Twisted (Never After #4)(22)
“Oh god, you’re pacing.” Ian’s voice cuts through my thoughts as he walks into the room and closes the door behind him. “What’s wrong?”
I spin toward him, noticing that his suit is slightly crumpled like he threw it on too quickly. “The old man is dying.”
Ian sighs as he drops into a wingback chair in front of my desk, crossing one leg over the opposite knee. “Not soon enough, in my opinion. Is that why you were so distracted in the meeting?”
His words shoot into my stomach, irritating the lining and sending a flare of anger through me. I tamp it down, not wanting Ian to know about my confused emotions regarding Ali.
“This isn’t a joke, Ian,” I spit. “I will not lose everything I’ve worked for to some nobody who doesn’t belong or the obnoxious daughter who doesn’t deserve it. I took care of that first fool who was sent here to meet her; I don’t want a thousand more to waltz through Ali’s doors in the next couple of weeks. I can’t kill them all. Not so quickly at least. It would be incredibly suspicious.”
Ian nods, running his fingers underneath his chin. “So we move up the timeline. Get Yasmin’s boy out of the way sooner. I can have him on a flight to Egypt in less than a day.”
His idea has merit, and I slow my pacing as I revise the plan in my head. “That’s not enough. We have to push Yasmin into marriage sooner. Now, before it’s too late.”
Ian nods. “Shame we can’t just kill her and be done with it.”
Blowing out a breath, I rest my hands on the back of my chair, bending my neck until a satisfying crack runs up the side. “That would be entirely unhelpful. Stick to the plan: take the boy to Egypt, and we’ll use him to control her.”
Ian sits forward in his chair, a menacing gleam flitting through his eyes. “Can I kill him?”
“Your obsession with murder is disturbing.” I give him a disapproving stare. “And no, you can’t. It takes finesse, and you’ll be too messy.”
He groans, throwing himself backward. “Fine.”
I rub my finger along the stubble on my chin, a new idea forming. “You may not be able to kill the boy yourself, Ian. But we’ll make Yasmin think you will.”
Chapter 9
Yasmin
It’s Saturday afternoon, and it’s been less than ten minutes since Aidan texted me that he was on the way to meet Julian at some hole-in- the-wall restaurant in the middle of Badour to talk more about his new employment.
And I’m…irritated.
His employment, like I’m supposed to just take a back seat and let the men in my life handle everything. Besides, Aidan doesn’t have any clue what he’s really getting himself into. My father may not tell me anything about what it is he does, but I know enough to know that danger goes hand in hand with diamonds and money, and while I was brought up in this world, Aidan wasn’t. He was sheltered, treated as nothing more than staff. He’s too innocent and good to be mixed up in the seedy underbelly of whatever it is Julian and my father get up to.
If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m a course deep into lunch with my father, I’d be putting up more of a fuss, demanding to know where they are so I could sneak away and meet with them. Just to keep an eye on things and feel like I’m still taking part in huge decisions that affect my future too.
But since time with my baba is more important than literally anything else, I have no choice but to give in and allow myself to trust. And I do trust Aidan. It’s just that snake Julian who puts me on edge.
I don’t even really have a basis for my suspicions other than the general vibe he gets off on giving, the way he’s always so easily gained my father’s favor over me, and the way he gets attention and praise when I have to work so hard to be treated as more than just a shiny beloved trophy my father can put on his shelf.
Plus, until very recently, he’s always been mean to me at best and downright cruel at worst.
He’s a prick. And I don’t believe for a second that he’s doing this out of the goodness of his heart. I just don’t know what he’s trying to accomplish, so not being there to hear every scheme that he’s going to try to rope Aidan into makes me sick.
“You okay, habibti?” my father asks, keeping his eyes trained on the view and not on me.
I snap a quick photo of him as he stares out at the yard from his private room’s Juliet balcony and then set down my phone, reaching across to grasp his hand in mine. “I’m perfect, Baba. Just making memories.”
“Always stuck with your head in the clouds,” he chuckles. “Just like your mother.”
He doesn’t talk about her often, I assume because it’s still too painful. All I know beyond the few photos I’ve seen as a child is they met years ago when he was visiting Iran on business, and she left to come to the United States with him only weeks later.
Something hits the center of my chest. It doesn’t hurt. It never does when he brings her up. It just feels incomplete, like a gaping hole that’s never been filled, so I don’t know what I’m supposed to be missing.
But beyond that feeling, there’s something else sneaking into the moment. A whisper of opportunity, telling me to use his past with my mother to make him see that what he’s asking from me isn’t right. Isn’t fair. If I can just get him to see things my way and open him up to the idea of Aidan and me.