“Yes, sire,” Ashar replied with a slight bow.
Junayd slipped through the crowd and stepped out onto the second-story balcony. Twin sets of steps curved down from each side of the balcony to the southern gardens of the lush estate. His breath fogged the air as he let the door close behind him. The chill felt good against his overheated flesh.
For a moment, he closed his eyes and imagined that he wasn’t standing on a balcony overlooking a meticulously manicured garden. Instead, his feet were sinking into soft sand. He imagined he could hear the sand shifting in the wind, could see wild dunes stretching to the horizon, and the sky was a vast and welcome friend above, its familiar patterns twinkling clear and bright.
His escape lasted for only a few seconds before Junayd heard a low cry of distress. He moved into the shadows, scanning the grounds below him. In the light streaming from the windows, he noticed a tiny woman being roughly pulled across the lawn by a rotund man. Junayd stiffened when the man struck her. She fell to her knees with another muffled cry. Junayd pressed the radio on his watch.
“I need two guards to the southern gardens near the large tree. There is a woman in trouble,” he ordered.
The man was still hitting her. The closest of Junayd’s guards were out front. It would take them several minutes to arrive.
The abuser dragged the woman toward the large oak tree. Concern burst through Junayd that his guards wouldn’t arrive in time. He rushed toward the left staircase leading down when another cry rang out, this time from the man. Relieved that his guards must have made it to the yard in record time, he paused on the upper steps to watch.
A shadow menacingly circled the man. Junayd’s eyes widened. The man lunged toward the small woman who was frozen with fear on the ground, but fell back when the shadow struck again. The attack was beautiful in its execution. A well-aimed blow to the throat silenced his cries. Another targeted his stomach, then his legs. The sharp crack of a bone in his arm breaking made Junayd wince. The shadow released him and the man rolled back and forth on the ground, releasing a choked, reedy wail of agony.
Junayd tilted his head with curiosity when the shadow slowly crouched near the woman, the dark figure’s body language soothing and compassionate. Within a few moments, the woman stopped sobbing, nodded, and shakily rose to her feet with the dark figure’s assistance.
She was saying something to her rescuer, but the warrior had paused and was looking back toward the house. Junayd shivered as the hero’s sharp-eyed scrutiny found him.
Junayd knew it was impossible. In the darkness, his black silk shirt, black tuxedo, and even his skin color and hair would camouflage him. Yet, he was positive that whoever it was who had cloaked themselves in shadow just effectively as he did saw him as if he were standing under a spotlight.
The moment lasted only a few seconds, then the figure slowly stepped back into the darkest depths of the garden and completely disappeared from sight. Released from the mesmerizing gaze, Junayd continued his descent down the staircase. By the time he arrived, three of his bodyguards, Issa Zayn, Hyder Faiz, and Yahya Walid, were near the tree.
A very young woman, the side of her face swollen, her lip bleeding, and her dress torn at the shoulder stood shaking uncontrollably between Issa and Hyder. Yahya was kneeling next to the sprawled man, quietly requesting an ambulance.
Junayd removed his jacket and stepped closer to the shivering teenager, assessing that while she had been abused and was suffering from shock, she did not appear to have any injuries that would need immediate care.
“Pull this on,” he gently instructed.
“Th-th-thank you,” she stuttered.
“How old are you?” he asked in a calm, soothing voice.
She looked up at him with dazed eyes shimmering with tears. “Fifteen,” she said.
Junayd stiffened and looked down at the man moaning on the ground. From the scent in the air, he knew Oliver Quest had pissed his pants. His jaw tightened with disdain.
“See that the girl is protected. Make sure she is transported to the hospital and evaluated. Notify her family and stay with her at all times until they arrive,” he ordered Issa and Hyder.
“Yes, sire. What about this one?” Yahya inquired, still kneeling next to Oliver.
“Leave him. The paramedics and the police can deal with him.”
He led the girl to a nearby bench, encouraging her to sit. Within a few minutes, the call to her family was completed and the sound of sirens was quite loud. Curious guests began to trickle out along with Quest’s personal security. It wasn't long before all his guards were assembled in a protective semi-circle.
Ashar handed Junayd his cashmere overcoat and they sat on the garden’s cold, wrought iron benches. Oliver Quest stayed on the ground, his pained expression both calculating and affronted under the hostile stares of the men surrounding him. The teenage girl was very still, breathing shakily and clutching Junayd’s tuxedo jacket tightly around her delicate form.
When the police and medical personnel arrived, Junayd rose from his seat and gave his statement to the police, describing in detail what he had witnessed, though of course he could not be anything but vague about the mysterious person who had come to the girl’s aid.
The curious crowd slowly trickled away, seeking the warmth of the house. As they left, their gossiping whispers and murmurs blended into background noise. Junayd remained standing where he was because he could sense that the girl’s rescuer was still here, watching the events unfold.
Ashar hesitated, frowning when Junayd didn’t move. “Sire?” he asked.
“Wait for me out front. Take the guards with you. I will be there shortly,” he ordered.
“I… yes, sire,” Ashar replied with a slight bow.
Junayd waited until everyone was gone before he faced the hundred-year-old tree. Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, he slowly walked around the tree, carefully scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. The minutes stretched in silence and he began to wonder if perhaps he was mistaken. He stopped on the opposite side of the tree. A low branch curved toward the ground before reaching upward.
“You broke his arm,” he said, waiting to see if the shadow would respond.
“He deserved it—and more,” a soft voice replied.
Junayd twisted, trying to pinpoint the location of the speaker. His eyes locked on a tall hedge.
He took a step toward it and stopped. “You’re right. In my country, in the desert, I would have killed him for abusing a woman like that,” Junayd responded.
“Not a woman, a child. By the time I’m done with him, he’ll wish he was in your desert.”
The lilting sound of her voice caressed his senses. Shock filtered through him when he realized that the speaker was a woman. His body responded to the husky voice as if she were whispering directly to his soul.
“Who are you?” he demanded
“I’m vengeance, justice, someone’s lost conscience.”
She was all around him. No matter where he turned, he sensed she had moved, though he couldn’t quite see her. She was like the zala alqamar aleayim, the floating moon shadow that swept across the dunes at night, making them appear alive.
“Pick whichever name you want,” she replied.
“I want….” he said huskily.
The words were pulled from him before he had finished the thought, and saying them out loud brought him to a confused halt. He did not know what it was that he wanted, but he wanted something.