Seized By The Sheik. Ann Voss Peterson

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СКАЧАТЬ silhouette, the last glow of twilight behind him.

      Efraim slashed, hit flesh.

      The man let loose a guttural sound.

      Efraim reversed direction, bringing the blade back, striking again.

      This time his enemy was ready. He lifted the rifle. Blade hit barrel.

      The dagger wrenched from Efraim’s hands. The rifle barrel numbed his hand and plowed into his side.

      Pain shot through his ribcage, making it hard to breathe. He struck out with his bare hands. His knuckles glanced off the man’s chin.

      The rifle hit again.

      His whole chest seized with pain. Gasping, Efraim hunched forward, trying to protect his ribs, trying to breathe.

      The man was on him in a second. His knee drove into Efraim’s back. Dirt and grit ground into his cheek. He struggled for air but nothing came.

      “Hold still.”

      Efraim finally choked a breath into his lungs. Dust came with it. He coughed, his side on fire. The entire middle of his body wreathed in pain.

      His dagger.

      It had flown out of his hand when the rifle barrel hit. It had to be here. Within a few feet. He scraped the ground in front of him with his free hand, but hit nothing but sagebrush and prickly pear.

      “Hold still.” The man shoved his knee harder into Efraim’s back. “Right now, or I’ll blow you away.”

      Each inhale seared like a hot poker in the side, but at least he was breathing. He felt something hard press into the back of his head.

      “Is he dead?”

      “Who?” Efraim managed to choke out.

      “The one I shot.”

      Efraim dug his fingers into the dirt. He didn’t know if Fahad was alive or dead, but either way he would strangle the man with his own hands. He would avenge his cousin. His blood. Fahad would do no less for him.

      “Is he?”

      “No.”

      He let out a breath with a whoosh. “Why are you here?” The man’s voice cracked.

      Efraim smiled. It was one thing to gun a man down from a distance. Looking through a rifle scope made everything seem unreal, like watching a violent movie or playing a video game. Americans loved their violence as long as it was at a distance. Pretend. Or in someone else’s country.

      Efraim knew how to deal with it close up.

      He had to be calm, to clear his mind. He’d struck too fast with the knife. Played it too recklessly. He’d assumed he was faster than his enemy. As fast as he had been years ago when he’d fought for Nadar. He’d been wrong. But he didn’t need to be faster. He was smarter. This time he needed to think. And when he got an opening, he needed to make it count.

      The guy had him pinned to the ground, but his weight rested too much on Efraim’s back. In that unstable position, Efraim could throw him off balance and flip him. He’d already proven himself more fond of throwing threats around than bullets. He’d give Efraim another chance. Cracked rib or not, Efraim could take him. He tensed, ready to make his move.

      “Efraim?”

      Callie.

      Bloody hell. She must be near. She must have heard voices. And knowing what he did of her, she was probably on her way to help.

      Efraim could feel the man tense at the sound of her voice. He still had his rifle, probably two, because he’d taken Callie’s, as well. Maybe that was what he was waiting for…for all three of them to be together. Maybe he was following, being as quiet as he could, biding his time so he could take them all out at the same time.

      “Efraim? Is that you?”

      She was closer. Riding straight into his trap. Straight toward a man with a gun.

      Efraim couldn’t let Callie be his target. “Callie? Run.” He bucked backward, trying to unseat the man.

      The man was too quick. He shifted his weight off Efraim and brought his fist hard into Efraim’s side.

      Into his cracked rib.

      Pain ripped through his body. A gasp tore from his lips. For a second, he couldn’t move.

      Gritting his teeth, he forced his body to function. He sprang upward and back, but the man was off him and he connected with nothing but air.

      A shadow moved to the left.

      He spun to the side with a kick. This time he hit flesh.

      The man grunted but kept moving. Running. Not toward Efraim or the sound of Callie’s voice but away. Footsteps ground on dry earth and faded into the night.

      Efraim tried to run, to give chase, but after a few steps, he knew it was no good. He slumped forward, bracing his hands on his knees. Pain tore through his side, making each breath agony. Cracked rib for certain. Maybe two. He forced himself to straighten, took a few steps in the direction the shooter went, then doubled over again.

      “Efraim? Are you okay?”

      He turned toward her voice. All he could make out was the silhouette of a horse carrying two riders. She was near him, only a few feet away. But he couldn’t see her face.

      “Efraim?”

      “I’m fine,” he lied.

      “I heard voices. Fighting. What happened?” Her voice trembled, frightened for him, not sparing a thought about what she was rushing into.

      At once he felt grateful for her concern and angry that she’d exposed herself to such danger. “You should have run for the ranch. You shouldn’t have risked coming back for me.”

      “And let you die?”

      “I wasn’t going to die.” He was close enough to see her face now, her golden hair. But he couldn’t read her eyes. But there was something, the sheen of tears on her cheeks… “Callie? You’re crying. What happened?”

      Her breath hitched. “I’m so sorry, I—I think Fahad is dead.”

      Chapter Four

      Efraim didn’t want to believe Callie’s words, but some how he knew they were true. He stumbled forward, reaching the horse’s side.

      “His pulse, I checked. The first time, it felt weak. But this last time…I couldn’t find it at all.”

      Fahad was slumped to the side, Callie gripping the fork of the saddle, stretching her arm like a gate to keep him from falling off. Efraim had to wonder how long she’d been riding like that.

      “Do you want to check? I mean, to make sure?”

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