Katie and the warrior ki.., p.1
Katie and the Warrior King, page 1
Katie and the Warrior King
S.E. Smith
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my husband, Steve, for believing in me and being proud enough of me to give me the courage to follow my dream. I would also like to give a special thank you to my sister and best friend, Linda, who not only encouraged me to write, but who also read the manuscript. Also, to my other friends who believe in me: Julie, Jackie, Christel, Sally, Jolanda, Lisa, Laurelle, Debbie, and Narelle. The girls that keep me going!
* * *
And a special thanks to Paul Heitsch, David Brenin, Samantha Cook, Suzanne Elise Freeman, PJ Ochlan, Vincent Fallow, L. Sophie Helbig, and Hope Newhouse, Allison Rivers, and Bethanne Reid—the outstanding voices behind my audiobooks!
– S. E. Smith
Contemporary Romance
Katie and the Warrior King
Girls from the Street Book 4
Copyright © 2023 by S.E. Smith
First E-Book Published February 2023
Cover Design by Melody Simmons
* * *
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission from the author.
* * *
All characters, places, and events in this book are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations are strictly coincidental.
* * *
Summary: A desert sheikh reclaims the country he is destined to rule and discovers love with the silent stranger who fires his blood and saves his life.
* * *
ISBN: 9781959584018 (Paperback)
ISBN: 9781959584001 (eBook)
* * *
Romance (love, explicit sexual content) | Contemporary | Royalty | Multicultural | Action/Adventure | Suspense | Thriller | Saga | Destined Love
* * *
Published by Montana Publishing, LLC
& SE Smith of Florida Inc. www.sesmithfl.com
Synopsis
She was born on the streets; he was born to rule…
* * *
Sheikh Raja Hadi, the heir to the Kingdom of Simdan, was taken by a stranger when he was a boy. His abduction saved his life. Raised far from home, he is forced to watch as his uncle destroys the legacy of his father.
* * *
Katie Ashe longs for adventure. Raised by her deaf mother, her life has revolved around staying one step ahead of the local gangs. A six-month internship teaching sign language in Jawahir offers Katie a chance to see the world. Her dreams turn into nightmares when she uncovers a plot to kill the legendary Savior of Simdan.
* * *
Katie’s escape leads her into the desert and the tent of a powerful rebel leader. Posing as a mute boy, she does whatever she can to prevent anyone from discovering her true identity as she searches for a way to warn the King of Simdan.
* * *
Can a King who has returned to claim his rightful place and a street-smart American girl hiding as a boy in a far-off country discover love before the assassins finish what they have started?
Prologue
Thirteen years before:
* * *
“Raja, tell me,” Tasha purred, trailing her fingers up his bare arm and through his black hair. She leaned closer, her lips touching the soft lobe of his ear. “Please.”
Raja Hadi frowned at the beautiful woman lying on the tousled sheets. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, wondering for the hundredth time why he hadn’t left hours ago as planned. He stiffened when Tasha gave a sharp, painful tug on the tender hair at his nape.
He pulled out of her reach and stood. “This topic is not open for discussion.”
Tasha fell back against the pristine white cotton sheets, a calculating expression briefly visible in her eyes before she lowered her lashes. She pushed her plump, red lipstick-stained bottom lip outward in a sultry pout.
She had used that technique on him many times since they started seeing each other. It had been alluring six months ago, but it wasn’t attractive now. Now he saw it for what it was—a manipulation.
“I have to get cleaned up,” he announced.
“What is the hurry? I thought you were spending the night,” she said as she sat up and scooted back against the pillows.
She reached for a cigarette, and Raja let his expression show what he was thinking. The hotel room they were in was non-smoking, and she knew he didn’t want her smoking around him. The scent clung to his hair, skin, and clothing. That could be dangerous.
Rolling her eyes at his disapproval, she tossed the pack onto the nightstand without taking one. She folded her arms under her breasts, making them lift enticingly. The thrill of seeing a woman’s bare breasts wasn’t quite the same as it had been the first time he unveiled the soft, pale globes.
“I could join you,” she suggested, lifting her slender arm above her head and kicking the covers off to reveal a long expanse of smooth thigh.
“Not this time,” he curtly replied.
He gathered his things and entered the bathroom, taking care to lock the door behind him. Dropping his overnight bag on the counter, he turned on the shower and hung a towel on the hook by the door.
His eyes paused on the door’s lock. Unease pulsed through him.
“Don’t trust anyone, Raja.”
“What about Idella? What about you?” he remembered asking.
Harlem’s lips had twitched. “I wish I could say you could trust us, son, but even that I can’t promise. If you ever cross over to the dark side….”
The dark side. Much had happened in Raja’s seventeen years of life, but he still wasn’t sure what that meant. Harlem Jones was his surrogate father, but he was also Raja’s handler, so Raja could almost understand the advice about Harlem—but, Idella? He would trust Idella with his life and had.
Tasha, though…. Raja’s unseeing eyes stared blindly at his reflection. What he knew about her was damning—and yet, it was difficult to let go of the hope she had inspired. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as it seemed, perhaps she could explain it all away… but he had not said anything to her about it. He knew what he knew, and it was time for that hope to die.
Listening to his gut, he slid his hand into his overnight bag and pulled out his smallest knife. It was a Microtech Ultratech OTF. While impractical for daily use, Raja kept one because the blade would spring forward from within the handle, making the weapon easy to conceal.
He brought it into the shower with him, placing it on the soap holder before he pulled the double-lined shower curtain closed. The hot water felt good across his shoulders.
He soaped down and washed his hair. While he did, he thought about Tasha.
Do I love her?
When he first met her at the corner coffee shop six months ago, he had fallen hard. Tasha Rhodes had brilliant blue eyes, stunning chestnut hair, and an hour-glass figure. She had been dressed to kill in a tight, short red dress and matching four-inch heels.
She was also thirteen years older than he was and had a wealth of sensual experience. She had swept him off his feet.
Within hours, they were in a nearby hotel tangled in sheets. Tasha had shown him not only how to please a woman, but how to demand pleasure for himself.
He leaned forward, pressing his hands against the fiberglass wall of the shower stall. Harlem’s voice pounded in his head. His fingers curled as he remembered the argument that had happened just a few short hours ago.
“She’s not who you think she is, Raja.”
“Stay out of my life. You had no right to spy on me! I love her!”
Harlem’s expression had become a mask without emotion. Raja hated it when he did that. Harlem was such an expert at controlling his emotions that Raja sometimes wondered if he even had any.
Harlem was an assassin—and he raised Raja to be a replica of himself. The imposing, strikingly handsome black man had found him on the streets of Simdan when he was twelve years old, barely alive.
Raja opened his eyes and looked at his hands. He couldn’t see the blood on them, but it was there.
Idella had warned him that every time he killed, he would lose a small piece of his soul. They had sworn a blood oath to each other that they would save a small part of their souls for each other so they wouldn’t lose their way. He feared Harlem wouldn’t rest until they did.
“You don’t know what love is,” Harlem had stated in an even tone. “You lust after her, Raja. That is what she is trained to make you do. She is using you, son. When she is done, she’ll do exactly what she was ordered to do.”
Raja had turned and glared at Harlem. A blinding rage had burned through him. Why did Harlem have to ruin everything that felt good? Why did he have to control every aspect of everyone’s life? That was why he had tried to keep his relationship with Tasha a secret. He knew Harlem would try to destroy it.
“What do you think she is going to do?” he had demanded, already knowing the answer.
Harlem had lifted a hand to rest on Raja’s shoulder, but instead let it fall to his side. Regret was in Harlem’s dark eyes, surprising Raja. The older man seldom showed regret—for anything he had ever done.
“She will get the information she was ordered to retrieve, then eliminate you—and me, and possibly Idella. Perhaps more of us, depending on how much information she can get.”< br />
Raja shook his head, but deep down, he suspected Harlem was speaking from experience. That didn’t make it any easier to consider what he was saying.
“You’re wrong,” he had choked out, “Tasha isn’t like that. She loves me.”
“I thought I taught you better than this, Raja. Do your research. You should have done it six months ago when she first approached you.”
He had remained frozen in the foyer, watching as Harlem turned and walked away. He was breathing deeply, trying to calm the anger surging through him when a movement from the staircase drew his attention.
Idella, thin and tall for fourteen, rose from where she had been sitting on the steps. She descended the staircase, her compassionate eyes locked with his as she held out a manila folder. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but they didn’t fall.
“Don’t—”
“I had to, Raja. We promised we’d always have each other’s back. I… You mean everything to me. Please, read it before you go see her again… for me.”
She thrust it into his hands and disappeared up the staircase.
He read it.
Celeste Romanoff, aka Tasha Rhodes, member of the FSB; the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service.
Objective: Harlem Jones - suspected assassin of Abbas Mohammadi, Iranian arms dealer, the fifth arms dealer working with the Kremlin to be assassinated in the past two years.
The information continued, each detail churning his stomach. What hit him the hardest were the photos taken of him before he and Tasha—Celeste—met. The timestamp started nearly ten months ago with photos of him outside of the house, playing basketball, riding his motorcycle, and more. There was a photo of Idella with a large red circle around it.
Potential collateral to acquire the information.
Mohammadi had not been killed by Harlem—at least not directly. Raja and Idella had taken him out in a Tehran market thirteen months ago. The man was responsible for countless civilian deaths, including fourteen children. Their school bus had been rigged to explode.
Raja’s head jerked up when he heard the telltale click of the lock. He might have missed the sound if he hadn’t expected to hear it. Silently cursing, he palmed the knife and bent down low in the tub.
Seconds later, the shower curtain was ripped back. Raja surged up, his shoulder coming up under Tasha’s outstretched arm. He clutched his knife in his left hand as he reached for her. She screamed, startled by his counter-attack. He grabbed her wrist when she tried to compensate for his defensive pose, but he forced her arm up, aiming her gun at the ceiling.
The tile above his head shattered and rained down into the tub when the weapon discharged. Thankfully, the muzzle break on Tasha’s gun spared their hearing. Between the silencer and the water raining down on them, the sounds of their struggle was muffled.
They fought for the knife and gun, breathing heavily. He lashed out at her, drawing a thin but long and deep slice across her midriff. Tasha tried to break his hold, but he kept his grip on her firearm hand. She lifted her hand to rake her nails across his face and he dropped the knife to block the move. The blade bounced and slid along the bottom of the tub.
He grimly noted that Tasha had made the mistake of being fully dressed when she attacked him. It was an error that might help save his life. Instead of slick flesh, he held onto her through her clothing. She was similarly attired as he and Idella were during their missions: a black long-sleeve shirt, pants, and shoes—all of which concealed any blood splatter.
Jerking her forward, he dragged her into the tub beneath him. Another bullet hit the fiberglass behind his head, opening a clean hole in the smooth surface, as they struggled to get the advantage.
Gritting his teeth, Raja pulled her arm up and banged her hand against the lip of the tub. The gun clattered to the floor and slid under the vanity.
Tasha tried to knee him in the groin. During his efforts at knocking the gun out of her hand, she had found his knife that had slid near the drain. She fumbled with it, trying to twist the sharp blade into his ribs, but his strength and his hold on her water-drenched clothing thwarted the movement. They banged into walls again and again in the tiny space.
He lost his footing in the tub. He twisted around, and the shower curtain became tangled around their wet legs. The combination of the slick surface of the tub, the fabric of the shower curtain, and their struggles sent them tumbling over the low lip of the tub and sprawling in the narrow confines between the lavatory and the vanity. The shower rod and twin curtains tangled around them.
He lost track of the knife in the shower curtain—but so did she. Squirming out from under him, Tasha rolled and kicked, the heel of her low black boot catching him in the groin. He groaned as pain exploded through him and he fought the urge to curl into a protective ball. Instead, he grabbed her ankle as she yanked the bathroom door open.
She fell against the wall across from the door. Pushing off the floor, he retrieved the knife and the gun—and saw that she wasn’t still against the wall.
“You’re a smart boy, Raja,” she called out. “It is a shame I’m going to have to kill you.”
Raja tilted his head, listening. The hotel room held a king-size bed, two nightstands, a chair in the corner, a desk with a chair, and the long dresser with a television above it.
The exits were the main door and a door to the room adjacent to them. He knew the room next door was vacant because it was the one he had signed into before meeting with Tasha.
“Why are you doing this, Tasha—or should I call you Celeste?” he asked, already knowing the answer but needing her to tell him.
“Where is Harlem Jones?” she demanded.
“What do you want with Harlem?” he asked.
He placed the knife on the counter, grabbed his pants with one hand, and slipped them on, switching the gun from one hand to the other until he could shimmy the blue jeans up to his hips. He pulled the zipper up high enough to keep them from falling down and picked up the knife again.
“Why don’t you give me the information I want, Raja? We have a good thing going. You are one of the best lovers I’ve ever had. Why end it now?”
“Maybe because you just tried to kill me!” he roared before biting his lower lip and cursing his emotional response.
“You shouldn’t take it personally,” she purred. “Come out of the bathroom and we’ll talk about it. Perhaps I was a bit too… hasty. I just want to talk, Raja. I love you, baby.”
“Alright, I’m coming out,” he said.
He turned off the bathroom light and rolled out of the bathroom, the gun she had used earlier pointed in the direction of her voice.
Wood and plaster exploded above his head. He had only a split second to shoot before she realized that he was much lower.
His first shot caught her in the shoulder. The second one in the chest. She fell into the corner chair with a stunned expression on her face. Her gun tilted on the tips of her fingers before falling to the carpeted floor with a soft thud.
He rose to his full height, keeping his gun trained on her. Walking around the bed, he kicked her gun away from her before he reached down and pressed two fingers against the pulse in her neck. He already knew she was dead, but he needed to make sure.
Pulling his hand away, he reached into the front pocket of his trousers and pulled out his cell phone. In seconds, Harlem’s deep voice sounded in his ear. His throat worked up and down as he tried to speak.
“I need a clean-up,” he finally forced out.
“Fifteen minutes,” Harlem replied before disconnecting.
Raja lowered his phone. That was all that needed to be said.
He forced his body into motion, performing the skills that had been drilled into him since he was twelve. He dressed, packed, cleaned the room of any prints, and searched Tasha’s belongings for anything useful or incriminating. Once he was done, he stepped out of the room through the connecting door.
