Chapter Thirty-six: His Word Of Honor

Viktor

I heard the loud whir of the helicopter flying away as I stood on thick carpets over the packed sand in my own grand tent, the largest andmost luxurious in his camp, deep inside the Sahara Desert.

I looked down at my prisoner—that is to say, my dear wife—sitting on my bed. Tied up with a soft silken gag over her mouth, Lyra was glaring at

me with bright sparks of hatred in her eyes. I could feel her growing hatred for me as I watched her.

My eyes traced down her body. She still wearing my black T-shirt and oversized jeans from Marrakech, but from the flash of lacy bra strap, I knew she was wearing the sexy lingerie I’d given her underneath. Something about that did things to my head.

My body tightened as I imagined her naked. I said softly, “What am I going to do with you?”

She answered me in a muffled, angry voice, and I had the feeling she was telling me what I should do with myself, and that her suggestion was not a courteous one.

I sighed. I should have guessed Lyra might