Leaping into the air, sharply honed blades held high in the air, crossed over, sliced down beside the dark pants-dressed warrior as he landed softly on the matted floor, followed by a thud as the attached round object fell to the floor from the propped pole, rolling ominously away.

Alert Khalid sprung from his crouched position to his bare feet and swung around the blade an extension of his hand at the one who had approached him from behind. Lowering the sword, he straightened to his full height of 6'2. "What is it?" He barked, his bare chest covered in a fine film of sweat, black pants resting low on his hips.

"Another has disappeared." Cursing, he slammed the two swords together into one hand and held them out. Another man crossed over and removed them.

"How long?"

"A day or so. A foreigner. One, who had been asking far too many questions. No matter what she thought, whispers still hit the streets." More likely had no inkling. Treading where angels feared. When were these westerns going to learn one can't just waltz in here as if they own the place?

"Do you have a photo?" One was produced. His heart slammed in his sudden tight chest as he fell into soft sky-blue eyes. A fair-skinned, dark-haired beauty covered by a matching blue head-covering that looked more handmade than bought from some fancy high-end shop. Traditional bedouin style. "What was she looking for?"

"Another foreigner, looking into the dark side of the streets, not the hotels."

Dark brows furrowed down deeply. "What are you up to, my lovely lady?" He mainly asked himself. He had to get to her quickly before it was far too late for this one. Once out of the country, it would be harder to get her back.

He peered at the man in front of him, dressed in robes. One of his many trained men of the desert, warriors like him. "They would have moved out of the city with this one. Out into the desert. See what you can find out," he ordered. With an incline of his head, the man departed, leaving him with the photo.

They would have to move swiftly. A lot of things had already been in place since the last girl had been taken, near their borders, using their land as a crossover that he wanted to be stopped. Also human trafficking. Horrendous crimes against humanity, especially women sold into sex slavery. He wanted it to be a safer place for everyone to live in his country, his home, and his people.

Hopefully, he will be given a chance to shut down at least one link in the chain.

If he could prove this was happening between countries, optimistically, he would get substantial backing, when he met with delegates later.

He was one step closer to tightening up border security.

****

Sharp, rapid gunfire jerked Claire Montgomery from an exhausted sleep. Sleep she had kept at bay for her safety. Startled, eyes darted all around in the darkness. Blindly she felt the surrounding area beside herself with tied hands, pushing up into a more sitting up position, heart pounding wildly in her chest. She had been living on her nerves for the last day and a half, abruptly remembering where she was.

Drawing up her legs, she wrapped her arms around them, wiggling back into the corner of the tent. Feeling weaker than normal. The dark tent stifling from the heat of the day, throat parched, licking dry, cracked lips. Mind foggy. Probably put something in her food or drink, even both. At least not an injection. She shuddered at that thought.

The gunfire, she was finding out was a common occurrence, so was stealing someone from their hotel room. Rocking backwards and forward, she tried keeping the demons at bay, having no idea what was in front of her. Breathing in deeply through her nostrils, she had to stay focused on why she was there. And also had to keep safe. So far so good. How much longer she had no idea, breaking out into a cold sweat.

Hearing soft footfall and low voices Claire dropped back onto her side, closing her eyes. She strained to hear what they were saying. Too muffled. There was a ruffling of the tent flaps. Her mind raced in all different directions, thinking of a way out of this predicament. Her hands and feet both tied didn't help and feeling lethargic, even her tongue felt thick.

"So this is the one?" Was asked in Arabic. The one? Had word got around that fast? She peeked out through squinting eyes and stared at two pairs of shod feet. "What is wrong with her?" The one asking the questions prods her with the toe of his shoe. If she was a dog, she would have bitten it off, the dirty pig. No real man would do this to another human being. Next, he'd be kicking her like a tyre, not just prodding.

"Nothing just had a long trip." Hello, more like drugging me, der. And here you are trying to buy me, you creep, she felt like screaming at him, only to moan instead. Yes, I'm alive, so stop kicking me!

"Name your price," the stranger ordered in Arabic. One thing in her favour, she spoke fluid Arabic. Travelling around the world with her family had given her a good education in many things. The rest she had learnt from her commanding officer of a father.

The price was exchanged and he bargained down. Bartering, he had to be kidding her! Miffed, she closed her eyes, thinking of a way out of this mess. She had been waiting out her time, very docile and scared.

Thankfully they hadn't dosed her up with some highly addictive drug like heron. Not wanting to damage the goods. To them, she was a prized piece of meat to be sold off to the highest bidder. The only bidder, it seemed. She had no idea if that was a good thing or a bad one. Was he the one who had also bought Fleur? Had she even been taken?

Finally agreeing on a price, Claire was pulled roughly to her feet by her arm, hands tied, skin red from rope burns. Surprised how weak she was, suddenly dizzy to be swung off her feet and flung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Lovely.

He would pay for the indignity that had been placed upon her. If she had the strength, she would kick him so hard, where it would hurt the most. She tried to grab some of his thick black robes, yet didn't have the strength to hold on, cursing softly under her breath.

It was dark, staring down at the sandy desert ground, looking from side to side. A campfire off to the side. A lot of armed men. Far too many, while she was tussled up like a pig on a spit. Not part of the plan at all. Going from the pan into the fire, it seemed. Yet, she had one thing in her favour. He had no idea what he was up against.

Neither did she when he dumped her on a horse, where he cut the binds on her feet, and then he saddled the horse before she could kick him. He had to be kidding her!

She could've wiggled, apart from the fact, she would've fallen off the horse and then where would she be? Still in this camp, unable to do anything, until whatever was in her system was out of it. It wasn't that comfortable, feeling like an extra saddlebag. So much for looking after the merchandise. She would be black and blue by the time she got to wherever they were going. Also, there was a black backpack bag attached to the saddle much to her relief.

Once out of sight, and hearing range of the campsite, they were joined by other riders. Great. Just great. Another army to deal with. Pulling the horse up sharply, he helped her to sit up behind him and grabbed at his robe as they rode off into the desert, under the cover of darkness, away from the men who had kidnapped her, now bought. She didn't want to go down that train of thought.

They rode late into the night. She had no way of knowing her bearings, deep in the desert. Looking up into the skies, Claire searched for a familiar star sign, yet that seemed too much of an effort, resting her forehead against his back, fingers curling around his thick dark robe. Her wrists burned from the tied rope.

What, he was going to keep her tied up as well? Were they so scared of women that they had to tie them up? Yes, well, we're so scary, rubbing her cheek against his back, feeling a sense of safety, which was stupid. She was so tired. Touching his back to have human contact, eyes closing as words poured over her like soothing waters. "You're safe, no harm will come to you," in low tones.

Jerking awake, Claire found herself sitting upright still, fingers clutching his robe, easing back, blinking, not so drowsy. The desert reminded her it was far too real. What she had heard must have been a dream to reassure herself.

Her hands were still tied, surrounded by men on horses. All keeping at one pace, surrounding them in the middle. It seemed so surreal. How had it come to this? Her, not Fleur. She had to stay focused, and escape, so she could search for Fleur. Locate her, not rescue, her foggy brain noted.

Had she got it wrong? Had they? Yet, a life was at stake, even if they got her back, how would the whole ordeal affect her, after experiencing it herself? Not sexually. Taken against her will have been bad enough, but she had had training on how to remain calm. Keep her wits about her, don't let fear take over, using it to her advantage, so she could survive this. Deal with this.

In the end, she could use her family name to bring her safely home. Not so Fleur. She had made a promise and always kept her promises. She didn't make many unless she could keep them. This time she mightn't be able to.

Finally, they slowed down, going between dunes and veering off as they entered a hidden oasis, surrounded by rocky hills, not just dunes. Pacing the horse down to a stop, his hand went on her arm as he reached behind, and lowered her down onto the ground. She didn't resist.

What was the point, she would be shot on sight, going by the rifles that were slung over the other rider's shoulders. Claire needed to find out what she was up against and use it to her advantage. She would watch and wait, yet time was precious. What to do? Looking around. Wherever she was, going by the tents and campfire, they were well established.

This was so out of her depth and still didn't know for sure what had happened to Fleur. The man, who had brought her, retook her arm, giving orders to secure the perimeter. Although he was commanding and masterful, she noticed he didn't inflict any pain on her. The others had been rougher.

Apart from the tossing onto the horse.

Because she looked younger than she was, about nineteen, she had forged passports and documents. Add another six years to her age, was more like it. She had to focus on that, yet being docile had helped her so far. None of this made sense to her. As far as she was concerned, all these men needed to be exposed and hung out to dry. Not why she was here. Stay focus. One reason only. Fleur, and bring her home, no matter what. She wasn't sure she was strong enough for this as she had hoped.

Sold for sex.

Virgins.

A life ruined, maybe even her own. This was so out there from what she had expected. This life didn't exist in the life she knew. Then again, maybe she was wrong. A man who sleeps around is called a playboy, and even admire. A woman is easy, and a whore. The double standards haven't changed, not in the real sense. 

These women taken didn't have a choice, taken against their will and sold into sexual slavery. Drugged, abused, and even face death.

Closing her eyes, she had to fight. Be strong. They wouldn't claim her, opening her eyes and staring up at the man at her side, as they stopped in front of a tent and eased back the flap. He urged her inside. "Enter," he commanded in a deep low voice. She stared into his smoky dark eyes and his strong masculine face, shrouded by a headdress, losing herself in his dark soulful eyes.

Looking away, she stepped into a very bare tent. Not a bed in sight, just a table and chair off towards the side. Claire spun around to confront him. She braced herself, ready for action, anything to get her freedom back, back from the kidnapper.

Well, the buyer, who was about to find out she was no bargain. More than anything he would expect, though was taken aback when he removed a curved-shaped dagger from the belt around his waist. He grabbed her hands and tugged her towards him, captured by his dark eyes, falling deeply into them.

His thumb caressed her inner wrist, sending a strange tingling sensation through her, goosebumps prickling her skin, heart tap-dancing to its tune that she had no control over. "No matter what you think I am not for sale," she tried to pull her hand out of his grip that tightened, still holding her gaze.

His hand with the dagger raised and touched her cheek with the back of his hand, making her tremble, yet held her ground, while her mind reeled. Her hands still tied, didn't help. Then suddenly they weren't, with a flick of the blade of his dagger, releasing his hold on her. "Eat," he waved a hand towards the side.

Startled, she blinked at him, rubbing over her wrist where the rope had chafed against her skin. "Is that all you know? Eat?" He stood in front of her unmoving. "Do you understand English at all?" Not even a flicker. Another man entered the tent and came up to his side, whispering in his ear.

Crossing her arms, she watched and waited, trying to catch what he said. Too soft, so turned away and strolled over to where the table and seating were. Also a plate of rice and some sort of lamb, she lifted the plate and sniffed, removing a fork, realising how hungry she was. Did she take the chance it wasn't drugged? Surely she needed to get her strength back.

"Eat." Stunned, she looked up at the man at her side. She hadn't even heard him approach, the man who had slung her over her shoulder and then his horse. With his fingers, he indicated to her to eat. "So trusting," he muttered in Arabic. She stared at him, what did he expect? "Eat," he reinforced. She lifted the fork and stared at it. One stab and she was out of here.

His hand clamped around her hand that held the fork and guided it up to his throat, pressing against his skin, his eyes darkening. Her fingers released the fork that dropped, swallowing hard. No matter what, she couldn't take a life. Disarm; wound enough to get away, but to take a life. Her appetite was suddenly gone, the plate trembling in her hand. He grabbed the plate before it also fell to the ground. He also released his hold on her hand, placed the plate on the table, reached down for the fork, walking away.

All very confusing, followed behind and peered out the tent in the middle of nowhere it seemed, surrounded by armed men, stepping back into the tent, clutching at her arms. She wasn't going anywhere soon. She needed to regain her strength. At least she didn't feel uneasy on her feet like before.

"Take," she spun around. He was far too damn quiet and was holding out a new fork and glass filled with clear liquid, water, she guessed that she took, with a thank you, not sure he understood. His English was limited. She sniffed at the glass, no smell, so took a tentative sip and waited as she headed towards the table and settled down, placing the glass on the table beside her plate. He remained near the opening, legs apart, arms crossed.

"Oh, goody, my own personal statue," she grumbled. "There is no need. Nowhere to go," she waved a fork at him. He didn't move or react. Removing the glass she took a deeper drink. There had been no aftertaste. Fork in hand, she took a small bite of rice and waited. Same result, no strange aftertaste that she repeated with the lamb, then dug in with vigour that was delicious, much better than anything she had been given before.

"This is so good. Do you have your own chef?" Crossing one leg over the other, she kept on eating, taking in the barely dressed tent. Where were the Persian rugs? Brightly coloured divans and cushions. Rather bland. "I have loved what you have done with the place, very minimalism indeed. People pay a lot of money for this. Perhaps you need to go into interior design, better than white slavery. It is illegal what you are doing," she rattled on. Not even a flicker. This could be interesting. "I could call you all the names under the sun and you wouldn't know," she smiled at him. "I should warn you, you have no idea what I would love to do to you at this precise moment."

Standing so still, he dared to glance across with piercing eyes, staring at her as if she was a strange, foreign creature. Okay, not saying another word, polishing off the meal. Even though they had ridden most of the night; she was too wired to sleep. She also needed to keep her wits about her, easing off the chatter. A nervous reaction to the situation.

Another man entered, having his attention, the one who had bought her then was handed something he folded over his arm. Now what? Was the feeding to give her a sense of false security? She looked down at her feet. They had removed her shoes when first taken. Something she needed desperately. Also, her bag.

As the flap was pulled back, she leaned sideways noticing how much lighter it was. Morning. She eyed him off. Did he ever sleep? Removing the glass, she wandered towards him slowly, sipping from the glass. He remained standing, arms crossed again, with a long white garment of some sort over one folded arm. She stopped in front of him.

"Thank you for the meal. It was good." He kept staring at her. "Eat," she spooned pretend food into her mouth and then rubbed her belly. "Yummy," she smiled. Still, he remained unmoved, watchful.

"Claire," she spread a hand on her chest. "You?" She pointed at him, going back to her. "My name is Claire. Claire," she repeated. Nothing. Sighing, she turned away.

"Khalid," rumbled from him. Startled, she spun back.

"Khalid?" She tried over her tongue. He inclined his head and then opened the flap. She peered out; the sky had a pinkish tint with the haze of the morning, and warily stepped out. Taking hold of her arm again, he marched her across the sand. Approaching another tent, the man called Khalid pulled back the tent flap revealing a bath filled with steaming water.

"How on earth did you manage that? Do you have a genie in a lamp?" He held out the garment over his arm towards her that she eyed off. "You want me," she pointed to herself, "to wear this?" She tugged at the loose garment. He nodded.

She eyed him off closely. "Don't get any ideas, Buster. This body," she waved a hand over herself. "Is off-limits," she waved a finger at him. A dark brow arched. She snatched the garment off his arm. "Be warned if you even think of coming near me, you will never father children, let alone scratch them." Her eyes dropped down, then spun around and headed inside, the flap falling behind her.

Placing down the garment off to the side, she headed back and peered through the side of the opening to stare into his back, standing on guard, legs apart, arms crossed. What he was keeping everyone out? Maybe he hadn't brought her for himself, for someone else? He did seem protective of her.

Also, he was standing out there in the heat of the day, with no shade. 

Undressing as she headed towards the bath, Claire lowered into the water that lapped over her body, washing away the sand, and sweat of the last day or so. Going under, she sat up, brushing her hair back from her face. It felt so good, leaning back to savour.

The simple things in life were often the best things that were taken for granted. Not this girl, only to squeal as sunshine flashed across, she ducked down and slammed into the side of the bath, peering over the edge, cheeks burning as towels were placed by the opening. The flap fell back into place. Her jaw dropped.

Really? She eyed off the towels. An afterthought? She stayed close to the edge, the peaceful moment broken. Water trickled down her body as she stood, climbed out of the bath and darted across towards the towels. Grabbing a towel, she wrapped one around her that gave plenty of covering and was super soft to the touch, tucking it in at the front, before grabbing the other, moving away from the opening as she dried her hair.

Once dried, she changed into a long flowing heavy embroidered soft white kaftan-styled dress, leaving her skin to breathe, even if she had to wear her same underwear. She needed to get her bag. At least she wasn't put on display in some flimsy sexy outfit. She was covered from head to toe.

Exiting the tent, changed, Claire hugged her clothes in front of her, the damp towels left behind in a pile near the bath. Of course, with this heat and no hair product, her hair will curl like a hairy monster. The slick look disappeared days ago; perhaps she should've cut it like it was suggested. However, vanity had won out.

Her bodyguard was still hanging around outside, clasping her arm as she exited. "Really? You think I'm going to do a runner in my bare feet?" She glared at him with disdain, knowing her sarcasm would be like water off a duck's back, and even jerked at his hold. Dark forbidding eyes lowered down towards her as he marched her back towards the other tent, where she had eaten and stepped into a magical wonderland. It had been transformed into Arabian delight. Rugs, scattered cushions, the scent of sandalwood burning from incense holders.

She hadn't been in the bath that long had she? Blinking.

"Clothes," she looked up at him blankly.

"Is that all you know are one-syllable words?" Her eyes narrowed. "Why do you want my clothes?" She had nothing left but her clothes, holding them a little bit tighter.

He held out his hand towards her. Reluctantly, she handed them over that was a part of her, she had lost everything else. "I want them back, washed and dried," she stated with hope. If this tent could be transformed, perhaps she can get her clothes washed. He stared at her as if she was a creature from another world, let alone Earth. "Yes, that might sound foreign to you, but I like clean things. I usually have my clothes dry-cleaned, but I am sure any old rock would do," she scoffed heading back into the tent. "Barbarian!"