Page 17 of Understanding Fate

The fuck they will.

“We can’t let that happen,” Jake states, his tone furious, his stare on me. “Bri belongs with Cain.”

Yes, she fucking does.

“Then we need her to agree. I told her she had until the new year to decide. Cain, you will need to let her know that’s no longer an option. She has 72 hours to make her choice, or there’s a chance the LLC will make it for her,” Dante finishes, warning in his tone.

No one will take her choice away. I won’t allow it, but I can’t give her any more time.

I’m sorry, Firefly.

Chapter 7

Ghost

Stakeouts used to be effortless. Observing people as they go through their day was as simple as breathing. If I were to guess, it was easy because I didn’t care. It wasn’t my job to care. My job was to learn their behavior, mold myself to integrate seamlessly into that environment, and execute the contract, whatever that meant.

Following Brielle to Boston Digital didn’t feel anything like those contracts, and it is impossible not to care what happens to her. She is my shot at changing the future.

My only shot.

I had the vision again last night. I arrive at an apartment I’ve never been to and find the person I’m looking for missing. Instinctively, I know it's my Mate, though I don’t know how I know this or whether we’ve Mated. I just know she’s supposed to be there, but she isn’t.

Flashes transport me to another scene where I’m walking into a trap. I get no context; I simply know that I’ve accepted that I will be captured or killed. Brielle’s face flashes into my mind, and she speaks so clearly that it’s as if she is in front of me.

“This is your chance, Casper. The keycard is attached to his belt loop and secured in his front pocket. We’re running out of time.”

She disappears, and I find myself alone in an interrogation cell, silver cuffs at my wrists and a solid silver chain connecting me to the wall. Someone enters, and I spot the lanyard immediately. The man doesn’t speak, and I don’t get to see his face before it flashes again, and I’m running out of a building, blood covering my hands, which clutch the keycard.

Dante drives up, and I pass the card to Cain in the passenger seat before pivoting to jump in the back of a second black SUV. Immediately, relief fills me, and I know he will get her out. As we speed off to the rendezvous point, I wipe the blood onto my black fatigues. Brielle will use her access to release my Mate, and Cain will get them both out. The plan is working. As the thought enters my mind, headlights illuminate the windshield, the tires screech, and the wheel turns too late, causing us to slam into the oncoming vehicle, and I fly head-first, right through the glass.

The doors to Boston Digital open, Brielle walks out with three coworkers, and I shake myself back into the present.

She was supposed to stay in the damn building.

How can I protect her if she can’t follow basic fucking instructions?

Her eyes scan the street. Whether she’s looking for threats or me, I don’t know, but at least she’s trying to be aware. She won’t spot me, even knowing I’m here, which means she wouldn’t spot anyone else either, but she gets a gold star for trying.

My attention shifts to the few people out in this weather. No one appears to be paying them any attention, but I wait until they are several blocks ahead before I move to follow. Giving them space will allow me to see who may be after her, and the tracking device I attached to her boot this morning prevents me from losing her if they make a turn I don’t anticipate.

Movement across the street pulls my attention, and I slow, looking into a shop window as if deciding if I’m planning to stop in. Making a fake call, I bring my phone to my ear, click a few pictures, and allow whoever it is a chance to think they are the only ones following her.

Once their movement is out of sight, I look at the photos. Two men leave a coffee shop across from her building. I recognize one of them immediately as the man from the flight, and I make an actual phone call this time. It rings as I follow their path, relaxing some as I wait for an answer.

Come on, Dante. Pick up.

When he doesn’t, I dial his office number and insert my earpiece, allowing me to use my phone to follow the tracker.

“VP Securities, this is Evelyn. How may I direct your call?” a courteous voice answers.

“Mr. Stone, please,” I respond, trying to keep my voice low.

“Of course, Sir, just one moment.”

Light hold music comes on a moment before the call is connected.

“Mr. Stone’s office, this is Quinn speaking,” a woman says. “How can I…”

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