The Khan by Saima Mir (best thriller novels of all time .txt) 📗

him a set of keys and pointed to a yellow Ferrari. The doors clicked open and the couple slipped in, the car purring into action. He put his foot to the gas and gunned down the driveway, seamlessly disappearing out of the gates.

Once outside the grounds of Pukhtun House, Mina unbuckled her sandals and began unwrapping her sari. From the corner of her eye she could see Benyamin stealing glances, young lust flooding through him. She played up to the attention. He reached over to rub his hand up her thigh, and she pushed him away. ‘Keep your eyes on the road!’ she said. He laughed loudly, the adrenaline coursing through his veins and making him hard. Before he could try anything else, Mina had pulled on a black dress and was slipping her heels back on.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up outside an exclusive boutique hotel, The Mansion. Owned by Arab money, sitting in acres of rich green fields, the place promised privacy and discretion to its select clientele. Benyamin parked up outside the reception and Mina climbed out. ‘See you in a bit. Good luck,’ he said and drove towards the car park.

Once in the hotel, Mina made her way to the bar and ordered a vodka and lemonade. The bartender, who had been waiting for her, handed her the lemonade minus the alcohol. She took the glass without argument – she knew he’d been paid to keep an eye on her – but she really could’ve used a drink right now. Her mind turned over the delicious idea and then put it aside. Since she’d started seeing Benyamin, falling off the wagon had become impossible.

She scanned the bar and saw Juliet waiting for her, every curve and bump of her friend’s body visible in the red dress that wrapped around her like a badly applied bandage, flashing slithers of bare skin. Juliet had always liked attention, irrespective of whom it came from. And it was usually the wrong kind.

Mina followed her to a deep alcove where two men were sitting on a sumptuous velvet chesterfield. They were deep in discussion. As they approached, Mina noticed that the first was distinguished and tall, and the other was doubled up in pain. Their conversation was over, and the tall man wiped his hand on a white napkin before offering it to Mina. ‘And you are…?’

‘Mina,’ she replied, averting her eyes from the bloodstains on the white cloth.

‘Andrzej Nowak, at your service,’ the man said, this time bowing as he spoke.

He reminded Mina of a stained-glass window saint, the kind she’d seen at the church Benyamin took her to last Christmas. His face was long and slim, his eyes piercing blue. But she’d heard enough about him to know that Andrzej Nowak was no angel. He liked his women, and he liked them like his liquor: cold, old and hardened. This was evident from the ladies at the other end of his table who were enjoying his hospitality and champagne as if at the last-chance saloon. For most of them, it probably was.

Nowak signalled to a passing waiter, who came running, almost tripping over a table as he did so. Service was fast at The Mansion, but the Pole was renowned for his generosity, making staff work harder to win his business. Rumour had it he had paid off one waiter’s student loans and had given his BMW to another. The staff fought over his business and he encouraged the competition. Courtesy had been missing from Nowak’s childhood and had become very important to him as an adult.

Tonight, the hotel’s newest waiter had won Nowak’s custom and he was eager to impress. The hotel’s policy of discretion was well known. The staff took their work very seriously, and for those with aspirations The Mansion was the place to be. Fulfil the needs of the right client and you could find yourself living a much wealthier lifestyle. To keep the drink flowing and the customers socially lubricated, the waiters had developed their own system of signals. It was faster than the tech devices favoured by chain restaurants and didn’t leave a trace, something that was important to The Mansion’s clientele.

Nowak’s waiter took his order and signalled the bartender, who was ready and waiting. He, in turn, crushed a small white pill into the bottom of a tall glass, poured coffee liqueur over it, then vodka, and gave it a good shake in a silver cocktail shaker before serving it in a glass over crushed ice. He placed the drink on the tray, and poured out two more, then handed them to the waiter, who safely delivered them to the table. Nowak knocked them back fast. He was celebrating the safe arrival of his shipment, which was currently sitting in the boot of a new Ferrari. Nice touch from the suppliers, he thought. It would be fun to christen the car. He leaned in towards Juliet. They’d met last week at the races and he had been showering her with expensive gifts. He believed this gave him the right to partake of her today. He ran a finger under one of the scarlet strips of her dress, just beneath her cleavage.

‘You know, my Ferrari is waiting outside,’ he said. ‘You…you would look beautiful behind the wheel.’ He moved forward to kiss her but she backed away. Offended by her rejection, he turned his attention to another woman to his left. Juliet placed her hand on his thigh. He watched as her slender fingers moved slowly upwards. Her eyes widened and she parted her glossy pink lips, moving them closer to his. She waited for him to meet her mouth and when he didn’t she pulled him in, one hand behind his head, the other deftly reaching for the keys in his pocket and secreting them in Mina’s open purse.

Mina picked up her clutch bag. Reality had suddenly hit her and her stomach turned. ‘I don’t feel too good,’ she said to Juliet.