Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 126823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
“You don’t have to go into detail,” Raine assured. “And no one here thinks you have Stockholm syndrome in regards to Salman Ahmad. He sounds as if he was a good man and did his best for his people.”
She appreciated Raine all the more for being understanding. Not even her parents understood how well she’d been treated or how the tribe had integrated her into their families. They’d shown her respect, and in turn, she respected and grew to love them. It had all started with their leader, Salman Ahmad. She’d seen the difference between a true leader and practitioner of his traditions and a power-hungry sadist out to get everything he could for himself. Scorpion had robbed the tribe and murdered the members.
She knew they weren’t his only victims. She had become aware, through all the questioning she’d been subjected to when she’d been rescued, that the man who called himself Scorpion was an international serial killer determined to create as many headlines as possible with the sadistic massacres. He would disappear for months or a year, and then the killings would start up again in another country. His name was never the same, only Scorpion and the signature brand on the wrist of the young girl he kept for six months before murdering her.
She had to get to the present and push the past far away from her mind. Close the door before it creaked too far open.
“Four days ago, two men came into the café. They said they were from France. That isn’t unusual. We get tourists from all over the world. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have thought too much about it, but they looked familiar to me. Their features. You know I don’t forget faces. I was fairly certain I hadn’t seen either of them before, but I knew I had seen their features. Their eyes and foreheads. Neither of them looked directly at me. That’s unusual too.”
She didn’t want to sound vain—she wasn’t. She dressed modestly at all times. She covered her skin. It was a habit and necessity as far as she was concerned. Her friends had never questioned why she wore the clothes she did—the long sleeves even in the heat. She never wore shorts. But men looked at her. She’d looked in the mirror, and she knew by most people’s standards she was considered beautiful.
She had her mother’s flawless skin and thick, rich gleaming hair so black it could shine nearly blue under the lights. It fell to her narrow waist, usually in a roped braid. Her eyes were large, a deep blue with hints of purple, ringed with thick black lashes. She was on the shorter side, barely reaching five foot four with her shoes on, but she had curves. Men looked at her. Noticed her. It didn’t matter that she dressed modestly.
“They talked quietly, were respectful when they ordered and paid for their food. Nothing about them should have stood out, yet everything did. The longer they were in the café, the more this really bad feeling grew. They spoke to each other in French, but their accent didn’t ring true. I have an ear for sound, and there was just something off.”
“You do realize,” Vienna said very gently, almost soothingly, “you are always going to have triggers. Those men easily could trigger PTSD from the horrific trauma you suffered. You said Scorpion spoke to you in excellent French. That alone could trigger you.”
As if she didn’t already know that. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. Vienna sounded much the same as her therapist. She’d been seeing the therapist for several years, and yet the woman didn’t seem to think Shabina would be able to remember from one session to the next the tools she’d been given to cope when she had a meltdown. And that voice. Soothing. As if Shabina were a child and didn’t understand what was happening to her. It had been happening for years.
She swallowed every retort, reminding herself these were her friends and they were trying to understand and help. There was no way to explain her built-in radar for deception and danger after six months of living in hell with Scorpion.
“That’s one of the many reasons I didn’t rush to any conclusions,” she agreed. “But they looked like two of the cabinet members working for Scorpion. You have to remember, they wore masks, so I only saw their eyes and foreheads. The shape of their chins. They spoke excellent French, but I wasn’t certain that was their first language.”
There was a brief silence. “Have you talked with your therapist?” Stella asked. “It might be a good thing to call her just to check in.”
Shabina was torn between laughter and tears. She’d known this was going to happen. Raine met her eyes again. She sent her a little smile of encouragement.