SALEM KASHEM

CHAPTER SIX - SALEM KASHEM

I felt somewhat uneasy because Dashiell hadn't sent his car to pick me up, and it was almost dusk.

After the whole gunshot drama and estate raid yesterday, neither Malek nor Barney had been found. I asked one of his other guards, but he said that Malek didn't wish to disclose his hideout.

How cowardly.

The sun started to set, casting its beautiful rays onto me as I stayed glued to the large window in my bedroom, looking to see if his car was there or not.

"Zahra," I heard a familiar stern voice, call from behind me, startling me and almost making me lose my balance.

My heart skipped ten beats as I turned around to see Dashiell standing up straight, his back against the wall, dressed in a black satin dress shirt with several buttons undone, revealing part of his broad chest, and tucked into black low-waist pants.

I wanted to ask him so many questions. Why was he here? Had anyone seen him? Why didn't he call earlier? And why didn't he send Blazer or Gotham? But he had warned me before never to ask him too many questions.

"Let's go," he said in a commanding tone, and walked away, allowing me to follow closely behind him.

I was stunned as he led the way to the main entrance. I wanted to suggest using the back door in case anyone spotted us, but before I could, he spoke up.

"No one is here, and I disabled the cameras," he reassured me.

The drive to wherever we were going was silent. I didn't bother to ask where we were going, though I wouldn't have cared even if I were being kidnapped by him.

As dominating his aura felt, it made me feel safe and protected.

The car stopped in the parking lot of a mansion, and not just any mansion, but Malek's parents' home.

My heart started to race as if I had seen death and its scythe.

Lost in thought, I didn't notice Dashiell getting out to open my door.

He extended his hand, his gaze cold. "Are you coming?"

I placed my small palm in his, and we started to walk towards the mansion's main entrance, holding hands from the car to the entrance.

A guard approached Dashiell and asked, "Do you have an appointment?"

"No, we only came for the boy," Dashiell replied sternly.

The guard raised his eyebrow questionably and shook his head. "Salem?"

"I don't have all day. Tell your employers that Otto Blackwood is here," Dashiell said, impatiently.

***********

Few seconds later, the gates opened for us. All the guards present clutched their guns and pointed them at us, ready to shoot.

Just then, the mansion doors opened to reveal Malek's mom, Lucia, and his dad, Fuhad's face.

This time, I felt Dashiell's hand hold mine tighter, urging me to stand firm.

I felt the air in my lungs choke me as I wanted to speak up. The fear of everyone watching us had dropped my composure, but even if they were all watching, only Dashiell's gaze mattered. He was the one helping me. Or maybe it was because he was incredibly attractive. I don't know! I felt shy.

But Fuhad spoke up first, "I heard Otto was at the gate, and I only wanted to let him in because I thought it was the older Otto. Where is your father, Donovan Otto Blackwood?"

"He's dead. You came to his funeral two years ago," Dashiell replied firmly.

Fuhad laughed loudly, his laughter sending the birds that stood on the trees flying away in fright. "Did you think I wasn't going to notice the bunco that you created? Your father faked his death and ran off, like the coward he is,"

Ignoring him, Dashiell sighed and walked towards them, "I don't care about that. I came for a boy, her son. I want him."

"Why?" Lucia asked, but he shunned her.

Fuhad chuckled again and turned to his wife, "Ah, It's the woman that my boy paid fifteen billion for. The mother of the disgraceful boy. You can have him; he is of no use to us. Lucia, bring Salem." He ordered, grinning foolishly.

"Fifteen billion?" Dashiell mocked, locking eyes with me before turning to Fuhad. "It's a disgracefully small amount for you to be bringing up every time," he added, and reached for something in his back pocket.

He took out a check, scribbled something on it, and then threw it at Fuhad. "Fifteen billion dollars," he declared, causing me to gasp at the mention of the amount.

Like a dunce, Fuhad collected it and cross-checked it. "It was in dinars, not dollars," he countered foolishly.

A smirk played on his face. "I'll instruct my assistant to make a full deposit," He said, the smirk fading as he added, "In cash."