Page 30 of Dalla’s Royal Guards (Second Chance #3)

Twenty

The glass doors of the Simdan Hotel whooshed open as the sleek line of black SUVs surrounding their dusty, bullet-pocked tan one turned into the entryway of the hotel’s covered entrance.

The glossy black SUVs shimmered beneath the streetlamps, a modern caravan cloaked in shadows and tinted windows—making their dusty vehicle look even more out of place.

Dalla stood next to Nasser just inside the entryway, her fingers curled loosely around the handle of the duffel slung across her back, her eyes scanning the street with sharp precision as they waited for the vehicles to stop.

Civilians milled nearby, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath the polished surface of this city.

“Time to go. Stay close,” Nasser murmured.

Dalla nodded, following his lead as he placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her forward.

Nasser proceeded first and opened the back passenger door. Dalla didn’t miss the curious glances or hushed whispers from the hotel guests as she slipped into the vehicle’s backseat. She scooted over so Nasser could slide in beside her.

She stiffened when she noticed the man in the front passenger seat. He turned slightly, his sharp profile haloed in the glow of the dashboard.

“Hey, Raja,” Nasser greeted with a grin. “It’s good to see you’ve escaped long enough to play tour guide.”

Raja Hadi glanced back with a dry smile. “We all make sacrifices for visiting royalty.”

Dalla stiffened slightly at the word, but Nasser’s relaxed tone soothed some of the tension twisting through her gut.

“Raja,” Nasser continued, “I’d like you to meet Dalla Bogadottir. Dalla—Raja Hadi, King of Simdan.”

Raja turned fully now, his eyes locking with hers.

Deadly calm.

Measured.

Powerful.

“Welcome to Simdan, Ms. Bogadottir,” he greeted in a smooth tone.

Dalla held his gaze, already understanding the truth behind the civility. This man was no figurehead. Beneath the tailored shirt and confident smile was a man who had survived more than his fair share of threats. He was calculating. Observant. And very, very dangerous.

She inclined her head, not breaking eye contact. “Thank you for your assistance.”

Only Nasser’s calming presence—and his hand gently cupping hers—kept her from reaching for her blade. She breathed deeply when he caressed her hand with his thumb.

“Well,” Nasser said, breaking the tension with a chuckle, “congratulations are in order. I heard Katie gave birth.”

Raja’s expression shifted into something warmer, a rare softness cracking through the iron. “She did. A boy. My world’s completely upside down now. She and Idella assure me that is normal. I still don’t believe them.”

Dalla chuckled at his tortured expression. The flicker of amusement was quickly replaced by awareness as Raja’s gaze returned to her. She could feel the sharp edge of questions in his eyes.

“We can’t wait to meet him. Mario said the same thing after Cianna was born,” Nasser replied.

The mention of Cianna brought home the reason that she was there. She swallowed and looked out of the window when Raja’s gaze sharpened on her face.

“Speaking of Cianna, what the hell happened in Kashir?” Raja asked.

Dalla listened as Nasser gave Raja a brief but efficient rundown—Lissa’s injury, the betrayal by Hellman and Crosse, the narrow escape with Cianna and Nanna. She didn’t miss the way Nasser brushed over her arrival—or more to the point, who she really was and how she had appeared.

Through it all, Dalla kept her eyes trained on the city sliding by outside the window, but her senses remained tethered to the men in the car.

And to the man driving.

Musad hadn’t said a word since they entered, but he kept checking the mirrors—quick flicks of his gaze, his posture too still, too focused.

Something was wrong.

Beside her, Nasser shifted slightly, just enough to give her hand a quick, reassuring squeeze.

She met Musad’s eyes in the rearview.

“Musad?” she asked softly. “What is it?”

He didn’t look away from the mirror. “We’re being followed.”

Nasser’s fingers tightened around hers.

Dalla didn’t ask how Musad knew. She believed him. Her other hand slid silently toward the hidden seax at her waist. Her eyes met Raja’s when he followed the movement.

“Your men… they are well trained?” she asked.

Raja dipped his head in assent.

“Yes. They are aware that we are not alone,” he said.

Dalla shifted so she could look behind them. All she saw were the escort vehicles, yet she could feel the tension building inside her. As Harlem had said, you don’t live as long or through as much as they had without being aware of when you were being hunted.

Stella’s eyes narrowed into slits as the SUV pulled out of its space and merged behind two sleek black vehicles. A third trailed behind.

Well, well… The hunt has just become more interesting.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Stella’s lips as she watched the formation exit the hotel garage. She leaned forward and started her car. The BMW M2 purred to life.

“I see you brought friends to play.”

She eased forward along the curb outside of the hotel and watched as Dalla and Nasser Al-Rashid slipped into the tan vehicle.

Her lips twitched again. They couldn’t have made it any easier to know which vehicle to focus on.

The fact that Raja Hadi was also in the vehicle with them made the task ahead even sweeter.

I should get bonus pay for this, she wryly thought as she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel .

Irritation flashed through her when her phone buzzed across the center console.

She picked it up with a snap and answered. “Yes?”

“They’re on the move,” Kyle’s anxious voice said. “Just left the hotel?—”

“I know,” she cut him off. “Try to be useful next time.”

She ended the call and tossed the phone aside when the procession of vehicles started to pull away.

Shifting gears, she smoothly merged into the oncoming traffic.

She followed at a calculated distance, weaving between traffic like a silent predator.

The convoy up ahead navigated through a tight curve before merging onto the city’s outer arterial road.

And then—like cockroaches chasing the light—four other vehicles and two motorcycles slipped out from side streets.

Her eyes flared with irritation. “Detri.”

Curling her fingers around the steering wheel, she debated calling him to back off before she thought better of it. Her lips curled into a slow, feral grin as a new plan formed in her mind. Pleasure flared as the plan solidified.

“You want to play, Detri, fine! Let’s play,” she murmured. “You can soften the prey and create a distraction while I take care of business.”

She gripped the wheel and pushed the accelerator down, pacing the convoy from a few car lengths back.

In her mind, she played out her mission: she would take out the driver first, then Hadi.

There was speculation that the King of Simdan was a formidable opponent in battle.

He certainly had experience. She relished the idea of toying with the devil, but her sights were set elsewhere; he was merely an obstacle, collateral damage in her pursuit.

Next, she would take out Nasser. He would try to protect the woman, but he would also be worried about his brother.

She was confident he would try to help him, and when he did, she would put a bullet through him.

That would leave the woman. A non-lethal bullet wound would keep her submissive.

She could already hear O’Toole offering her a bonus the size of a private island for eliminating a few of the men causing him headaches in the region.

Now all I need is the perfect shot, she thought with grim determination, taking a right at the corner as the rest of the convoy sped straight.

“How many do you count?” Musad asked, glancing at the rearview mirror.

“Four plus two motorcycles,” Raja murmured, lifting his cellphone to his ear and listening to the driver in front of them. “Up ahead, take a left—go through the roundabout, second exit. We’ll head toward the Old Market.”

Musad cranked the wheel, and the SUV veered left, following the vehicle in front of him. Nasser’s voice cut through the cabin from the back seat.

“I don’t see the BMW. It turned right at the last street.”

“Are you sure whoever was in it was following us?” Dalla asked, turning to see if she could see the vehicles.

“Yes,” Musad muttered.

“Hussain, do you have eyes on them?” Raja asked, speaking into his phone.

Dalla reached up and gripped the handle in front of her when Musad cut through the roundabout, tires screeching as the convoy peeled off toward the older quarter of Simdan.

Cramped alleys and labyrinthine streets, the kind only locals knew—locals like the creators of the maps they had studied before they left

Her eyes widened when two motorcycles moved up next to them, one on either side. She released her grip on the handle and leaned over when she saw the person raise a weapon. She jerked when she heard gunfire crack behind them as the men in the SUV escorting them opened fire.

“Get down!” Nasser hissed, grabbing Dalla and leaning over her as the rear window shattered.

“Raja, a little help from your friends would be nice,” Musad snarled, swerving and causing the motorcycle to their left to jump up the curve.

“The vehicles behind us are working on it,” Raja gritted out. “Next left. Then right behind the citrus market. There’s a route through the construction zone.”

The SUV jolted as Musad yanked the wheel, blasting through a narrow alley, cutting off the two motorcycles that had caught up with them again as he followed the SUV in front of him. He muttered a string of curses when the right side mirror scraped the stone wall.

“Hussain, you’d better know where you are leading us,” Raja growled into his cellphone as he leaned toward Musad.

Dalla hissed as another burst of gunfire pinged off the rear bumper. Musad’s eyes glittered with malicious delight.