Page 122 of Finding Fate

Fate

Today

He's going to killme.

With one hand over my wrists, pinning them to the bed, and the other pointing his gun against my temple to keep me silent, Matt smiles down, knowing he has me trapped. Fear paralyzes any thoughts of how to escape his grasp, leaving me lying here staring up at the man who will soon murder me.

"I really did try to stop you. Even offered to date you, which most women would’ve jumped on, but oh, not you. Which was surprising since a lonely computer geek like you would never have a shot at someone like me in any other scenario. But you didn't take me up on my offer, and now we're here. How you got this far is a credit to your skills. After watching you keep me and Jace out of Mac’s files, I realized what an amateur Jace was. And I thought I was good but you’re better."

"Why?" I croak.

"Seriously? You haven't figured that one out by now? Money. It's all about money," he half-sings, half-mumbles. "What you saw in Jace's accounts was only a measly 10 percent of our fee. Kept him happy, but not too much to where he could stop. It's crazy—once I got him hooked on greed, he couldn’t get out. It’s an addiction. I'd know." He smiles. "I really didn't want to kill you. You have to know that. I hate doing the dirty work, but Jace fucked up your whole end game. Actually your boyfriend and his fucking boss did. But soon they’ll find out the inside guy isn’t the CIA bastard and keep digging, eventually leading to me. All because of you."

"Fuck you," I slur, taking more energy than it should.

The edges of my vision darken. Fuck, I have to calm down, ease my breathing to get more air into my lungs. I cannot pass out. I will not pass out and make this easy for him. No, I have to fight, have to give Nash enough time to get back in here and save me. He’ll save me. He’ll come back. I want a future with him. I want a life not filled with guilt and hate driving my every move. I want a family. I want him.

I want to live.

Repeating those four words over and over, I calm my breathing enough to clear my vision and think clearly.

Keep him talking. The more time he revels in his own egotistical praises, the more time I have to form a plan.

"I wanted to, remember?" he says with a growing smile. “Now be a good girl and lie still."

With one hand still holding the gun, he releases my wrists to pull a discarded pillow from the floor. Eyes wide, I watch in horror as he raises it toward my face.

"You won't get away with this. They'll catch you. They'll kill you."

"Wrong. By the time they realized you didn’t actually die from complications, I'll be halfway to a private airstrip where a plane’s waiting. Let’s make this quick, shall we? I should already be on the fucking plane, but you have to pay first. You fucked up a great thing, you know that?" Hate fills his intense stare as a sinister smile pulls at his lips. “Goodbye, Fate. Hope your sister was worth it.”

Matt leans forward, pillow first.

I frantically glance around the room in search of anything to derail his murder plan, my gaze falling on the heavy plastic tray still full of the food I haven't touched. The coarse material of the pillowcase brushes against my nose and covers my nostrils. Taking a deep breath in, I hold on to possibly the last breath I'll ever take.

One Mississippi.

I flail around, seemingly haphazardly, but with each move of my arm, I reach an inch farther to the left.

Two Mississippi.

The tip of my index finger brushes against the rolling table where the tray, my only weapon, sits.

Three Mississippi.

The pillow presses harder against my face. Four fingers pull the tray closer to gain a better grip.

Four Mississippi.

All the stored air whooshes from my lungs at something hard jamming into my stomach. I have one chance to live, one chance to fight.

And I'm taking it.

The tray wiggles in my soft grip but I will it toward Matt. I can't see where I hit, but the loud curse and ability to breathe from the pillow easing a fraction tells me I hit something sensitive. Again I launch the tray toward him, harder this time, fueled by anger, hate, and a small, male voice in the back of my head telling me I'm a badass.

The pillow falls completely and I suck in a deep breath, coughing.

It happens faster than my reflexes can keep up. The tray and pillow both clatter to the ground, allowing me to see the gun aimed at my head. Blood trickles from a gash along his cheek.

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