WITHOUT A CHOICE (SERIES 1-2)

CHAPTER TWENTY

Jasmine

Ali requests my presence at dinner. I might laugh at the farce of normality if I had the ability to laugh right now. Instead, I’m sitting across the table from my enemy in a white gown with a letter opener up my sleeve. Not close enough to strike. Not yet.

I listen with half an ear as he goes on and on about how clever he is for outmaneuvering Jafar for this long. About how sorry he is that my father paid the price of Jafar’s betrayal. How happy he is to save me from the enemy. On and on, until I want to clamp my hands over my ears and scream just to drown out his charming voice. It doesn’t matter how many words he spills into my silence; he can’t alter the truth.

Jafar may be the villain of this piece, but he’s not the only one—or even the worst.

I drink my white wine and keep my expression blank. His two men, the only two I’ve seen since we arrived, hold positions on either side of the door to the hallway. Too far away to stop me from using my blade, but then I’m too far away right now, too. I realize I recognize one of them. He’s one of my father’s men, though his name dances on the tip of my tongue. My father wasn’t a fan of encouraging anything resembling familiarity with his daughter, something that will work against me now. This man backing Ali doesn’t bode well for him switching sides to support me.

There is no right time for this. The hungry way Ali watches me tells me everything I need to know. He’ll try something tonight, likely right after dinner. If I’m smart, I’ll wait for us to be alone to make my move. Surely he won’t have his men watch him try to take me. I don’t know, and because I don’t know, I can’t risk it.

That’s not the only reason, though.

Always a pawn, but never a queen.

That’s how I’ve considered myself since the beginning. If I want to change that, truly change that, then it has to be public and it has to send a statement that cannot be refuted. I close my eyes and fling a prayer into the universe. I’m not sure I believe in a higher power, but if one exists, if it’s listening, I can use all the help I can get for what comes next.

“You’re not even paying attention,” Ali snarls.

I open my eyes and wrestle my expression into something resembling a smile. “Of course I am.”

He snaps his fingers. “Come here, Jasmine.” His slow grin makes my stomach clench in revulsion. “I haven’t gotten a look at you in that dress I bought you.” He waits for me to obey, to push to my feet and round the table to stand before him. The dress is fine, if not something I would choose for myself. It hugs my breasts and stomach before flaring out at the hips and falling in a wave to the floor. The high collar might have given it the illusion of modesty if not for the way the fabric clings to my body. I forewent a bra and the way Ali’s gaze zeroes in on my chest is the reason why. If he’s so focused on my breasts, he won’t be watching my wrists.

“Do you know why I chose white?”

Pretending to be interested in this conversation makes me sick, but I manage to keep the emotion from my tone. “Why did you choose white?”

“Because it’s our wedding day, Jasmine.”

That stops me short. I finally look at him, really look at him. “I’m not marrying you, Ali. I was never going to.”

His easy smile remains in place, but his dark eyes flare with anger. “That’s where you’re wrong. You’re bought and paid for. Whether or not your father lived long enough to enjoy the riches doesn’t change the fact that you’re mine by contract. Desire has nothing to do with it, but,” He gives me another long look. “It doesn’t hurt that you’re beautiful.”

My rage rises again, so strong it steals my breath from my lungs. I glide a step closer to him. Almost within reach now. “Beautiful, yes. Rich, too, once you reclaim my father’s assets from Jafar.” I almost, almost stumble over his name.

“You’re a prize. There’s no doubt about that.” He holds out a hand. “Come here.”

I place my left hand in his and allow him to pull me close to stand between his thighs. Ali isn’t particularly large, but he’s strong. Stronger than I am, at least. I will my body soft and pliant. “You want to get a look at what you purchased.”

“Can you blame me?” He keeps a grip on my wrist and runs his free hand over me. My stomach. My breasts. My p***y. The way I imagine a man examining a horse for purchase might. There’s no heat in his touch, but that doesn’t stop me from fighting not to be sick. Finally, Ali sits back, his expression contemplative. “Definitely a prize.”

I search for words, but I have nothing except rage. “Ali?”

“Yeah?”

I lean down slowly, my gaze fastened to his mouth. I pretend he’s another man, one with a close beard and wickedly curved lips. Jafar. No, I can’t think of him. Not in this moment. I tug on my wrist, and he releases me so I can run my thumb along his bottom lip. “Can I tell you something I’ve never told another person?”

“What’s that?” His gaze goes a little hazy as I shift closer to straddle him. I have to be close for this to work. I have to be able to strike before he can counter.

I lean down until I’m sure he can feel my breath against his lips. “I would rather die than let you f**k me.” I jam my blade into his throat and wrench with all my strength. He shoves me away, but it’s too late. We’re both covered in blood. His blood. I straighten and force myself to watch as the life flees his dark eyes. I did this. I chose this. I will bear witness.

I lift my blade as the two men reach his body. “You have a choice right now, gentlemen. You can bend a knee or you can join him.”

“You bitch.” The stranger starts for me, violence in his gaze.

He makes it two steps before my father’s man shoots him in the back. We watch him sink to the ground and then I turn my attention to Jonah. That’s his name. I raise my eyebrows, determined not to show the fear slithering through me. “You have something to say, Jonah?”

He slides his gun back into his shoulder holster and considers me. “Your father saw you as a daughter, rather than a person.” When I simply wait, he continues. “You’ve proven that you’re his heir in every way that counts.” He nods at Ali’s body. “Not everyone will follow you, but enough of us will.”

This is what power feels like. The heady sensation leaves me dizzy and breathless, but I let none of it filter through to my expression. I glance down at my dress. Red paints the front and soaks the hem. As much as I want to rip it from my body, it sends a message I would be foolish not to utilize. “Gather them.” I absently clean my blade on the dress and roll my shoulders. “The foyer.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It’s only when he’s gone that I consider this could be a trap. But to what end? Jonah could have just as easily attempted to do what both Jafar and Ali did—use me to send his shooting star right to the top of the hierarchy. It might even work. It seemed to well enough for the others.

If it’s not a trap?

Perhaps there are those who don’t want to rock the boat. Who were pleased with the way of things before Jafar’s coup and would be just as happy to go back to that at the earliest opportunity. I can’t blame them for the desire, for wanting to throw their lot in with the person they believe will make that happen.

I make my way slowly to the foyer. My dress leaves red marks on the tile behind me, which is a mood all on its own. I keep my chin up and shoulders back, even when faced with twenty men, each of which could kill me with the brush of a finger against a trigger. No one looks particularly aggressive, but it’s up to me to ensure things stay that way.

They part to allow me through to the stairs, and I feel their attention like a physical weight against my skin. So much expectation, and I’ll only have one shot to convince them I can deliver. I take a shallow breath and project my voice. “I am my father’s daughter.” The truth, even if it sits ill in my chest. “We have had pretender after pretender attempt to use me to cement your loyalty.” The thought of Jafar almost stops me cold. He’ll never forgive me for this, for snatching this power right out from underneath him. This operation was something he’d planned on since he took the position with my father, and now I’m placing myself squarely between him and his ambition, forcing him to choose.

I’m not sorry.

I love him. I think he loves me, too. But if there’s one thing Jafar worships in this life, it’s power. How can love compare to that kind of devotion?

“Swear fealty or get out. This will be your only chance. Insubordination will not be tolerated.” I spread my hands, knowing all too well the picture I paint. The bloody bride, who will murder any man who tries to bend her to his will. “You know the price of disobedience. Decide now.”

One man turns and walks out. I recognize the one who wanted Jafar to share me that first night. I wait, but no one follows him. It’s better than I dared hope. I nod to Jonah. “Bring in the ones who scattered at my father’s death. Give them the same choice, and respect it.” I turn my attention to the rest of them. “Set up a perimeter. We will have to retake several of the facilities, but you’re more than up to the task. Reclaiming my father’s legacy starts now.” The words taste foul on my tongue, but it’s a sentiment these men can understand. Can respect.

I turn and walk slowly up the stairs. This might have been the first sticking point, but it will not be the last. Others will test me and I’ll have to put them down in order to prevent a full-scale rebellion. I clench the skirt of my dress with shaking hands to hide even that small tell. I’ll get through it. I don’t have any other choice.

It’s only when I’ve locked myself in my room, stripped out of the hated dress, and stepped beneath the scalding hot water that I allow the tears to fall. I didn’t want this. Any of it. Not my father’s legacy, not the price it will demand of me.

But it’s the cost of my freedom. To be answerable to no one but myself means stepping from my father’s shadow—from Jafar’s shadow, from Ali’s shadow—and into the role of queen.

I watch the water run pink and press my lips together to keep the sobs internal. Had I thought Jafar and I stood a chance, even after I left him? He’ll come for me. I have no doubts about that.

But will he bend a knee?

Or will I lose him forever?