Finding Fate: An Intense, Fast-Paced Romantic Suspense Novel Page 10

  Frightened, I press against the dividing wall, trying to shrink the distance between us.

  "No worries, Pops. Go to the opposite side and do whatever the fuck you need to do to drown this out," he commands, keeping his attention on the two men prowling closer. "Now, dammit," he nearly growls, then shoves off the wood, propelling himself toward the men.

  For his sake, and a little bit of mine too, I do as I'm told.

  Even with my palms suctioned to my ears, the shouting and sounds filter through. It's only when my door swings open, a block of early afternoon sun stretching to my feet, that I move my hands. The man holding the door motions outside. Chore time, it seems.

  I stand and dust off the thin layer of loose dirt to give myself a half second to glimpse through the gaps in the slats. Just like the first time he was tossed in the small cage, he's on his side, facing the opposite way, arms and legs stretched out. Not moving.

  "HEY, POPPY? YOU OKAY?" a deep voice whispers through the dark. With the moon hidden behind the dark clouds tonight, the night drapes everything in never-ending darkness. Not even the light from the fires offers any help.

  His tone sounds concerned, but still I lie here in the same spot where I collapsed out of pure exhaustion a few hours earlier. So exhausted I didn't even check on him when they tossed me back in here.

  Some friend I am.

  Instead of answering, I push to all fours to crawl toward the dividing wall and lie along it, facing his side. Dust fills my nose and mouth as it's shifted on the other side.

  "I'm conflicted, Poppy." His voice is soft but louder, as if he's lying against the divider mirroring me.

  "Why?" I croak. I need water but damn if what little energy I had left I used to crawl to this spot. To him.

  "I want to ask what happens out there, where you disappear to during the day, but then again, I don't know if I want to know. You know?"

  "Huh?"

  "If what they drag you out of here for during the day is what I'm thinking, then I'll get myself fucking killed to make sure they never hurt you or any woman like that again, but then you'd be left here. Alone. See my dilemma, Pops? I want to know, but what will it cost us?"

  An invisible hand pushes my face closer to the flimsy wood. Closer to him. My nose brushes against the wall, and I silently wish for some magic spell to make it disappear. I want his big arms around my shoulders, holding me close, protecting and comforting in the same strong hold.

  "Chores. Just chores. The worst of their debauchery was always done to the other girls. It’s why you had to get them out. I'm somewhat protected because I'm the general’s bride. No one has touched me. No reason to get yourself killed."

  The sounds of the night fill the comfortable silence, almost humming me to sleep until he speaks up once again. "Tell me your story. What brought you here."

  "Thought you knew everything," I say with zero humor.

  "Maybe I do, but I want to hear your side. Understand why you did it. Help me understand."

  I wish he'd just keep talking. Hearing his American accent, learning about his family and life, provides the distraction I desperately need. And retelling what brought me here is the last thing I want to do. I don’t want to remember.

  "It's a long story," I finally respond.

  "If you haven't noticed, we have a few hours before the sun comes back up. It's just you and me. Well, you and me and the very large cat I think is prowling around the camp."

  "What?" My head perks up to look around even though I can’t see a damn thing.

  "Something's out there. I can feel it watching us."

  "How can you feel that?"

  "Show me yours and I'll show you mine."

  The dip in his voice, the softness of his tone, sends my insides tensing. And somehow I know he's smiling on the other side. With a sigh, I lift the veil and flip it back. It's too dark for anyone to see me, and removing the extra layers helps make the hot night a fraction more manageable.

  "I had one sister. Eight years younger. Everything was great, or so I thought, and then one day she was gone. Lured over here with the hope of having someone who would love her, take care of her. I think that's what hurt the most."

  "What's that?"

  "I thought I was doing an okay job of taking care of her and our mom. Didn't realize there was anything missing. I loved her. Showed her I loved her. Picked up the slack when Mom was always gone. I thought...." A single tear slips from the corner of my right eye. "When I found out she was gone, I did everything I could. Everything. My mentor and I searched every traffic camera, every feed we could hack into searching for her. And then we did. We followed her cab to the airport, then hacked into the airport security cameras and ran some facial recognition software he'd been enhancing. Her smiling face turned to a camera just as she started down the jetway to the waiting plane to Africa."

  More tears roll down to the dirt.

  "We got the flight number, then hacked into the airport security in Lagos, but we were too late. By the time we'd gotten that far, she'd already cleared customs ten hours earlier. It was then that I knew—" My shoulders shake as a sob lets loose. "—I knew she was really gone."

  The sounds of something brushing and scraping against dirt come from his side, but I don't pay it any attention. My heart cramps and tightens as all the emotions and devastation from those final moments flood back in. He’s somehow opened the dam I put in place to hold back every emotion from those days and following months.

  "Okay," Nash says over the scraping noise. "So you knew she was here, but I don't get how you knew—"

  "A couple weeks after that, videos with her in them started popping up on the dark web. I'd set up a few programs the day I found her in Africa to alert me if her face, in that region, ever popped up again. I wish I wouldn't have." There's no hiding the tremble in my voice. "Maybe then I wouldn't be this angry. I'd be back home believing she was happy. Instead I have all this hate festering in me. Why couldn't I leave it alone? Why did I keep looking?" I nearly shout, so angry at myself and still wallowing in pain.

  "Because you love her." I startle a foot back from the wall and bite back a scream as something brushes against my side. "It's just me. Trying to find your hand. Sorry if I touched... other things." To confirm it's him, fingers drag down my material-covered arm. Flicking the lower covering up, I find his fingers in the dark to interlace with my own. "I would’ve done the same thing."

  The brushing of his fingers against mine is the first gentle touch I've had since leaving the States. And it’s amazing. Maybe it’s due to the darkness keeping our features hidden, but there’s no awkwardness with him, no shame or hiding from him. It’s just me. Just him. Like never before, I’m opening up about things no one knows, not even Mac. I keep going, hoping the more I talk, the more the weight of my life will continue to dissolve.

  "The videos were on her 'training.' How to train a woman to be the perfect wife, which no one can achieve—he makes sure of that. It's the punishments the general enjoys. And filming them so everyone can see what he’s capable of. Each one was more horrible than the last. After the first two, I couldn't watch them anymore. After that I sent the new videos to Mac for him to watch and verify if it was her. He'd never give me details, which I love him for. He knew... knows how fragile I am. It was cruel, but with his job he's practically seen it all. Then one night, I was up working on something for the FBI when an alert came through. Without thinking, I clicked on it."

  Two fingers grip four of mine and squeeze, strengthening my resolve to continue.

  "She tried to escape. And that was punishable by death in their eyes." My stomach churns, pushing up what little food I had for breakfast. Shaking from his grasp, I roll, push to all fours and vomit. For several moments, I dry-heave and sob. "I watched them kill my sister while she begged for forgiveness. Begged to go home." Her terrified voice, the final image of her lifeless body, is burned into my memory, something I'll never be able to forget. It's what keeps me awake at ni
ght. What drove me to near insanity. "They laughed in her face and killed her on camera. He did it himself, the general. And now I want him to pay. Pay for taking my sister. Pay for driving Mom to kill herself after grief dug its ruthless talons into her heart and drained her will to live. I want him dead. I want him to be scared and beg and suffer. If that makes me a lunatic, or just as evil as those bastards out there, I don’t give a damn."

  My trembling arms give out and I drop my face to the dirt, just missing the mess I made.

  "You’re not evil, Pops. Don’t ever think that about yourself again, you hear me? Never again. If you want to kill him, do it. I believe in you, Pops. Kill him. When you see him, don’t think twice about it. Just kill him. And if you can't, if you want me to do it for you, I'll do it with a fucking smile on my face." Those fingers find my bare arm once again, caressing up and down. "And here I thought I knew everything about you. Obviously I was fucking wrong."

  Chapter 12

  Fate

  Before

  The sensation of being watched draws me from a restless sleep only to find Nash awake, still lying across from me, staring. I don't move, loving this moment of waking up with him. After what I shared last night, pouring out the festering nastiness of my hard heart, a new comfortableness and warmth has fallen between us. Well, at least it has for me. And damn, I want more. More of knowing him, more of him knowing me.

  The morning sun heats my bare cheek, making me smile. My eyes shutter closed at the delicious sensation of... oh hell.

  I forgot to flip the veil back last night before falling asleep.

  "Um, hi?" I whisper. Shit. Shit. Bye, comfortableness. Nice knowing you. It was fun while it lasted.

  "Hi." He smiles back.

  "Stop being weird. That’s my job."

  "Your hair. It's blonde."

  "That's what you're looking at?" A bite of disappointment dips my tone. For a second there, I thought.... Right, stop being the stupid girl, Fate. You’re you and he’s the sexy military Greek god who somehow pulled more from you than any person has. Ever. "Why are you here? Why did you come back? Tell me the truth, no jokes."

  Brown eyes stare into mine, searching. "How could any man leave behind the woman who gave up her own freedom for the freedom of others? Where's the pink hair you love?"

  "I changed it for this... journey. And I know a lot of guys who would’ve walked away."

  "Then you know guys, not men."

  I snort a harsh laugh, and the corners of his lips spread farther across his bearded cheeks. "You couldn't be more right there."

  "I need to tell you something."

  "Okay," I whisper, bracing myself, but he doesn't get a chance as the too-familiar grind of metal against metal snaps us back to the real world. The reality our strange conversation somehow helped me forget for a brief moment in time.

  By the time my door opens, the veil is situated and I'm on my feet. Halfway across camp, the same sensation from this morning creeps up my neck, making the tiny hairs stand on end. I don't dare turn to verify my suspicions, but the electricity and heat flowing through every vein tells me it’s him, Nash, watching. Protecting.

  And just like that, a small part of me wishes I was that girl again who believed in fairy tales. The damsel in distress the hero always falls for. But that's all it is, a stupid wish about a happy ending I’ll never see.

  At least today it’s cooking instead of laundry. That river creeps me out with its deep, dark water. Who knows what lurks in its depths, ready to snap me off the bank and drag me under. Even if the kitchen feels like Hell’s personal sauna, I’ll take it any day over laundry.

  This time when they bring me back, I'm able to stay on my feet. Until I see him, that is. The rattle of the dinner tray sounds behind me but I keep staring, gaping. As soon as the door closes, my knees give out and I fall to the floor.

  "Hell, do I look that bad?" he groans from the other side.

  "Yeah."

  "You don't sugarcoat shit, do ya, Pops. Stop staring. It's weird."

  A bit of relief settles my thundering heart at his joke. The tray rattles in my shaking hands as I make my way to the dividing wall. "Here, drink something."

  Today he doesn't refuse. Instead he drags himself over, falling to the dirt in front of where I sit. It takes a couple of tries, but we figure out a system to get more water into his mouth than on the ground.

  "Now food," I urge.

  It doesn't take either of us long to figure out the best way for him to get the beans is to eat them off me. Off my two pale fingers, to be exact. It starts out a bit awkwardly, trying to find the best angle, and one time I jam my fingers so far down his throat he gags. Then... it’s not. At some point I forget about the food, forget about Africa, and keep dipping my fingers just to feel his lips against my skin again.

  We don't talk. No jokes.

  When it's all gone and there’s nothing left for him to suck off, I'm staring, breaths short and fast, the heat between my thighs unbearable. He doesn't move either, eyes—well eye, as the other is swelled shut, locked with mine. And damn it if I hate this veil more than ever right now.

  "Well that was a first," he tries to joke, but it falls flat.

  "What, eating off someone?" As soon as I say it, I want to grab the words from the air and shove them back down my throat.

  A mischievous smile curls his lips. "Well no. First time with beans, yeah. Other times it was something more... delectable, and not just on fingers."

  And now I'm back to loving the protective veil so he can't see the fire-red flush that's surely covering every inch of my face.

  "Did I just embarrass you?" He laughs and pushes up to lean on one arm. The muscles beneath this shirt bunch and tense, making the shirt tighter.

  "What? Yes. Wait! No."

  Well hell.

  "You're telling me that in all your twenty-eight years, no guy has eaten something off you?"

  The fact he knows my age throws me for a loop until remembering he read my file. "Does picking up popcorn that fell on my lap and then eating it count?" I know it doesn't and it sounds pathetic, but hey, it’s all I got.

  "Did he pick it up with his teeth while you were naked?"

  "No," I wheeze. Shoot me now.

  "Then no, it doesn't count. Do you have a boyfriend?"

  "No. But some guy asked me out before I left. My boss, actually." Not sure why I add that in.

  "Have you had a lot?"

  "A lot?"

  "Of boyfriends?"

  "Um, that's a negative. I work in dark caves alone, staring at code. Not really conducive to meeting people other than in chat rooms."

  "Oh really. So tell me, Pops, any of those chat rooms get... interesting?"

  "Not answering that one." My smile widens and the butterflies that set up shop in my stomach erupt.

  "So that's a yes. I like where this is going." His smile looks painful, but he doesn't say anything.

  "I don't."

  "Have you dated though? Real people you can touch and interact with face-to-face? Feel like I needed to clarify that last bit for you."

  Leaning against the divider, I rest my head and close my eyes. This has to be the most random, awkward conversation I've had in person. Ever.

  "Yes, but...."

  "But what?"

  "It's complicated."

  "Uncomplicate it. If you haven't noticed, we got the time."

  "Before I answer that, you have to answer a question. Do you have a girlfriend?" I suck in a deep breath and hold it, hoping his answer isn't what I know it will be. Look at him. Of course he does. And I bet she’s beautiful and fun and was the prom queen in high school.

  "Yes." That held breath whooshes from my lungs in disappointment. "It's complicated though."

  "Why?" I prod.

  "You first."

  "Fine," I sigh. "All my boyfriends were out of—do I have to?”

  “Yes,” he laughs.

  “I dated out of loneliness, I guess. Someone to be
there when you needed them instead of me always being there for someone else. That’s sad, right?” I don’t give him a chance to agree with me. “No one I loved, and no one lasted more than a few months. It was just nice having someone around who thought about me. But it never lasted because they soon realized they came third. Destiny and Mom always came first." It probably doesn't make sense to someone like him who never feels alone.

  “What about you? Did you ever put yourself first?”

  “There wasn’t time.”

  “And even now you’re not. You’ve put your sister before you. You’re risking your own life, even when she’s not here. That’s....”

  “Ignorant?”

  “Brave.”

  I swallow back a lump of tears. “Your turn.”

  He sighs and tucks a hand behind his head. "Seems our complicated relationships have the same theme. All my girlfriends are out of convenience too. No one I see long-term, just for a while. No one who will leave a lasting impression."

  Well that's kind of sad. It's okay for me because I'm odd. He's not.

  "Oh, that's—"

  "Being a dick, right." Rolling his head, he looks to the ceiling. "My sisters tell me all the time, so go ahead. You can pile on too."

  When I don't respond immediately, his eyes cut to me.

  "Um, I guess it depends on why you choose those types of girls. Is it just for... you know...."

  "Sex?"

  "Yeah."

  "Damn, woman, can you even say it?"

  "Yes, I can say it."

  "Say it. And say it sexy. Say ‘sexy sex.’"

  I bury my veiled face into my hands and groan. "You're impossible."

  "Just a dude trying to get a hot girl to say ‘sexy sex.’ And no, it’s not just for tangling in the sheets. That part’s a bonus. But if you go into a relationship not expecting much, then you don’t get disappointed when it doesn't go anywhere. You don't end up getting hurt or left wanting more. So no, I'm not using them, just not expecting much."

  My brain froze when the term ‘hot girl’ left his lips in reference to me, but it kicks back into gear when I realize what he said is really sad. And lonely.