Finding Fate: An Intense, Fast-Paced Romantic Suspense Novel Read online

  "Nash!" Liza exclaims.

  "Sorry," I mumble, sneaking a smile to Mya, who's smiling back. "Don't listen to them. It's okay. Look at Princess Poppy back there. She's unique, don't you think? But she's rocking that unicorn hoodie, not caring what anyone thinks. Wouldn't you rather be that than a normal, boring girl."

  The leather squeaks as she rotates on the couch to look back at Pops, who's trying to act like she's not listening to our conversation even though she absolutely is.

  "Yeah, she's cool. I can see why you dig her."

  My brows shoot up in surprise. Damn. If an eleven-year-old can tell I'm in love with Pops, why can't she? My face falls at the next thought. What if she does see it and doesn't care or feel the same? The pulling away would make sense, then. "I don't want to change it, just... I like being me, but sometimes I don't like being different. That's all. Don't worry about it, Uncle Nash. I'm not."

  With that, she takes the book I discarded off the table and flips through the pages until she finds the spot she's looking for.

  Taking the hint, I push off the couch and make for the sink where Liza stands over Pops. Pink suds fill the basin as Liza runs her fingers through Pops’s long blonde—no, pink hair.

  "Want me to talk to the girl?" I ask, leaning a hip against the counter as I watch. Roughing up a little girl isn't something I'd be proud of, but it's Mya. No one messes with her. Or my sisters. And now Pops. Hell, the list of women I'm obsessively protective over is growing.

  "Pretty sure you'd end up in jail if you threatened an eleven-year-old girl," Liza says with a laugh. "She'll figure it out."

  "You know, I would’ve bought her the books. Why didn't you tell me when I was buying those?" I hook a thumb toward the coffee table. "I didn't realize things were that tight for you guys."

  "I didn't tell you because you do too much anyway. We can't always expect you to bail us out."

  "Why the fuck not?"

  She huffs and shakes her head, which makes Fate smile. "We're fine. She's fine. More people need to use the library anyway. It's a dying trend. It's just a rough patch."

  "What about that piece-of-shit ex of yours? Is he not helping out? Doesn't he have damn child support to pay?" I say through gritted teeth. Hate that damn bastard. Told her that even before him ditching her and Mya.

  "He says he doesn't have it. Can't take what's not there, I guess. There, done." After wringing out Pops’s hair a few times, Liza helps her up and wraps a towel around her shoulders. "Listen, we gotta run. I have a client coming into the salon for a perm in a bit. Send me pictures when it's dry and let me know if I need to come back and fill in any spots. But it looks good from here."

  With an unsure smile, Fate nods and clenches the towel tighter around her shoulders. "I'm sure it's great. Thank you again for... I'm ready to have this part of me back," she says with a growing smile. "I like being unique. Weird to some people, I guess."

  After a quick goodbye to Mya, Pops heads up the stairs.

  There's shit everywhere, from boxes to dirty towels to... Saran wrap? I'm picking up the kitchen when Liza says from the door, "Just so you know, I can see it."

  "See what?" I ask, looking around the kitchen for something I've missed.

  "Why you fell for her." She shoots a quick glance up the stairs. "She's pretty great, so don't be scared of telling her how you feel. I know you've pushed people away since Brandi, but—"

  "Thanks for coming over, Liza. It means a lot."

  "Right, see ya."

  Once the front door closes, I fall onto the stool and stare unseeing at the floor.

  Why the hell did she have to go and bring her up?

  Chapter 23

  Fate

  Today

  My cheeks burn from smiling so long at my reflection. The person staring back at me is me. The real me.

  Fingering a pink lock, I relish the soft texture the dye gives it. It's perfect. He's perfect.

  The books, the hair—I want it all to mean something, but I know it doesn't. As I saw downstairs with Mya, Nash is just an overprotective guy who wants to know I'm safe and help me get acclimated, nothing more.

  Ugh.

  Closing my eyes, I bury my face in my hands. Less than twenty-four hours with him and my resolve to stay away has blurred. This is a bad idea. For his sake, I need to leave before his life is once again in danger because of me. But I don't want to leave. Really, really don't want to leave. Here I'm safe and comfortable enough to figure out who I am again. And who better to do that with than the guy who helped me hold onto the core parts of me that would’ve faded away without him?

  When I tiptoe back down the stairs, everything is quiet. Not until I'm halfway down the stairs do I find him lying on the couch, eyes closed. Too bad he put a shirt on earlier. I didn't mind the view.

  As I approach the couch, he doesn’t stir, which is a little concerning since he's my current protection.

  Wait a second.

  "Why am I here?" I ask, confusion and a bit of accusation in my tone. "What's going on that you haven't told me?"

  Those brown eyes flutter open and lock with mine. "What's going on that you haven't told me?" he retorts.

  "You first."

  "Not a chance."

  "Yesterday everyone was on high alert, and even now you're carrying that thing around." I motion to the gun attached to his hip. "I know why I'm not safe, but why do you think it?"

  "Your hair looks good. Just like I pictured it. Suits you. Did you know that’s where I got Poppy from? Mya loved Trolls and the second I saw your pink hair in the pictures for the mission – bam your nickname was born. The guys gave me hell for it."

  "Don't change the subject, dammit," I shout, slamming my fists against the back of the couch, which makes him smile. "Tell me what's going on."

  "Slow down there, Poppy."

  "My name isn't Poppy, or Pops," I shout again. The building anger and release feels amazing. "Stop it with the nickname. And while you’re at it, stop being all nice and acting like...." Not knowing how to end the thought, I turn and stomp to the kitchen.

  "Acting like what?" he says at my back.

  "Why am I here?" I whisper. "I want to leave."

  "No you don't," he counters, so close his breath brushes past my ear.

  "You don’t know anything about me," I hiss and whip around to face him. I shove my palms against his chest, but he doesn't move an inch. "Just because I told you things while we were...."

  "Held captive and you were scared shitless every second of every day?"

  "Yeah, that. Just because—"

  "Stop. Say it. Say you were held captive, against your will. That you were forced to do and see shit no one should ever see."

  "No," I shout and take a step closer, putting us inches apart. "I brought that on myself. I went on my own. You were the captive, not me. I’m not a victim. I got what I expected—"

  "Bullshit!" he yells so loud that I stumble back, but he grips my shoulders, holding me in place. "It was nothing like you expected. You were a fucking prisoner, say it."

  "No." I shove against his chest again, but this time he stumbles back from the unexpected attack.

  "That night they dragged you out of there, the night everything changed. What happened?"

  "Shut up," I shout, covering my ears so I don't have to hear his words.

  "What happened? You came back different—hell, fucking traumatized. Did they hurt you? You can tell me. I won't—"

  Enough. I know what he's doing, baiting me because the anger boiling inside is better than the hollowness I admitted to earlier. I flip him the bird and turn to run, but his arms wrap around mine, holding them to my sides.

  "You have to talk about it," he breathes into my ear, a shudder raking down my spine. "Get it out, Fate, or it’ll smother you whole. Tell me. I promise I won't look at you any different. It won't change anything between us, but you have to let it out. Tell me what happened."

  His strong arms wrapped around me, the war
mth from his chest at my back envelops me with the sense of security. Here, right here, is where I've wanted to be. "I don't want to remember." My knees buckle as the memories of that night come flooding back. Those inked arms shift, moving to my back and under my knees, hauling me tight against his chest as he walks to the couch.

  I stay curled against him as he sits and leans back, dragging fingers through my hair.

  "You’re so much stronger than you realize. It's just us. Tell me," he pleads.

  Maybe he's right. At this point, what do I have to lose?

  Keeping my eyes squeezed shut and my face buried against his chest, I stammer through that night’s events. About how I stopped counting the men who revolved through the tiny shack. How her cries haunt my dreams. How the general’s second said over and over and over, burning it into my brain, that it was my fault. And how I believe him.

  With each word, each tear, his hold tightens, which should feel suffocating but somehow strengthens me.

  "None of what happened was your fault. None of it. No wonder...." Warm lips press against my forehead and linger. "Please tell me you believe me. It wasn't your fault. Don't fall for their lies."

  Gathering the courage to pry my eyes open, I find him staring down, brows furrowed with a deep crease between them. "I don't... I don't know. If I hadn’t—"

  "Then it would’ve been a different girl, different time, but it still would’ve happened. You can't blame yourself for their actions. They will pay one day, not you. You think your life has this negative affect on the people you care about, but I see the opposite."

  "How? Destiny—"

  "She made her own decisions. So did your mom. None of that was due to what you did or didn't do. That girl, what happened to her, was not your fault." When I try to look away, two fingers press my chin to tip my gaze back to him. "Nothing that happened over there was your fault. Do you hear me? Nothing."

  Nothing. That's a tough one to believe. Especially when another threat still lurks in the shadows, and it is, in fact, all my fault that he's after me.

  "Believe it," he says. Dropping my chin, he tucks me against his chest and goes back to stroking deft fingers through my hair. We sit in peaceful silence for several minutes before he speaks again. "Come on, you need to get out of this house. Let's go for a walk."

  "Huh?" I push off his chest with a questioning glance.

  "You need fresh air, and I need the full story," he says with a shrug. Like I weigh no more than a feather, he lifts me off his lap and sets me on the couch. Rummaging through a pile of shoes by the front door, he tosses a pair of flip-flops my way. When he doesn't grab a pair for himself, I notice he's already wearing shoes. Strange since we’ve only hung around the house.

  As I slip the flip-flops on and start toward the front door where he’s waiting, I say, "I thought we agreed no talking required."

  With a wide smile that's more mischievous than happy, he replies, "Yeah well, I lied. And I'm not sorry, because I was willing to do anything to get you to stay. Still willing too, if you're having thoughts of extending your stay."

  "Anything?" I say teasingly, then brush past him out the door.

  My back presses against the doorframe as I'm pinned against it with his hands on my shoulders. Gliding up my neck, they cup my face, thumbs stroking along my cheekbones, heat flaring in their wake. Explosions of need bloom between my thighs. I clench them tight in an attempt to soothe the steady throb.

  "Anything," he repeats with a sensual undertone. "I never want you to leave me again." Dropping his hands, he steps to the porch. "I would offer up my body as incentive to stay, but...."

  Oh no. I know where this is going. Ever since he mentioned packing up my stuff, I've wondered when this would come up.

  "I think there's something in those boxes that you prefer to keep you happy instead,” he continues. “A few somethings, in fact." My cheeks burn, but I can't drop his quirked-brow stare. "Not going to fucking lie, kind of jealous of one of them. So damn big."

  Every inch of my body catches fire from embarrassment. "Really, you're bringing that up? Right now?"

  With a smirk, he grabs my hand and turns. "So, Pops, which will it be? Us talking about your small collection of not-so-small male vibrating body parts, or where you've been the past four months and what really happened the last day we were there?"

  "You're a prick, you know that?"

  "I prefer clever, but you say orange and I say potato."

  "You get that saying wrong a lot. You do realize this, right?"

  "Which is it, Pops? Vibrators or last four months. Your choice."

  Neither is ideal. As I think over my choices, we walk toward the back of the property. The scenery is breathtaking, and even though the flip-flops aren't designed for hiking, the fairly flat ground is easy to maneuver along.

  "Where are we?" I ask as I stare up at a tall tree that already has the beginnings of red and orange leaves sprouting.

  "Virginia, but that's all I can tell you."

  "Please don't say you'd have to kill me if you told me."

  He gives me one of his boyish charm smiles and looks over my head. "No, I was going to say—okay, yeah, I was going to say that."

  Before he can comment with more terrible jokes, I dive into the story, telling him everything about our last day, when I believed he’d died. Well, almost everything. I conveniently leave out the part about me outing myself as a CIA operative—pretty sure he'll be pissed about that one. I go through every detail of what happened in the truck and why I ran. All that takes a majority of our hand-in-hand walk around the property.

  We’re headed back toward the house when I get to the part of where I've been the last four months. Of the two women who found me and took me in, moved me from village to village any time the general’s second came looking for the American woman who killed the general.

  "I never knew," I say as I examine the clear blue sky, "if they saved me and kept me hidden because they thought it was true, or if they'd somehow learned I was the one who saved the girls early on. Either way, they saved me, kept me alive and healthy. The burka during that time became my only line of defense against being identified. All day and night, I kept it on so not a single string of blonde hair or sliver of blue eyes would show. If it had... I owe them everything."

  Maybe it’s the fresh air, or the new life that’s bloomed with every voiced fear and memory, but a sense of being free takes hold. We continue to walk, him not saying a word about my revelations, just cracking each knuckle one at a time.

  "It explains a lot," he finally says to the ground. "Especially explains why you freaked out about the covering being taken off while you were still over there, at the Army base. And how exactly did you end up there?"

  "Every night I'd be moved from one village to another to keep the general’s second off my trail. I didn't know they were moving me closer to the base until the morning they drove me to the gates and dropped me off. They planned it out, all of them."

  "We'll pay them back one day, somehow," he mutters, and I bite back a smile. "You haven't said, but I have to ask. Did any of them ever... hurt you like they did the other girls?"

  I shake my head and bend down to pick a bright orange wildflower growing along the path. "Besides a backhand or two and a couple knocks to the head, they didn't touch me. I was lucky."

  "Lucky," he says with an incredulous laugh. "I don't think you understand the meaning of the word."

  "In comparison, yeah, I think I can use it."

  The afternoon sun warms my cheeks and arms as we continue to walk through the open field behind the house. Every now and then, he bends down to grab something and chuck it across the grass, and by the time we're at the porch stairs, we haven't spoken a word in a long while.

  I nearly stumble off the porch in surprise when he asks, "Are you scared of me?"

  Tucking my hands into the pockets of my hoodie, I shake my head and turn, but he catches my elbow.

  "Then why... yesterday,
you wouldn't let me near you, but you did...." His hand leaves my elbow to grip the back of his neck. "You were fine hugging him and letting him hold you. Why not me? Did I do something or say something that made you feel, I don't know, uncomfortable over there?"

  "What?" How in the hell could he believe that? "You have it all wrong, Nash. Just leave it alone, okay? I'm fine. We're fine. I'm not scared of you, per se."

  "Thanks for the solid reassurance there, Fate."

  Ignoring my dropped jaw at his annoyed comment, he steps past me into the house.

  Chapter 24

  Fate

  Today

  Nope. I won’t let him guilt me into telling him why I pull away. Not going to work. Not for one second. He can pout all he wants, because if I tell him, then he'll know. Which is obvious, but he can’t know how the lightest, most innocent touch from him puts every hormone in my body on high alert. I don’t want him to know how I can’t control the rapid beat of my heart with each of his looks.

  After several minutes, I step into the house but can’t find him. Rhythmic grunting and heavy breathing sound down a back hall. Cautiously, I follow the noise. I push open the first cracked door but it's only a messy, kind of smelly bedroom.

  Moving on.

  It’s behind the next door I push open that I find him.

  He's stripped off his T-shirt, leaving those ass-hugging jeans on, and bobs up and down, up and down, rep after rep of pull-ups. His tan, scarred back muscles flex and bunch with each rep, pulling me into a trance. I can't stop staring as small beads of sweat form along the column of his back and slide down his tan skin.

  "Don't be mad," I mutter.

  He doesn't respond, just drops from the metal bars. With a quick glance in my direction, his eyes narrow and then focus on the red bag hanging from the ceiling in the corner. "I get that the fucker wants you silenced because you know he killed the general." He slams one fist against the bag, then the other. Keeping his eyes on the swinging bag, he continues, "But you're over here now. He won’t come all the way here to kill you. He thinks you’re some random lonely woman, not the threat you actually are."