Finding Fate: An Intense, Fast-Paced Romantic Suspense Novel Page 11

  "That's a sad outlook for someone... like you."

  "That's life, Pops. Sad but true." His one good eye shutters closed as he takes a deep breath.

  The setting sun douses our little shack in soft rays of light, highlighting his face. How could someone like him ever be left by someone, left wanting more when the other person didn't? A heaviness settles into the silence, making me miss the earlier banter.

  "What did you want to tell me earlier?" I whisper, then settle against the divider, readying for another long night of talking. Before him, I was slipping away day by day, forgetting why I was even here. But with him I'm stronger. Happier, if I can even say that word while being a captive and fearing for my life on a daily basis. All I know is since he arrived, the nights are easier and my future... well now I might actually want one of those.

  "First take it off."

  Nervously I glance out to the camp. "Okay, but then you'll tell me."

  The light breeze tickles my cheeks and neck as the material falls to the floor. It's glorious. For a second I shut my eyes and revel in the freedom until he says the last thing I ever expect.

  "You're not fooling me."

  "What?" I gasp and sit up straight. "What are you even talking about?"

  "I can see the real you, and you're not fooling me."

  "Nash, I have—"

  "What I read in that file on the plane described someone very different than the woman sitting beside me." With a stifled groan, he pushes up and leans against the divider. If it weren't for the wood we would be nose-to-nose. "I was wrong when I said I knew everything about you. You’re quickly becoming one of the most badass women I know."

  "I am not a badass. Not sure what you think you've seen or witnessed, but it's more fear mixed with a lot of stupidity. I can't do anything to put me in that category. I've read hundreds of books about women who are badass, and I want to be them, but I'm far from that mark."

  "Or maybe you don’t see the real you, or your potential. Let's play a game."

  The conversation is so random my cheeks hurt from my wide smile. "What kind of game?"

  "True or false. First question. You're a badass coder and hacker who finds evidence the FBI needs to put away bastards who prey on underage kids, all without graduating high school."

  "True." Where is he going with this?

  "Question two. True or false. You've devoted your life to finding justice for your murdered sister."

  "True."

  "Question three. True or false. You gave up your shot of freedom—knowing the consequences, mind you—for a group of women you knew seven days."

  "True, but—"

  "Question four. True or false. You're starving and thirsty, yet gave up what little you had for some guy you barely know."

  My lips dip into a small frown. "I know you. And you know more about me than everyone except Mac."

  "I'm taking that as a yes."

  "You're nuts, you know that? How does any of that add up to me being a badass? It's just a bunch of random—"

  "Final question. True or false. You haven't given up."

  My throat burns as I try to swallow but find my mouth dry. "I don't have a choice."

  His incredulous laugh rakes my nerves. "Yes you do. We all have the choice to toss in the cards at some point. To give up. But you haven't. You've kept going, and not for yourself but for other people. Don’t you see how strong you are?"

  The question lingers in the darkness. When I don't answer, he continues.

  "You raised your sister. You helped your mom. All without complaining or being asked. You're here. Most people would’ve cried at the funeral and moved on. But not you."

  "It's called anger and hate issues."

  "Fuck that. It's called determination. It's called strength. You didn’t give up. You fought to get here. All for justice. It wasn't easy. You could’ve given up. But. You. Didn't. Just like you're doing now. Not giving in. Pushing through and showing the world just how fucking strong you really are. Show them, Fate."

  The sound of my name, my real name, on his lips has my eyes closing, savoring the moment.

  "Just because you don't carry a gun, or know how to punch through walls, or hell, punch anything, doesn't mean you're not a badass. I've learned it's not those things that make a woman strong. It’s her loyalty, her personal strength to keep going when the odds are stacked against her. A woman who doesn't back down when fighting for truth or for others. That's you. All you, wrapped up in this spunky-as-hell exterior."

  I should respond. Say something. But what? What do you say back to that kind of compliment? When everything I've ever believed in myself is the complete opposite of what he sees in me, who's right?

  "Anyone can be a physical badass, but your strength is special. Rare. Captivating."

  To break the seriousness of the conversation, get me back on steady ground, I say, "Wow, with all that you sound like a feminist."

  "What?" he says with a deep laugh. "That's what you took from all that? Hell, I've been preparing that speech since last night."

  "You, this big tatted bad boy. You're a feminist."

  "Am not."

  "Are too," I say, poking his shoulder through the slats as I laugh at the audacity of what I'm saying.

  "Whatever," he grumbles. His fingers wrap around mine, holding it in place between the wood. I yelp at the sensation of teeth lightly sinking into the soft pad. "Just don't tell anyone, okay. It’ll ruin the spotted reputation I've worked hard to earn."

  Instead of dropping my finger, he gently traces the outside of his lips with the tip. I want to tell him to stop, but then again absolutely not. Damn, this is bad. It’s been like two days, three maybe, and here I am swimming in emotions I've only read about. It's a drug, this feeling. The high of sitting this close, talking and laughing. It all makes sense now, what the fuss is all about.

  "Fuck yes," he exclaims, snapping me out of my swirling thoughts. "This proves I was right when I disobeyed his damn direct order to get on the bird."

  "You what?" I hiss and push away from the wall. "You did what to come back here?"

  His laugh turns into more of a cough. "Don't make a big deal out of it. I do it all the time. They say it's why I was fired from the Army."

  What the...? "Fired?"

  "Kicked out?"

  "How about dishonorably discharged. I think that's what it’s called."

  His soft chuckles rattle the wooden planks. "You say dishonorably discharged and I say potato. Same thing."

  "You're crazy. Why were you 'fired' if it wasn't for the disobeying orders thing?"

  I sense instead of see his mood shift, the silence and darkness between us now menacing, dangerous. All sense of humor and softness from seconds ago has evaporated.

  "I beat the shit out of the wrong guy." The rage in his voice sends a shiver of excitement down my spine that settles low in my belly.

  "Do I want to know why?" I try to joke but he doesn't answer. Pressing my back along the divider, I curl on my side and sigh into the dirt. "Good night, Nash."

  "Good night, badass."

  Chapter 13

  Nash

  Today

  "Damn. Seriously? Who’s tracking her fucking prints?"

  Raider shakes his head and rests back onto his elbows. "We're looking into it. Get your shit together, man, and go see that damn woman you've been obsessing over for months."

  Ha. Obsessing over. If he only knew how right he was, maybe he wouldn't phrase it like that. But he doesn't, so I shouldn't hold it against him, the bastard. But he's right. I should find a shirt, finish getting dressed and go out there. Drum up some semblance of courage to see the woman I've dreamt about every night for months. But I can't. Nervous energy has me itching to get out there, but fear of what I'll find once I do keeps me planted here on this bed.

  The silence must speak volumes to my friend.

  "What the fuck happened over there, Snowflake?" His tone is more concerned than accusing. "You can te
ll me. No judgment, no jokes."

  I have to hand it to Raider. For a guy who could snap most men in two without breaking a sweat, he's crazy sensitive and a good friend. He knows I'm hurting. Everyone knows. But where the hell do I even start?

  Taking a deep breath in, I lean forward on my elbows and clasp my hands. "The bastards caught me on my way back to get her. Shitheads knew that jungle better than me. I took a few out but more kept coming, and even I couldn't fight off that many."

  "Nice humble brag there, jackass."

  My smile isn't forced as I stare down at the dog between us. "I'm not sure what happened between the time they caught me and when I woke up in that damn shack, but when I did, she was there. Pops and I were kept in the same piece-of-shit shack with just a flimsy dividing wall separating us. They kept guards outside, so my escape options were limited, especially when I had to factor in someone like her. The only thing I could do was stay alive—"

  "Which meant keeping your smartass mouth shut."

  "Are you going to let me finish or nag me every fucking second?"

  "So fucking sensitive," he mumbles and closes his eyes. "You may continue."

  "Every day was the same. They would beat the shit out of me to get me to talk, then drag her off."

  "For?"

  "Chores." The mattress springs groan under my clenching fists. "At least that was what she told me, but I didn't believe her. Thought maybe she was lying since she knew what I'd do if I found out they were hurting her in that way." Long wet strands of hair smack my face as I attempt to shake out the bombarding memories. Stretching across the bed to the end table, I snag a hairband and drag my fingers through to pull it back. "That woman out there kept me alive, man. They only gave her a little food and water, but every damn meal she shared with me. At first I fought it, then realized I'd be no good if I was dead. Every morning they dragged her out and it broke me, knowing I couldn't do shit."

  "Hell, if the days were that bad, I can't imagine the nights. Nights are fucking worse." Raider’s voice turns distant, and when I look at him, he's staring at the wall, unblinking.

  Shit. Sometimes I forget how long he was in the Navy before Drake recruited him. Who knows what he's seen as a SEAL. My time in Africa was probably a cake walk compared to some of his missions.

  "No, the nights... those were ours. It could’ve been a lot worse, but it wasn't because we had each other. Every night we reminded ourselves of who we were and talked about everything just to keep the other sane. At least on nights when I could pull information out of her."

  My smile grows, and the almost forgotten sensation of joy fills my veins and mind as the happier memories of our talks, her reluctance to open up and her naïveté push to the surface. It was a shock, but damn if her innocence wasn't like a welcomed cold shower. She's not like the others with her unique hidden strength.

  Sometimes at night, when I'm staring at the ceiling trying to calm my overactive mind enough to get a few hours of sleep, I think back to when the shift happened. The shift in me. When it went from saving some random woman to protecting the only person who matters. Maybe my guard was down all those dark nights. I guess it's easier to open up like that, somehow freeing.

  When it happened doesn't matter. It happened, and now the woman who stole a chunk of my heart and wiggled her way into my soul is here.

  Ugh, I sound like my sisters. All their drama and emotional instability has bled over to me, and now here I am a damn mess. Sitting here wondering if it's going to happen again, where I'm the one wanting more and the other person doesn't. Already went through that shit once and have done everything I can to keep it from happening again. But damn that Poppy with her sneaky innocent quirkiness, beautiful blue eyes, and blind courage that stripped down my toughest defenses.

  My smile falls. Shoving off the bed, I pace, the dog hot on my heels. "It was fine like that for over a week. We got into a routine and it was okay. But then something happened, and it changed her. Hell, it changed me. After that, it was different. She was different. After that one night, it was impossible to pull her out of her own damn head."

  I pause and look to Raider, who's watching with a cautious eye. "I'm afraid to ask, Snowflake. What happened?"

  "I only know the part I saw. The rest, what happened that night, only she knows."

  Chapter 14

  Fate

  Before

  Seven days pre-Nash. Nine days since the welcomed intrusion.

  Sixteen days.

  Sixteen damn days and the only difference? Nash.

  Which I'm not complaining about, as he's a nice addition. Visually and his misplaced humor. Both are a nice diversion from the hell we're living in every day. But besides the brief mention of his sisters, niece, and being 'fired' from the Army, he hasn't revealed much about himself. It's all nonstop questions to me. It would be unnerving in a normal setting, but strangely it's not with him. Well, until he turns the conversation toward sex, which is almost every night, like it’s his fallback to keep me from turning the questions to him. And he definitely uses it to his advantage.

  Besides Mac, no guy, or girl for that matter, has asked this much, been intrigued enough to work past my awkward answers and dig to the source. They aren't hard questions, just real ones. Questions where the answers mean something, where you know the only reason the person asks is because they truly want to know. The type of questions you ask someone you care about.

  I guess this is where we are in our strange relationship—me with an awkward crush on the man who tried to save me, and him trying to pass the nights with random conversations and trying to get me to blush.

  It’s fun.

  Can I say that while being held captive during a hate-driven mission to kill the man who murdered my sister?

  Either way it’s the truth. The crush, which started before I even saw his sexy arms, crooked smirk, and soul-searching eyes, has grown. I wish I could tell him how much the conversations and distractions matter without it being awkward.

  But on nights when I want to scoot a little closer or have his fingers brush against my cheek instead of my hand, I remind myself that he doesn't feel the same way. He's a good guy. A protector. This means nothing more to him than keeping me safe and getting me home. Which makes sense knowing about his sisters. They clearly trained him to be this way.

  A good guy. Not into me.

  A good guy. Not into me.

  This is my new mantra.

  The distraction he provides does come at a cost, however. A cost he pays daily. Not sure how many more days I can sit in the corner with my palms suctioned against my ears and do nothing while they press him for answers.

  Like now.

  The muffled sounds from the other side of the divider haven't happened for several minutes, which is a good sign. Testing, I pull one hand from my ear and listen. Nothing except the normal camp activity outside the rotting walls. Turning, I let the other hand fall.

  This morning, he's propped against the wall instead of his normal place in the middle of his makeshift cell. And like most days, his eyes are already on me.

  "Not a bad morning, Poppy," he says with a chuckle and cough. "Definitely had worse. Yesterday, actually."

  "Why not give them what they want? Tell them why you're here?" I say, creeping closer to the dividing wall, needing to be closer to him.

  He does the same until we’re face-to-face.

  "Ah, here's the thing, Pops. They don't really want anything from me. They figured out I'm not American military, and now they're just having some fun treating me as their human punching bag. And as the days go on, they realize no one is coming for me, so...."

  I grip the boards between us. "You don't think they’ll come for you? For us?"

  Heavy footsteps draw our attention to my door.

  "Later.” I suck in a sharp breath at the brush of his fingers against mine. “Looks like your chores await." The dip in his tone, the undercurrent of anger, forces my attention to him.

 
; "Nothing bad happens when I'm gone."

  "You don't get it, do you?"

  "Get what?" I say exasperated. "Nothing happens."

  "I fucking hate that thing," he says through gritted teeth, wrapping his fingers around mine and holding tight. "I can't tell if you're lying to me."

  I stare into his deep brown eyes. "I'm not. Why would I?"

  The frustration falls and morphs into something I don't recognize. "Right, okay, Poppy."

  The lock creaks and my door swings open, revealing the man I've come to fear the most in this evil camp. Sucking a deep breath in, I press my back against the wall, wishing I could hide in Nash's strong arms, anything to ward off the man standing in the doorway. Smiling, the general’s second takes a step in. Then another. Each step causing my breathing to falter.

  That nasty, vile smile grows on his lips. From his hand hangs a large metal bucket, water sloshing over the side as it falls to the floor.

  "Wash," he demands as his eyes roam from the hem of my covering to the top of my veiled head. "Take off."

  "What?" The wall at my back shakes. "No... what? I... the general. I'm here for the general. Only for him."

  "Off. Now. I will."

  I jump a foot in the air at the angry voice that bellows behind me. "Don't you fucking touch her!"

  The man’s yellow, glassy eyes shift from me to Nash. "I do what I want." Flicking his attention back to me, he snarls, "Off. Now."

  I can't breathe. Beneath the fabric, my hands and knees shake uncontrollably.

  Shit, what do I do? There's no way in hell I'll let his hands get anywhere near me, but then am I really going to strip and bathe in front of him? In front of Nash?

  The thought of Nash seeing me naked strikes more fear, causing tears to build behind my eyes. Not like this.

  "Fuck no, you piece of shit. She's not doing anything for you."

  The general’s second pounds his fist against the wood. The door to Nash's side swings open, allowing two men to walk through. Each grabs an arm and drags Nash to the center of his cell. Beneath the veil, tears trickle down my cheeks. I'll never be able to forget his frantic, angry glare bouncing from me to the man standing across from me.