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

  A panic-laced scream shoves from my lungs, cutting through the rapid gunfire.

  "Which way’d they go?" the general’s second hisses into my ear.

  None of the training Mac demanded I take snaps into place. Instead I claw and tear at the skin of the massive arm encircling my waist, but it does nothing. Think, Fate, think. But I can’t with my rising panic jumbling my thoughts. Until he advances forward, dragging me with him, toward the direction I last saw the man in black.

  Mustering up what little courage I've gained this past week, I dig my heels into the ground and point in the opposite direction we're heading. "That way," I wheeze as loud as I can with his arm nearly cutting me in two. "They went that way."

  Surprise overshadows panic when his arm loosens and I fall to the ground. A blip of hope spreads through me that he’ll let me go, or maybe I've somehow managed to cut a main artery with my ragged nails, causing him to slowly bleed out and that’s why he set me free.

  But just my luck, neither are true.

  One second I’m staring into the dark, planning my escape, and the next something smashes against the base of my skull, making everything go black.

  LOUD CHATTER AND LAUGHTER nearby pounds in my eardrums, pulverizing my brain. I force my eyes open a sliver only to slam them shut again to block out the brutally bright sun. Since I can’t move just yet, I figure I might as well take a quick inventory of what I can feel.

  I swallow but there’s nothing to soothe my dry throat. Darting my tongue along my lips, I find them dry and cracked. By the stinging pain, they’re probably cracked in several places at this point. And everything hurts.

  But I have to look. I have to know.

  Am I safe? Was it all worth it?

  I roll to my back with a groan and then pause, waiting for my vision to stop sparkling behind my lids. With a deep breath in, I will my lids open enough to glance around a familiar shack. But I find it empty.

  Just me.

  Alone.

  The cracks in my lips spread as a small smile moves up my cheeks and tears catch in my veil.

  They’re gone. They got out.

  I did it. I couldn’t save Destiny, but I did save them. With a little help from my friend, of course.

  Pride wells in my heart, overtaking the dread at what this means for me. Instead of focusing on what I gave up, I lean into the positive. Now when my time comes to be taken by the general, I won’t be leaving those girls behind, forced to continue living in this hell on earth.

  I did that.

  The sun shifts in the sky as I revel in the silence and allow myself to daydream. Maybe now Hermione and I can be friends. After she finds out what I've done, been brave like she is, she’ll see me as an equal. I stood up for what’s right. And maybe I'm a little better because I didn't have fucking magic on my side. Or Harry and Ron.

  Alone. I did it alone, with a little help from the mystery man.

  Okay, a lot of help.

  After the past year of being alone, I'm good with being here with the silence and peace of knowing no one can hurt me through another person again. Plus, this way no one else can be hurt by my cursed life.

  Me being alone is the way it should be.

  Reaching beneath my covering, I clasp the locket around my neck. Hopefully the CIA will keep their promise and still come in three weeks. With the girls away from here and safe, justice is back to priority number one. No way out of this mess now; that ship has sailed, so I might as well follow through with what I came here to do. Scared or not, I'll survive the next three weeks no matter what they throw at me.

  And maybe if I'm lucky, I'll muster a little more courage, build on what I already know I can conjure, and take the general out myself. Fuck the justice system back home. If hate brought me to Africa, then hate can help me kill the man who tortured and murdered my sister.

  I’m in the middle of plotting the perfect murder when elated chanting outside the shack snags my attention. Swiveling in the dirt, I rearrange to peer through the slats. Fists and guns pump into the air over and over with more shouts of excitement as a mob of men move through the camp. The boards scratch my cheek as I mash my face against the rough wood to gain a better view.

  What the hell are they doing?

  The crowd shifts, opening a small window between their legs.

  Something large and black lies at their feet, but I still can’t tell what it is. A bear? A panther? Maybe I’m lucky to have lived through the escape last night instead of being eaten by whatever predator they’ve killed.

  I move down the wall in search of a better view and peer through a larger gap four boards down.

  What the hell is...? No. No. Please no. Not him.

  Please not him.

  The rapid beat of my heart thunders in my ears as I move along the entire length of the wall, peering through each gap in search of the girls but come up empty. Black spots appear in my vision as I watch the group drag the man’s limp body across the camp. Toward me.

  I fall back on my ass and scoot across the ground to get far away from the encroaching mob of men with bloodlust in their eyes.

  They toss the unconscious man into the sectioned-off area to my right with a few kicks to the stomach and groin before slamming the door shut behind them.

  I monitor the body in silence. Should I say something? What do you say in this situation? “Hey, man, sorry for getting you captured. The food’s not bad.”

  An unwelcomed thought seeps in—surely they wouldn't have tossed him in there if he were dead. Right? Unless they're just holding onto the body to show the general their American prize. A racking shiver shoots down my spine. What if I’m stuck sharing this shitty shack with a rotting corpse for the next few weeks?

  I need to know. Dead or not dead.

  "Hey, guy," I say to the body.

  Nothing. Not a peep or sign of movement. Dead, then.

  My gaze sweeps up and down my new maybe-dead roommate. Long lean legs stretch out beneath dirty black cargo pants. A snug black T-shirt emphasizes a trim waist and strong back. Through the slats, I can make out black and blue ink stamped over every inch of exposed skin along the arm I can see.

  Damn, I wish he’d turn this way. If he’s alive, that is. Last night was too dark to even guess what he looks like.

  With a sigh, I check out the long dark hair splayed out along the ground in a knotted mess. Interesting. Didn't think tough, tatted guys like him would have girl hair. Maybe I'm delusional, but the mental image of those strong, tattooed arms raised to tie his long hair into a man bun makes an unfamiliar warmth spread below my belly.

  There’s definitely something... sexy about him.

  Damn, I hope he’s not dead.

  Shaking my head to clear out the random lusty daydream, I focus on his back once again and still, halting my own breathing to see any sign of life, but he's too far away. A sense of obligation settles in. Because of me, my actions, this man is here.

  I shift to angle my shoulder against the wooden divider between us until I find the most comfortable position to keep vigil. The least I can do is sit with him, dead or not. Is that morbid? I could be watching over a corpse, but something tells me I'm not. Would the bastards out there stand guard over a corpse?

  Only time will tell.

  Chapter 10

  Fate

  Before

  Days, weeks go by as I wait for the sexy stranger to move.

  Okay, it’s only been an hour or so, but it seems like days and weeks when you don’t know if you’re lusting over a live human or a dead body. The earlier unbearable heat dissipates as the sun sets and deep shadows of the night creep in, but still no sign of movement or sound. I’ve kept my vigil, only moving once to use the bucket in the corner. With a guy, dead or unconscious, within hearing distance, stage fright sank in, making the whole peeing process take way longer than normal. So I guess he could’ve moved in those few minutes I wasn't watching but doubtful. He still looks dead.

  Please don't
be dead.

  The guards ditched their post a while ago to join their evil comrades around the fire, but still here I sit. Waiting. Watching. Praying. Hoping.

  I don’t think I can take any more death, of people leaving craters in my heart where their love used to reside. Two deaths within a year is enough. I guess three if you count the sweet blue-eyed girl from the first day. At least I hope she's dead and not somewhere continuing to suffer through daily abuse.

  A tear streaks down my cheek beneath my veil. How depressing is the fact that my prayer is she's dead?

  "Please wake up," I whisper into the night. Through the thin material of the veil, the rough wood of the dividing wall scrapes the skin of my forehead as I rest against it and shut my eyes. "I can't take any more. Please don't be dead."

  At some point, my eyelids turn to lead, shuttering closed for longer and longer periods of time before I can yank them open again. But sleep seems like a fantastic way to make the insistent throbbing in the back of my skull stop. With a deep, resigned sigh, I give in and allow the peaceful night sounds to lull me asleep.

  It could’ve been three seconds, three minutes or three hours when a pained groan rattles from the other side of the wood divider. My lids snap open, my mind and body tensing, putting every muscle on full alert.

  Inch by inch, I shift along the divider in search of a better view between the planks. At a larger opening, I pause and watch. Another grunt rumbles through the dark, and a tattooed arm reaches out before falling hard against the dirt. His legs twitch and lift like he's testing to make sure nothing is broken, or maybe shaking out the stiffness from being in one unconscious position too long.

  With another moan, he rolls to his back and prods his face.

  "Shit," he declares.

  Staying true to my awkward self, I watch in silence, hoping it’s too dark for him to notice me. I'll say something, eventually, but this opportunity to see all of him without him knowing is quite enjoyable. Not sure when I turned into a voyeur, but who wouldn’t stare? This guy... he's interesting.

  Yeah, I'll stick with interesting, because saying a guy is hot doesn't seem appropriate in this type of situation. But he is hot. Hell, even from here—and in the dark, no less—I can tell he's built differently than the men, boys really, I'm typically around or have dated in the past. Those tatted arms look strong, his forearm nearly the size of my calf. And his chest, which he's now feeling around, is thick, just like his broad shoulders. There's definitely something manly about him.

  Great. Of course the sexiest, manliest man I’ve been within twenty feet of is when I'm a captive in Africa with a goose egg knot on the back of my head. And I smell.

  Like a creeper, I continue to watch, waiting for him to look my way but also hoping he doesn't. Hopefully his face and personality are awful, unlike the rest of him. No way I'll be the cliché woman who falls for the guy who saves her. This past year has taught me those fairy-tale endings don’t exist. They’re lies spewed out to the masses. This is real life, not some Disney movie.

  If anything, I'm Hermione. I'm smart. I'm courageous. I'm resourceful.

  At least those are the qualities I’ll hopefully harness one day.

  His head rolls to the side, casting a shadow over his face. "Well hey there, Poppy." He attempts to push off the ground but his arms give out, sending him falling back to the dirt with a grunt. On the second attempt, he successfully sits up and grips his head. "Nice digs you have here. What kind of rates do they charge?"

  He's joking. Almost dead to joking in a matter of hours. Who the hell is this guy?

  "Poppy?" I finally manage after a few beats of awkward silence as he massages his legs.

  "Later," he responds as he scoots closer to lean against the other side of the divider. "I think they broke a rib. At least my face feels like it's in one piece. Which is good since it’s my best feature." His laugh turns into a cough and then a groan as his right arm wraps around his waist.

  "Anything else?" I whisper.

  "Not sure. My legs work, so that's a positive, but my right leg hurts like hell. And fuck, do I need to piss."

  "There should be a bucket—"

  To my horror, he laughs and whips open his belt where he lays. Watching his long fingers fumble at the top button of the black pants sends heat blasting across my face, like someone doused it in lighter fluid and then set it on fire, burning my cheeks and drying my eyes. I pivot away just as the sound of him pissing fills the night.

  "Sorry, couldn't wait. How long was I out?"

  "A while," I say to my empty area, too afraid to turn back in case he's not done. "I thought you were dead."

  "I'm done, so you can look over here again. Not that I would’ve cared. Shit looks like blood."

  The earlier embarrassment fades as I turn back to him. "What? Where? Your leg?"

  "No, in my piss. Must’ve kicked me a few times in my kidneys."

  "Yeah, saw that part. Um... so what are you doing here?"

  "Later. Guards?"

  "Yeah."

  "Just fucking great." I hang my head. I'm the reason he came back, and now he's pissed that he had to come back for someone like me. Or at least that's what I'm thinking until he says, "And look at this. I asked for a king bed with a good view, and this is the shit hole they put me in. I'm going to give them one star on Yelp."

  "Did they hit your head?" I blurt. How in the hell can he be joking around? Sure, it's a fun diversion, but we’re in major shit here. "You were captured. Do you remember that part?"

  "Yeah, that part sucks, doesn't it? That was not the plan. Well, wouldn’t have been if I had a plan in the first place. And the head-hittin’ part? Not sure, Pops, but based on the okay condition of my face and the blood in my piss, I'm guessing they aimed for my torso. Trying not to hit anything vital, I’m sure."

  I’m almost too afraid to ask. "And... why do you think that?"

  Silence meets my question. On the other side of the divider, he groans and lies down in the dirt, staying clear of the massive river he created just seconds ago. "Let's talk about it tomorrow, Poppy. I could use a nap."

  Shit, they did hit his head. "I’m not Poppy. It’s Fate, remember?" Hopefully he doesn't hear the tremble in my voice.

  He’s suffering from head trauma and thinks I'm some chick named Poppy and has no idea where he is. Or... or he's straight-up mad.

  I can almost hear his smile as he says, "Sure you are. Poppy."

  Yep, definitely mad.

  THE GRIND OF METAL against metal snaps me awake. Through the sleep clouding my eyes, I see the door swing open. A man in fatigues stomps closer, his sole focus—me. The dirt scrapes and digs into my palms as I shuffle across the ground away from the approaching man. This scene isn't any different than other mornings, but then again, it is. What if they know I'm the one the man next to me was here to save? If they’ve realized who I really am, this morning might be my last.

  My back slams against the rough wood of the far wall. With nowhere else to escape, trapped in the corner of this stupid crumbling piece-of-shit shed, my head twitches back and forth in an unnatural movement, hoping the man will accept my reluctance and leave.

  No such luck.

  Yellow and brown teeth glisten in the morning light as he bends over. Thin fingers wrap around my arm and squeeze. I clamber to stand on trembling legs to keep my shoulder from being pulled out of its socket as he yanks me toward the door.

  A raspy voice calls out from my new neighbor’s side. "Pick on someone your own size, would ya?"

  I turn to search for the owner of the voice. Through the slats, my eyes lock with angry, dark brown ones.

  "Hey," he yells again, pushing up to stand but crumbling to the ground once more.

  The man holding me laughs. And just like I feared, this morning isn’t the same.

  Instead of being pulled toward the river for laundry, or the makeshift kitchen on the other side of camp, we walk three feet to the right. A guard unlocks the man in black’s
door and swings it open. Something hard slams between my shoulder blades, and I stumble deeper into the small space. Another shove before I've regained my balance and I’m falling forward. My hands and knees slam into the dirt, only for me to be hauled back so only my knees press into the dust.

  Calm, steady footsteps sound at my back. Deliberate, commanding footsteps.

  I need to be strong, have some semblance of courage, but it's too much. All of this. First only quiet tears trickle down my cheeks, but when the large ominous shadow encroaches, I lose it. Now an all-out sobbing mess, I train my gaze to the ground below my knees. I can’t watch what’s about to happen.

  It’s either his death or mine. Why else would they make such a show like this?

  If I get to choose, I want it to be mine. Damn, I hope it’s mine. To end this. End it all now. Take me out of my misery. Not only the misery of being in this shitty situation I walked into, but the second-by-second misery that has consumed every thought and moment since Destiny left me. Since Mom left me.

  I wasn't enough. I gave them everything, always put their needs before my own, and it wasn’t enough.

  Yes. End this. Please end it. Because if I wasn’t enough for my own family, I’ll never be enough for anyone.

  The general’s second stops at my right shoulder. Clarity of what's about to happen makes my sobbing subside; I'm prepared, ready, for whatever he gives me. Or so I think.

  His boots move forward, stalking toward the man in black. Eyes still fixed on the ground, I hear instead of see a punch, followed by something heavy falling to the ground.

  On each side, two other men in fatigues move past me, deeper into the rotting pen. Swallowing past the dry knot building in my throat, I gather a sliver of courage and look up to see what’s going on.

  Bad idea.

  Worst idea ever, really.

  My sobbing returns, but this time I do nothing to stay quiet. Racking breaths and cries fill the small room at the sight of the man who tried to save me being held between two men while the general’s second treats him as his very own human punching bag.