone on with her life. But you? You act as if yours is over.”
    “But what about the next time, Rais? I don’t know what I could do if angered again. That’s the point. That it could happen again.” I can’t hide my exasperation, not with my friend, but with myself. “I don’t remember.” I shake my head. “I just don’t fucking remember. What was the trigger? Why did I black out?”
    Gazing ahead but not actually taking in anything I’m seeing, I remind him what happened. “She had to hit me to stop me, Rais. I’ve tried for so long to reach those parts of my brain, the part which holds my secrets so securely even I