Finding Fate: An Intense, Fast-Paced Romantic Suspense Novel Page 7

  But I can’t. No. Not yet. I need more information than her damn fingerprints alerted our computer geek before seeing her. And a shower. Shit.

  My fingers wrap around Raider’s tatted forearm and launch us in the direction of my room, practically running for the back of the house to avoid seeing her before I’m... presentable. She’s seen me worse off, but that was then, not now. Not when I have the means to not smell like shit and at least brush my damn teeth.

  Not giving two thoughts to the verbal beating I'll be rewarded for the damn dog being in Drake’s house, I fling the door open, sending the gray pup leaping from his spot on the bed. Dobby races to us, eager to meet the new friend I brought him.

  Raider shoots a look of warning before crouching to the floor to put himself eye level with those big brown eyes. "Drake is going to flip the fuck out. He hates dogs."

  "Then don't tell him. I never planned on it. Forget the damn dog. Tell me everything you know," I demand as I shuffle around the room, pitching empty beer cans into the trash and piling dirty clothes into one central pile that resembles a mountain.

  With the floor once again visible, I turn, ready to beat the damn answers out of Raider, when a foul whiff wafts up my nose. Angling down to my chest, I give my armpit a quick sniff.

  I suppress a gag, mostly to keep Raider from yelling ‘I fucking told you so.’ Last night’s stale beer and night sweats combine to a lethal stench.

  "Shit, I need a shower."

  After an enthusiastic grunt in agreement, Raider trails me to the bathroom and leans a shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his big-ass arms, which must take hours of lifting to accomplish, while I strip for a quick rinse.

  "A little over forty-eight hours ago, her prints, registered to the file we have for her, pinged our boy Rocky. At first he didn't believe it was legit since it’d been so long. I mean fuck, at this point we all expected those damn prints to either never surface or pop up when run in some African morgue."

  The annoyed look I try to glare his way falls flat. The pain from his words, the certainty all the boys felt about us never finding her again, registers instead.

  Raider purses his lips in a thin line and nods. "Sorry, man. The prints were run at a US military base over three hundred miles from the spot where we rescued you."

  The water isn't anywhere close to warm yet, but I step in anyway to let the freezing spray clear the remnants of my earlier hangover. Hands pressed against the natural stone wall, my head hangs between my shoulders as the now-warm water cascades from my head down my back.

  "Where has she been?" Fuck, this isn't going fast enough. I need to know. Everything.

  "We don't know, Snowflake. She won't talk. Shit, the story the boys on base gave said she went fucking hysterical when they attempted to remove that damn burka."

  "What was she... why did they want it off?"

  "Make sure it was really her under there, I guess. And to... um... damn, Snowflake, she's been missing for months. They didn't even know who she was. They ended up sedating her just to conduct a basic wellness exam."

  Tense silence and steam fill the bathroom as I wait for him to continue. Either he's leaving something out intentionally, or he’s the most obtuse fucker alive.

  "And?" I ask through gritted teeth.

  Through the glass door, I notice him glance back into the bedroom and shrug like we're talking about the damn weather. "Once they got her calmed down, the base doc did a basic once-over and didn't find anything critical. She's healthy enough. The doc didn't do a rape kit. Wouldn't do it without her consent. All the blood work came back clear too, so they released her to come home."

  Fuck. Just hearing that word, knowing what those bastards did to all those women and the idea of my girl being left in their hands for four damn months, sends bloodcurdling anger through my veins. Thankful for the steam blurring the glass door, I press my back against the cool tile to anchor me to the present, hoping it’ll help steady my rapid breaths. "What else?"

  "Again, kid, we don't know. She hasn't talked to anyone and...."

  "And what?" I slam my fist against the metal nozzle and shove open the shower door. Raider stares me down as I hastily wipe off the streams of water running down my chest before attacking my long hair with the damp towel.

  "It could be PTSD. Shock. Or hell, just not trusting anyone within a few feet of her, but they told me she won't take the damn burka off. Snowflake, she flips the fuck out if anyone even tries to help her out of it."

  Leaning against the sink, I press both palms against the granite countertop and stare at my reflection.

  She's here. Alive. Terrified. And damn, if any of these boys witnessed what she has firsthand, they’d be hiding too.

  But not anymore. This ends today.

  Pops will trust me. I'll reassure her that she's safe and help her heal. Hell, maybe we can heal together. In my reflection, I catch the corners of my lips turning up. She's here. She's safe. And for half a second, I allow myself to revel in that small glorious fact. Until....

  "Wait. You're leaving shit out. Why is she here and not with the feds or that dumbass agency who gave her permission to go over there in the first place? Why here?"

  Not waiting for a response, I shoulder past him to hunt down clean clothes. It’s a miracle I find a clean pair of black BDUs in the bottom drawer. I haven't worn pants recently or these would be dirty too. I turn to face Raider, who still hasn't responded. "Tell me now."

  "You okay hearing all this, Snowflake?"

  "The fuck?" I growl and take a step toward him.

  Palms raised in surrender, Raider shakes his head. "You've been fucked in the head since you found out we got you but not her. And now she's here. Alive. Four months, Snowflake. A lot can happen in four damn months. What if the person you remember isn't who she is anymore?"

  My stomach tenses at the assumption. The bed creaks and my mattress adjusts beneath my weight. Processing his words, trying to form the best response, I slide my fingers through my still-damp hair. "It's more than that, man. When she was missing, all those hours that turned into weeks that turned into months, I was stuck. I can't think about anything other than what she was going through. Wondering if she was scared, or hurt or...." My bone-dry throat makes it hard to swallow. "Being hurt. She's here. No matter if she's the woman I grew to lo... know or someone completely different. It doesn't matter. She's here and so are we. We can help her heal."

  "And keep her safe."

  Ah, there it is. What he’s held back this entire conversation. "From?"

  "Snowflake." Raider plops on the bed to my right and stares at the bare walls. "We weren't the only ones scanning the system for when her prints registered."

  Fucking hell.

  Chapter 9

  Fate

  Before

  Soul-quaking terror isn’t the only constant in this forsaken camp. Each day operates the same as the previous. Every morning I’m startled awake after a short, restless night’s sleep only to wonder if today will be the day they kill me as I’m dragged from my girls. After chores, either kitchen or laundry, I’m tossed back into the makeshift pen. I shouldn’t complain, as being the general’s chosen bride keeps me from what the other girls are subject to: servicing the thirty-plus horny men infesting the camp.

  Then night creeps. Which you’d think would be the best since I’m left alone, but it’s not.

  At least during the day, with my mind busy, I almost forget where I am, exhaustion playing a big role in the temporary hallucination. I've never fooled myself into truly forgetting where I am, but the mundane work helps make everything too debilitating.

  But the night.

  Louder than the boisterous chirping of nocturnal bugs, their begging for help seems to never end. Nothing to distract me from their cries of pain and my utter impotence to help. An endless convoy of disgusting men drag girl after girl out only to toss them back in minutes later, bloody, crying, battered, and shredded of what sliver of humanity they've so
mehow held onto this far in our captivity.

  I can’t stop it, but I do what I can to comfort them, tending to their various cuts and bruises. But the emotional scars, which deepen each day we're here, are past all soothing whispers I offer up. My heart aches for the few girls who stopped responding altogether. They've sunk too deep in their despair to react to my desperate attempts to help. But who would blame them.

  Even through the horrors, I’ve urged them to open up about who they are, their life outside this camp. Two are like me, or so they think, recruited with the promises of love and a happy life. The others were kidnapped from their families, ripped from their mothers’ arms in a village raid. Those are the strong ones. They have a flicker of hope that someone will come save them.

  Only once did they ask about my situation, why I’m not passed around the men like they are on a daily basis. Maybe I'm too numb, but their tears of sympathy when I told them who I'm betrothed to didn't register any fear. Nor did their retelling of the general’s brutal and sadistic treatment of women.

  I didn't tell them I know what he does to women.

  That I've seen him do it on live video.

  To my baby sister.

  Tonight the shack swelters in the heat and lack of wind. Some nights the wind howls, bringing a coolness from the river, but not tonight. Sweating, struggling for deep breaths in this too-humid air, I lie awake counting the girls’ heads in the dark to make sure everyone has made it back. Not sure when they became my responsibility to protect—as much as I can, anyway—it just happened. Every night I pray they can last until help comes. If they can survive this, then maybe, with a lot of therapy and love, they can move on to live full lives. Survival is my goal.

  The once-roaring campfire outside the rotting wood door dims, signaling the men are either asleep or passed out for the night. With a relieved sigh, I lie in the dirt facing the huddled group, resting my cheek on my folded hands.

  And now I watch.

  Now I protect.

  A roar of a distant predator rumbles in the darkness, shrieks of birds echoing through the night as I watch. Turning to face the wall, I feel around the dirt and grip the white stone I found the first few days by the river while doing their laundry. With the stone, I scrape a single line down the coarse wood. At the end, I allow my hand to drop to the dirt and release the grip on the rock.

  I can’t see them in the dark, but I don’t need to. I know what’s there. Seven shaky etched marks for seven days.

  Twenty-one days to go.

  That's if the CIA keeps their word.

  With the girls asleep, no one awake to witness my weakness, I curl into a tight ball and release a hopeless sob into my awaiting hands.

  THE FAINTEST OF AIR brushing the fabric of my covering snaps me awake. At my back, the door closes on silent hinges. Every nerve ending tingles as I strain to process what’s going on while staying in the exact same position to not alert this intruder that I'm now awake. This is a first. Those bastards have never come for a girl this late into the night—or early morning, I guess.

  A large body moves on silent feet among the sleeping group, not waking a single one. I sleep with my veil down, so he can't notice me visually tracking his dark form by the light from the near full moon streaming through the rusted tin roof.

  He pauses in the center of the small room, hands on something strapped to his chest, and rotates as if he's searching something. Or someone.

  Me.

  His scan of the room pauses. Stepping over two neighboring sleeping girls, he squats directly in front of my face, balancing on the balls of his black combat boots.

  Even with me trying to regulate my breathing to appear asleep, my deep, scared pants can probably be heard back in the States. My heart hammers against my chest, making small beads of sweat form along my forehead.

  He doesn't say a word. Doesn't move. Just squats there, staring, I assume. I don't dare look up to verify.

  I let out a soundless gasp when a large hand wraps around my face, covering my mouth and nose. Unable to speak, or breathe really, I shove against the dirt to get away from the man trying to smother me, but a grip on my shoulder hauls me against him.

  "Fate Haley," says a deep American voice.

  I can’t get my own voice to work to answer him.

  "Are you Fate Haley?"

  Trembling, I nod behind the hand still wrapped around my face.

  "I'm one of the good guys and we’re here for you. Here to take you home. Now come on, let’s get you up and out. Time's short."

  He stands and grips the gun strapped across his chest. Whispering to someone I can't see, he says something about Princess Poppy being found and being extraction ready.

  One hand releases the massive gun and extends to me.

  But I don't reach back.

  My mind races overtime, trying to process the last fifteen seconds. "Why are you here?" I squeak. "It's not time."

  "Are you saying you want to stay?” He sighs and looks around the shack. “Looks like a shitty resort if you ask me." The silver moonlight reflects off his teeth in what looks like a wide smile. "Let's go, Poppy. I know it’s not time, but we need to go. Now or never."

  "The girls." I scoot back from his still-extended hand. "The girls go first."

  That hand stays lifted, waiting. "No can do there, Princess. We’re only here for you. It's all me and the boys are prepared for."

  Somewhere beneath the thick layer of fear, courage builds and pushes through, strengthening my resolve. This man doesn't understand what he's asking me to do in leaving them behind. Leaving them to a few more weeks of a miserable life before death.

  "No.” I do want to leave. Desperately want to leave this shit hole and the daily terror. Screw this dumb revenge mission I sent myself on. I'm in over my head. I want out, but not without them. “I'm not leaving without them."

  "We don't have—"

  Gripping his still-extended hand, I haul myself up, putting my face inches from his. Not caring about my smell or my rank breath, I fist his shirt and pull him close. Anger at what he’s suggesting I do overrides my normal awkwardness. "They’ve been repeatedly raped and beaten every fucking night. The youngest one is fourteen. Fourteen. They’re as good as dead if I leave them here. It’s either all of us or none of us.”

  Beneath my curled fists, his heart thunders harder. He once again scans the room, but I bet this time with more compassion and understanding for the victims he’s surrounded by.

  "Get ’em up. Tell ’em not to make a sound. Fuck, I'm gonna get my ass chewed for this," he mumbles at the end.

  Relief flows through my veins, and I relax my grip. My voice falters as I say, "Thank you."

  I crouch to the ground and start the process of waking each girl one by one. The man watches out the cracked flimsy door to the camp, only breaking his focus to turn and monitor my progress.

  Minutes later, everyone stands in line behind me, awaiting their next instructions.

  "Ready," I say to the man’s broad back.

  Whispering again to someone I can't see, he explains the change of plan. Without turning, he reaches a hand back to me.

  Stepping out of his reach, I usher the first girl to the man’s side. “Them first."

  With a grunt in obvious annoyance, he aims his gun out the door. Through the dark, a small light flickers on the other side of the camp. Hand on the first girl’s shoulder, he leans in and whispers, "Run to that light. Go." With a light shove, he urges the girl forward.

  The first steps are hesitant, and I don’t blame her, but halfway across the sleeping camp, she sprints toward the dense jungle. When she's cleared the most exposed area, the man urges the next girl forward, who doesn't hesitate in bolting toward freedom.

  Then another.

  And another.

  Only the two of us are left watching the last girl disappear into the night.

  "Thank you," I say to our savior, dipping my head in show of my heartfelt gratitude.

&nb
sp; "Thank me when we live through this," he mutters, then pulls me behind him and out of the hellhole that's been my home the last week.

  Halfway across camp, a confused yell cuts through the silence. Then another calls out, screaming in alarm. Pops of gunfire thunder through the peaceful, quiet night just as we step into the jungle.

  "Get down," he shouts and shoves me to the dirt. My teeth jar at the impact of my hands and knees slamming against roots and the hard soil. The man stays standing to fire off a few rounds before hauling me back up and dragging me behind him. We make it ten steps when I stumble over a soft mass and fall to the ground.

  A hand latches onto my bicep, yanking me back to my feet. But whatever I tripped over felt different than the other plants. Blindly searching through the debris of leaves and moist soil, my fingertips brush against something soft, covered in fabric.

  "She must’ve fallen," I shout over the approaching shouts and gunfire.

  "Get her up," he shouts back. "She’ll get us killed. We need to keep moving."

  I wrap a hand around her shoulder, readying to shake her out of the shock which has surely paralyzed her like mine wants to do me. But my hands meet with something warm and slick. I snatch it back and look up to the man who’s firing off more and more rounds into the dark.

  "She's shot."

  "Fuck," he grits out, then slings his gun behind his back. Reaching down, he scoops her up and cradles her small frame against his chest. "Run. Go!"

  I do.

  But not nearly as fast as he moves through the dense underbrush. He doesn't seem to notice the bullets whizzing by so close that leaves and bark explode just a few feet from my head. But I notice. I notice it a lot. To keep moving, I focus every thought, all my energy on my legs, forcing them to keep moving instead of locking in place from fear.

  Shit, I’ve lost him.

  I pump my arms harder, faster, trying to catch up. Then I find him, just the silhouette stopped and turned toward me like he’s waiting when something wraps around my waist and hauls me back.