Finding Fate: An Intense, Fast-Paced Romantic Suspense Novel Page 13

  THE SUN'S TOO-BRIGHT rays break through the veil to burn my dry eyes. Numbness in my shoulder and hip has spread and turned to a dull ache from sleeping in the same position all night. Still I don't move. I haven’t moved a single inch all night. Staring at the same spot on the wall seems to be the only thing my shocked body can do.

  The rustling of clothes sounds at my back and the sense of being watched prickles the hair up my neck. But not only can I not muster enough energy to turn and face him, I can't muster enough energy to care.

  "Don't let them break you," he whispers, almost like a prayer. He can’t know I'm awake, listening, but he goes on. "You're so much stronger than you realize. Fight it. Don't let them take you from me. I tried to stop it. Damn, Pops. I'm sorry I couldn't.... Don't give up."

  A few minutes of glorious silence before he speaks up again. At least now I know his one flaw: the guy can’t stop talking. "How about this. If you turn over to show me you’re alive over there and I’m not talking to a damn corpse, I'll tell you something about me."

  As interesting as it sounds, it's not enough to snap me out of my zombielike trance.

  "Fine," he says with a sad sigh. "You win. I'll still tell you, since I know you’re awake over there and listening to everything I’m saying.” How does he...? You know what? Who cares. “At least raise your hand or something so I know I'm not talking to a dead person. That would make me certifiably crazy, because I'm expecting you to respond at some point and if you're dead, you couldn't. Obviously. Poppy?"

  To ease the throbbing in my shoulder and put a pause on the insistent rambling, I roll my back to the hard ground and shift my zoned-out stare to the ceiling.

  "Good. Progress. You're alive. Not a corpse. Step in the right direction, I always say. Well I don't always say that, because that would be strange. I'm not around a lot of dead people. Wait, I take that back. The people I shoot during operations die. Well, I assume they die since I'm a good shot, but I never stop to take their pulse and hold their hand or anything like that."

  Wow. I roll my head to the side and shoot him an annoyed glare from beneath the veil.

  "Right. Sorry. I never ramble. Let's see here. What do you want to know about me? How I keep up my amazing hair?" He pauses, maybe hoping I'll actually respond. "No? Well it’s Mane n' Tail, in case you were wondering but didn't want to ask. Liza got me addicted to the stuff. She’s all about hair. You’d get along with her, probably even gang up on me or something. What else? Oh the Army ‘fired’ thing." From the middle of his pen, where he lies in his typical relaxed position, he rests his arms on his bare chest and looks to the ceiling. "With four younger sisters, I'm a bit more protective of women than others.”

  His resigned sigh tugs at my numb heart. Huh, maybe I’m not as dead inside as I thought.

  "I was five years in when shit hit the fan. The rules were brutal for someone as... open-minded as me, but somehow I made it through boot camp and survived those five years. Even though I was a smartass, I was good. Really good. They wanted me to consider special forces at one point, but I didn’t want to go that route. The Army was never a career for me, only a means to an end after high school, I guess. It was what you did in my town, you know. Anyway, I was on patrol when it happened. I rounded a corner and found three jackasses cornering a female officer between two buildings. They heard me and stopped."

  The pop of each of his knuckles is the only sound until he starts back up again. "When I approached them and asked what was going on, they said they were just hanging out and I should move on. But one look at the woman and I knew. Hell, I could almost smell her fear. I instructed the bastards to back off. They replied with several forms of ‘fuck you.’ But it escalated when one tried to bribe me to look the other way for a bit with 'a turn of my own' after they were done. I lost it. Lost it as in I don’t remember much, only that when it was done, she was safe and the three... well, two ended up staying overnight in the infirmary, and the third drank through a straw for a few months."

  "Why did that get you fired?" I ask, my voice scratchy against my dry throat.

  His head whips to the side and a small smile pulls at his lips. "Hey there, Poppy. I missed you. Don’t leave me again, okay." With what sounds like a relieved sigh, he turns to stare back at the ceiling. "One of the guys was a general’s son. It was my word against theirs, and I didn't want the female officer to be put on the stand during a trial for my career’s sake. So I was fired, or dishonorably discharged as you like to call it."

  A distant part of me wants to ask more questions, but I don't. Can't.

  "I'm here when you're ready to talk. Just know I'll listen. And Pops, I really did try to stop whatever happened. I fucking failed you when you needed me the most. Don’t leave me."

  The weight of the memories from last night presses against my chest. Instead of responding, I roll over, placing my back to him once again.

  Chapter 16

  Fate

  Before

  I’m past shock, past the point of numb. What does that make me—a somewhat awake vegetable? Breathing but not seeing, hearing, or feeling. The past few days are a blur, like I’m watching a movie of my own life while living it. Nothing matters anymore.

  Since that horrible night, Nash talks to himself, rambling on and on and hoping I’ll respond. Two nights ago, he shared the story of why their team was sent in by the CIA seven days into my captivity instead of waiting the full four weeks for extraction. Apparently, the CIA picked up on chatter that some of the locals planned to raid the small militant group in retaliation for kidnapping their girls. The CIA didn't want me caught in the crossfire, so Nash and his elite private black ops team were called in to pull me out. Then I went and screwed it all up. The raid never happened, maybe because the girls were returned to them, or maybe part of the elite team's objective was to calm down the villagers. Nash didn’t know since he's been stuck here.

  Gentle dripping on the tin roof from the constant rain is the only sound this morning. Which is odd since Nash has talked nonstop every waking second.

  Rolling against the hard ground to my side, I scan through the gap in the boards. In typical Nash fashion, he's on his back, arms and legs splayed out along the ground. And still shirtless, which of course I don’t mind, but it’s still odd for him.

  Maybe he's done trying. Wouldn't blame him; I haven’t been the best company the past few days. Just the thought smothers the last bit of hope I have... but giving up on me is the last thing Nash would do.

  I lean up on my elbows for a better view.

  He doesn't move.

  Palms and knees against the moist ground, I crawl closer to the dividing wall.

  Still not a single movement.

  Unease blooms in my belly, making my heart race.

  "Hey." My voice scratches my throat from lack of use the past few days. "Nash?"

  Ever so slowly, his eyes peel open and his head lolls to face me. "Hey there, beautiful."

  Beautiful? Shit, what did they give him? "Um, what's wrong with you?”

  "All good. Go back to sleep, Pops. And keep it down, would ya? You're yelling."

  But I'm not.

  "Nash, stop fucking around. Tell me what's wrong with you. Did they give you something?"

  "Fuck, I wish. I'm fine, Pops." His voice breaks, like each word causes him pain.

  "But you're not. So tell me, dammit. What the hell is wrong with you?" Okay, now I’m shouting.

  "You know what sucks?"

  "What?"

  "That we won’t get the best part of fighting. Makeup sex is the best sex there is. Scratch that, I bet it would all be the best with you."

  I knit my brows together beneath the veil. "What the hell—never mind." Through the streaming bits of morning light, I monitor the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "You're sick," I breathe.

  "In the head, yes, you've mentioned it."

  "No, really sick. What's wrong with you?" The wood groans when I push off to grab the cup of water by
the door. "Come over here. Get some water."

  Each inch, every move looks painful. His arms and left leg tremble as he drags himself across the dirt, but the right leg trails behind him like dead weight. He collapses in front of me with a groan.

  "Hey, come on. Drink this, okay?" I find the perfect angle after a couple attempts for more water to hit his mouth than the damp wood. "How sick are you?"

  "Started two days ago. Realized I couldn't get warm." It’s now that I notice his chattering teeth. "But I'm sweating."

  "A fever. But why?" Those big brown eyes open and focus on me, forcing a distant memory to surface. "You... you were shot. That night... the night... where?"

  "Leg," he breathes and wraps his hands around his head. "Fuck, everything hurts."

  My gaze shoots down to his right leg. "Your T-shirt. You had to make a tourniquet out of your T-shirt?”

  “Impressed?”

  Yes. “Let me see your leg. Maybe I can—"

  "What, you went to some kind of twenty-four-hour medical school recently, Pops?”

  "But maybe—"

  "I'm sorry... I’m sorry I couldn't protect you. That I couldn't get you home. I really thought I could."

  "Nash—"

  "Let me get this out, dammit. You deserve to be happy. I hope you get a chance to see that too one day."

  Breathing turns difficult as warm tears stream down my cheeks. These past few days of not talking to him, of being so damn self-absorbed, were a waste. If I'd known our time was so short....

  "Why does that sound like a goodbye?" I sob. Fabric clings to my cheeks. Damn this thing. I grip the veil and rip it off. "This isn't goodbye. You'll be okay."

  "Ah, now you're sounding like the princess of the trolls, Poppy. I knew you had it in you."

  The fever must be frying his brain. How can he call me beautiful one second and a troll the next?

  "Damn, Mya made me see Trolls ten times in the theater with her. Cost me a fucking fortune," he says with a pained smile. "I hope she grows up like you."

  "Don't say that. Don't you dare fucking want that for her. I'm a curse. Look at my sister. My mom. You. Everyone I love...." The truth settles like a weight on my shoulders. I was a fool to hope for a part of him, to think I could have a life with him. I’m destined to be alone. "Hope for her to be anything but like me, a sad, lonely, broken girl who everyone leaves behind."

  "You still don't get it, do you?" I cringe at the pain-laced features his huffed laugh causes to flash across his face. "I wish I could’ve helped you see it. See you the way I do. The way you should—fuck." In a jerking move, he angles his head to puke along the floor.

  Enough of not touching him, not comforting him. I grip the bottom of a slat, the wood biting into my palm as I yank it hard toward me. Again and again I pull until the nails groan and shift. The board snaps halfway up, a loud crack filling the room. Not caring about the guards, I toss it aside and start on the board beside it.

  It takes three cleared boards to create a space large enough to wiggle through. I squeeze through the gap over to his side and kneel beside his head, gently raising it and nestling it onto my lap. Soft brown eyes flutter open, looking to me and then the wall.

  "Did you Karate Kid the wall?"

  Crying, smiling, I shrug.

  Trembling fingers graze across his hot forehead and down his clammy cheeks. With each pass, his eyes close a bit more.

  "No, keep them open," I whisper. "You're going to be okay. You have to be okay. I need you so bad. Don’t you get it? You’ve... you’ve changed me and can’t take it back. I don’t want to do this alone anymore, Nash. Don’t leave me. "

  "I wouldn't if I had a choice. But... you can do it, Pops. For what they did to her, what they've done to you, make them pay. Finish this. If anyone can, it's you. Find what I see in you."

  With a mind of their own, my fingertips trace the edges of his full lips, memorizing each curve and dip for future dreams. "I'll try. For you... I'll try."

  “No,” he groans. “Do it for you.” A truck engine rumbles in the distance, growing louder, but I ignore everything but us with each sweep of my fingers. "Don't let them break you. You break them," he breathes. "See the you I do."

  The approaching truck drives through camp and cuts its engine. A sudden wave of heaviness settles as goosebumps sprout along my arms and legs.

  And I know the cause. "It's him," I whisper, looking back to Nash. "I'm... I’m scared."

  His clammy hand settles over mine, pressing my palm harder against his bearded face. "I know, and it's okay. Everyone gets scared. But don't let fear paralyze you. Turn it. Use it."

  Outside, the camp stirs awake. Men move through the light drizzle to surround the truck, cheering and pumping their large guns in the air over and over as they shout. A shadowed figure steps out of the passenger door and walks toward the men.

  Acting more like a politician than a general, he moves through the crowd shaking hands, talking, and laughing. His second-in-command approaches and stops, blocking the general from the rest of the men to exchange a brief handshake. The general’s head turns, following his second’s pointed finger toward our shack.

  I glance back down to Nash still in my lap, teeth chattering, eyes closed. Helpless.

  The door explodes open, slamming and then shattering against the wall. I let out a sharp scream as the man I loathe and fear steps forward, his attention zeroed in on Nash, his second-in-command a step behind.

  I need to move. Squeeze back to my side, putting more space between me and the general.

  But I can't. No, I won't. Nash needs me to protect him while he's unable to protect himself. I’ve taken care of others for the majority of my life. I can do this too. I might not be as capable at fighting as Nash, but I have to try.

  Because isn’t that all courage is? Trying when there’s a chance to lose, a chance to fail, yet still doing it? Walking through your fear, stepping into courage as a choice, not a fallback?

  Nash wants me to believe in myself. For him, I will.

  Determination swirls in my chest, in my heart and mind, building on Nash's belief in me.

  I can do this. I can fight.

  But the rising fire and fight snuff out the second they rip Nash from my lap. Grappling for him, I fall face first onto the ground.

  The two men laugh at me crying in the mud, which only makes me sob harder.

  Get up. Fight.

  Fight for him.

  Words are exchanged above me. I glance up as they haul Nash to his feet and slam his back against the farthest wall. The general holds Nash by the throat and yells in his face, but Nash doesn’t move, doesn’t fight back. Hell, his eyes don’t even open.

  Tears fall faster. We never had a chance. And here I was dreaming of my own happy ending.

  The first punch the general lands, the shock of it all, keeps me silent. When the second punch snaps his head back, I open my mouth to scream but nothing comes out. With the third, I find my voice, but it's nothing more than a squeak.

  "Stop."

  They either don't hear me or don’t care.

  "Stop hurting him," I say a little louder, a little stronger. But they pay me no attention, too busy laughing and talking over Nash's body slumped on the muddy floor.

  On shaky limbs, I push off the ground and stumble forward with arms outstretched to protect Nash, only to be tossed back across the small area like a rag doll. My ass slams against the ground, jarring my teeth.

  The bastards don’t even turn.

  From the corner, I search Nash’s limp form for any sign of life but find none. Until the general wraps his hands around Nash's right leg, eliciting an animalistic scream of pain from Nash’s lips. My palms rocket up to cover my ears as the general drags the writhing Nash to the center of the room, mere feet from where I sit, petrified.

  With Nash’s pain point obvious, the general slams his boot heel onto Nash's right calf. His back arches off the ground as another scream of pain pushes from his heaving
lungs.

  They laugh.

  The bastards fucking laugh at the pain they’re causing the man I love.

  "Stop it!" I scream and climb up the wall at my back with my palms, not trusting my shaking legs to not give out. They don't turn. Rage boils in my veins with each kick of their boots against his ribs. Sweat beads along my forehead and rolls down my temples.

  Enough.

  I turn, searching for anything to use against them. My gaze stops on one of the discarded splintered planks just on the other side of the dividing wall. Tightly gripping its end with both hands, I step toward the general and swing at his head with every drop of strength I have left.

  And miss my mark. Of course. This isn't one of my damn books.

  The board smacks his bicep, sending vibrations down the wood so hard that my grip loosens and my only weapon falls to the ground.

  In slow motion, both men’s smiles drop. Their now humorless gazes tilt up from Nash’s body and focus on me.

  Shit.

  Run. I need to run.

  The general’s first step sends me cowering to my side through the small hole I made earlier to comfort my dying friend. And here I am running, leaving him to their evil hands.

  The irony knocks the breath from my lungs as I pull to a stop. I was helpless and alone, and he ran to me. Now he's helpless and I’m running away, leaving him with men who get off on others’ pain.

  I stare at the door but don’t make a move toward it. My rapid breaths ease, settling my scattered thoughts. Each heavy step the general takes on his way from Nash's side to mine brings me closer to death, but still I don’t move. There’s no way I’ll survive this, and by the look of Nash’s limp body, neither is he. Might as well go down as the badass he thought I was.

  When the door swings open, I don't run.

  Each pound of his boots against the mud brings him closer. Still I choose not to run. Even as his hand wraps around my throat and my back slams against the wooden divider, I don't fight back.

  Instead I say what I shouldn’t. What will strike fear into his heart. Damn it, it’s the last thing I want to see in this life. I want to watch when the realization hits of who I am.