Redeemed Royal (Duke of Tudor #3) Read Online Amarie Avant

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Tags Authors: Series: Duke of Tudor Series by Amarie Avant
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Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
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I clutch the letter tightly and imagine that we’ve ventured back a century—obviously, there’s no racism—and I’m reading a letter from my lover away at war.

“All right, Lux,” I murmur his words, “I’ve fallen into our new role where I do not command you. If I were to order you to smile, you’d probably slug me. Nevertheless, if you wouldn’t mind appealing to the Higher Power you believe in, I’m sure we can strike up an arrangement to get me back home to you. Chat tomorrow?”

I bite my lip, understanding that he’s referring to the next letter held hostage by the gatekeeper, Burt. “Damn you, Vic. We could be chatting now.”

I fold the letter just as the air whispers across my forehead, bringing with it memories of us. The precise place where Victor kissed me for the first time, and I told him not to. That forehead kisses were for lovers.

And . . . he kissed me there again.

20

Victor

Two weeks later . . .

The plan was never to enter Saudi Arabia by plane.

I’d not flown in weeks ago, even when time was of the essence. Had I requested clearance to enter the sheikh’s country, my identity would’ve been immediately uncovered. I’m sure he knew I would come and had all the airports and private charters on high alert. And one can’t simply fly into a different country without a flight declaration.

So, I had parachuted into the neighboring territory.

I struck a deal with the Sheikh of Tavar.

Paid in cash for every necessity—including the Sheikh of Tavar’s secret passage into Saudi Arabia.

This time, however, I trust no one, not after Silas’s antics. The bloody bastard could’ve had a sniper rifle at the ready, tracking me in secret while I risked my life to save Luxury. Assisted me.

The cunt had the means to facilitate something that I desperately needed, more time.

And while it would seem that time is on my side in this instance, I know very well that it’s not. Once I murder Al Rafi or Noor, the window of opportunity to murder the other will diminish to zero. Will the two—father and daughter—ever deign to be in each other’s presence out in public? While I visited Saudi Arabia to facilitate the murder of Al Rafi’s family member all that time ago, I never once witnessed the sheikh so much as share supper with his daughter. Killing them simultaneously would make my life too easy.

I’ve toiled endlessly with the timeframe necessary to expire both marks since arriving by helicopter. I’ve now moved on to a private, chartered boat. This time, I enter by sea.

Time is dwindling by. Securing all the necessary equipment without rousing suspicion has taken longer than I planned.

Now, I’ve to choose between vengeance via a suicide mission or witnessing the look on Luxury’s face when I tell her the unthinkable.

That.

I.

Bloody.

Fucking.

Failed her.

I wait till the last possible second when I should be at the rendezvous point where I purchased a jet ski. I safely tucked the boat I came in on at one of the small uninhabitable islands a few miles off the coast.

Wearing black tactical clothing and gear, I follow the path I’d taken before and watch Al Rafi’s home guards.

Ten blokes circle about the compound in impressive intervals, leaving not a square inch of a blind spot.

I place a silencer on my sniper rifle and peer into a scope less than one hundred meters to the west, where, parallel to the home, there’s a hedge of date palms. I aim for the yellow irises of a Little Owl. One squeeze of the trigger sends the bird falling. The little wanka is injured, but it should survive. A half-second later, another bullet causes a bushel of dates to tumble atop it.

“What’s that?” One of the guards mutters in Arabic.

The two east and west of him hurry over while I sprint across the yard under the veil of night.

“The stupid bird flew into a tree,” I hear one exclaiming. A few others laugh.

As I slip into a set of doors, I breathe easy. They are thorough with concern to sweeping the perimeter but not suspicious of a nocturnal fowl. However, I did choose a particularly small caliber if they investigated more carefully. I place the sniper rifle over my shoulder and look into the sweeping area with its gold filigree walls.

Al Rafi held my woman hostage here.

Slipping my backpack from my shoulder, I assume the garbs of a male servant.

A white thawb enrobes me and falls to my ankles. I place a pre-rolled black-and-white checkered keffiyeh over my head, tugging down to conceal as much of my face as possible.

I move along the corridors, body rigid, head down, blue eyes cast to the floor. Steps start in my direction from ahead.

No falter in pace.

No quickening.

No hesitation at all.

Soon enough, the person passes me. I look up discreetly and over my shoulder. Still no change. No recognition exchanges between the bloke and me.



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