Page 23 of Finding Fate

"Yes. Four."

"Why the fuck four weeks?"

I sigh and pull my soft hair up into a makeshift ponytail. "I explained this to Matt too. Don’t worry, he was just as pissed about the time frame. The general enjoys forcing his victims to wait before claiming them. After Destiny...." Breathing turns difficult at her name. I grip the couch’s armrest to keep upright. "I’ve monitored his patterns with other recent victims. Between the two- and four-week mark, he’ll come for me. Mac, I've got this. It’ll be fine."

"You’ve no clue how not fine you'll be over there. Right now you’re focused on luring and capturing the general. What I'm terrified of is you’ll land in Africa, then come to the realization I’m right and this is a terrible plan, but it’ll be too late. Once you’re on the plane, I can't help you."

Silence fills the living room as those dark brown eyes of his stare into mine. "Do you want them to kill you?" he whispers.

I swallow hard and slink beside him onto the couch. "I don't. I really don't. But I can't keep living like this either. That day in Mom’s apartment, my life stopped. It's time for me to do more than just survive, and this is my chance. I know justice will be the turning point I need."

Shifting on the cheap fabric to face him, I wedge my bare feet between the cushions and wrap my arms around my shins. "I have a favor though."

There’s zero hesitation in his response. "Anything."

"I don't want... in case I don't come back." A shallow, shaky breath in, I steel my resolve. "I can't stomach the idea of Dobby being in a kennel or with someone I don't trust. Will you take care of him while I’m gone? I know it's asking a lot. He’s not small and—"

Mac’s large hand wraps around my thin arm and urges me to him. Curling his muscular arms around my petite frame, he gives me a tight squeeze, holding me snug against his side. "Of course, Fate. Anything. You know I'd do anything for you. Just promise me you'll come home. Every second you're over there, fight to make it home. Promise me."

I want to say yes. Mostly because if I do, then the fear and pain in his voice might fade.

But I can't.

I don’t want to make a promise I’m not positive I can uphold.

**

AND I THOUGHT MY PINKhair caused people to stare. Moving through the airport, the blatant hateful stares and sneers at my head to toe covering follow me each step closer to the terminal. The not-so-quiet whispers prick at my already frail self-esteem. However, minus the death stares, the veil does offer the perfect shield against common social interactions expected in the bustling airport.

Each step down the Jetway sends my pulse racing faster and builds nervous tension in my gut, making me nauseous. Hate has brought me this far, but I must channel the type of courage I admire in my favorite fictional characters. Courage will bring me home.

The row before mine, a fat elbow swings out, nailing my thigh. I stumble forward and turn expectantly for an apology only to receive a middle finger instead.

Right. Damn tool. Hope he chokes on his free peanuts midflight and no one comes to his rescue.

Situated in the middle seat of the large international plane, I click the seat belt and close my eyes as exhaustion from the past few brutal hours sink in. Getting everything prepared for the long-term departure proved more of a challenge than I expected. At least airport security was a breeze with the legit passport, courtesy of the CIA, with Faith’s fake name.

Saying goodbye to Dobby and then sobbing on the hardwood floor after Mac closed the door behind them wasn't something I’d expected, but it happened. When did I become such a crier? Was I a crier before my revenge mission and just don't remember?

After he left, a few items still needed my attention. The most important to secure my files.

What I told Matt about the file was partially truthful. I downloaded everything I’ve gathered on General Hammar and Jace to an encrypted online file, with a video embedded for Mac, translating the data and how he can use it if I’m not around to help. And before leaving for the airport, I embedded the file into Mac’s computer. Hidden well enough that he won’t know it’s even there until the parameters I created around my fingerprints trigger, which will start an autodecryption and alert Mac of my whereabouts and the file.

Pretty clever, if I do say so myself. It covers all the bases in case I don’t make it home.

I sigh and attempt to think happy thoughts to get through this next hurdle of my journey. Get through the thirteen-hour flight. My first flight. Ever.

At least someone thought about this first stumbling block. Mac turned into my drug-dealing savior, leaving two sleeping pills on the kitchen counter with a nod and frown before taking Dobby.

Good ole Mac.

So attractive. So nice. So smart.

So not my type.

An instructional video plays on the seatback in front of me. My eyes grow heavy as the woman’s voice mimics Charlie Brown's mom, mumbling incoherent words.

Not caring about an emergency water landing scenario and exit protocol on the useless-looking rafts, I give in to the pull and fall asleep.

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