Addicted to the Duke (Imperfect Lords #1)(3)

“Come and taste her. You’ll know once you’ve smoked from the pipe what sweet release this innocent beauty can offer.” Murad’s sure voice held a note of triumph. He was not to know that Alex hadn’t touched the drug in almost a year.

Pushing nonchalantly off the back wall, he approached, one slow, considered step after another, returning Murad’s ruthless smile with one of his own.

“Perhaps you are right, she is indeed very beautiful. I’ll even hold her for you once I’ve finished with her.” Alex licked his lips. “But first maybe let’s have just a small puff for old times’ sake.” He pointed to the naked girl on the table behind Murad. “While we wait for our plaything to awaken.”

He watched Murad’s shoulders relax as he motioned for his warriors to step back and pushed the pipe toward Alex.

Murad turned his back on him and stroked high up the girl’s milky thigh with his pudgy, grimy hand.

Briefly he closed his eyes, allowing the fury of Murad’s assault on the girl to fill him, before ultimately giving into his rage and letting his leashed temper explode. In one swift movement he surged forward and seized Murad by the throat, pulling him away from the girl’s naked flesh. Murad let out a cry of alarm and his guards immediately went on the attack.

He held Murad around the throat, his hidden blade pressed into the now madly pulsing vein in Murad’s neck. “Surrender or forfeit your life.”

“Go to hell, my golden boy. You’ll likely kill me anyway,” Murad spat back.

“Call off your men, tell them to back away from the girl and move up the stairs,” he hissed through clenched teeth. It took all his willpower not to sink the blade into Murad’s neck. But he needed to get the girl out first; only then could he think of taking his revenge.

Murad issued instructions in Turkish, but his warriors made no move toward the stairs.

Alex’s fingers flicked in eager agitation over the knife’s hilt, but his voice remained calm. “I only want the girl. She’s not worth dying over. There are plenty of other girls for you to plunder.”

Murad barked out a harsh order. To his relief the two warriors moved to the bottom of the stairs, but his respite was short-lived.

“Your move I believe, Alexander.” Murad laughed. “Your sleeping beauty can’t walk out by herself so you’ll have to let me go if you wish to save her. If you kill me, I’ve instructed my men to kill her; you’ll never get to her in time.”

Before he could answer, Jacob, his ship’s captain, appeared in the doorway. With a cocked eyebrow and primed pistol, he took in the scene before him. “Need a bit of a hand do ya, my lord?”

He jerked his head at the girl. “Jacob, get her out of here.”

Everything happened at once. In Alex’s moment of distraction, the back of Murad’s head crashed into his nose, splitting it instantly. Blood poured down his face, and his eyes filled with water as pain seared through him.

Murad screamed orders at his men, but rather than staying to fight, he turned and fled, sprinting toward the exit before escaping past his men and out into the night.

One of Murad’s warriors came for him then. With lightning reflexes, he leapt toward the table and scooped up his sword, hidden beneath the bench. He slashed at the first warrior, managing to inflict a deep wound to the Turk’s shoulder.

Jacob was busy fending off the other attacker while Paval had the good sense to run, escaping after the fleeing sultan.

Murad would be organizing reinforcements. They would need to move fast, since he knew the rest of Murad’s men must be nearby.

He pressed on with the attack, advancing on the warrior with a fury at having let his enemy escape. Swords clashed and the loud clang of steel filled the heated night air. From the first blows Alex could feel his enemy was not a skilled swordsman, so he could easily deflect his obvious moves. He hoped Jacob was faring just as well.

The two men circled each other. The Turk charged yet again, his sword high in the air; blood was pouring from his shoulder and Alex seized the advantage as his blade ran the warrior through with one feint and lunge. The man’s death gurgle was muted by the sound of a shot ringing out across the room. He turned to help Jacob, only to see his pistol smoking as the smell of gunpowder hung in the air while the other Turkish warrior slowly collapsed to the floor.

Speed was of the essence. They needed to get to his ship and soon. The last thing he needed was a fleet of Turkish pirates on his tail. Murad would crave revenge just as much as Alex had once craved opium. The sultan would be furious at losing the girl, and more than eager for a chance to capture him again. Alex was the slave who got away.

Breathing hard, he shouted to his friend. “Jacob, rally the men, get the ship ready to sail.”

“You’ll be all right on your own?”

“Yes, I’ll get the girl; hurry, man,” he replied. He turned for the girl, who still lay naked and unconscious on the table.

He froze.

He looked at the pipe, still full of opium, lying on the floor before him, and watched drops of blood from his split nose land next to it. Sweat ran down his spine, his mouth dried up, and his cravings galloped once more into life. Pain. A few puffs and all his pain would be gone. With shaking hands, he bent and picked it up, enjoying its familiar feel, and allowed the powerful pull to consume him.

The girl stirred.