Page 48 of Finding Fate

I stare into his deep brown eyes. "I'm not. Why would I?"

The frustration falls and morphs into something I don't recognize. "Right, okay, Poppy."

The lock creaks and my door swings open, revealing the man I've come to fear the most in this evil camp. Sucking a deep breath in, I press my back against the wall, wishing I could hide in Nash's strong arms, anything to ward off the man standing in the doorway. Smiling, the general’s second takes a step in. Then another. Each step causing my breathing to falter.

That nasty, vile smile grows on his lips. From his hand hangs a large metal bucket, water sloshing over the side as it falls to the floor.

"Wash," he demands as his eyes roam from the hem of my covering to the top of my veiled head. "Take off."

"What?" The wall at my back shakes. "No... what? I... the general. I'm here for the general. Only for him."

"Off. Now. I will."

I jump a foot in the air at the angry voice that bellows behind me. "Don't you fucking touch her!"

The man’s yellow, glassy eyes shift from me to Nash. "I do what I want." Flicking his attention back to me, he snarls, "Off. Now."

I can't breathe. Beneath the fabric, my hands and knees shake uncontrollably.

Shit, what do I do? There's no way in hell I'll let his hands get anywhere near me, but then am I really going to strip and bathe in front of him? In front of Nash?

The thought of Nash seeing me naked strikes more fear, causing tears to build behind my eyes. Not like this.

"Fuck no, you piece of shit. She's not doing anything for you."

The general’s second pounds his fist against the wood. The door to Nash's side swings open, allowing two men to walk through. Each grabs an arm and drags Nash to the center of his cell. Beneath the veil, tears trickle down my cheeks. I'll never be able to forget his frantic, angry glare bouncing from me to the man standing across from me.

With my attention diverted, I don't notice the general’s second before it's too late. The veil and some chunks of hair rip from my head and float to the floor, exposing me. Warm, moist air hits my skin just as a drenching splash of water covers me from head to foot.

The unexpected assault sends water rushing down my nose and throat. Through my coughing, Nash bellows a unique string of curse words at the man inflicting my misery.

"Take it off," the general’s second demands, then takes a sip from a metal canteen.

"Don't do it," Nash shouts, but he’s silenced by a fist to his stomach.

No way I'm letting that man close enough to touch me again. I try to tell myself if it’s on my own terms, it's not nearly as demeaning. ‘Try’ being the key word. With each inch the fabric slides over my fair skin, I channel the inner badass Nash thinks I am. Maybe if I believe it enough, the strength from the title will seep in.

The soft blue material flutters to the floor, piling on the ground. Without the covering, my shorts and Strawberry Shortcake T-shirt stick out like a sore thumb, projecting my Americanness in bright pink fabric. Not allowing my gaze to shoot right, I stare down the man who's trying his hardest to take what little bits of self-respect I have left.

Yellowed eyes roam from my tennis shoes to the rat’s nest that used to be long blonde hair. His single step closer spins Nash into a rage.

At the commotion, I turn to see Nash launching one of the men holding him across the room and knocking the other unconscious with one punch to the jaw. My heart, already in overdrive, pounds harder, faster against my chest at the scene.

Hell.

It all happens in a matter of seconds. With both men down, I expect the general’s second to call for help as Nash storms out of his cell, racing toward me, but he doesn't.

No, what he does is worse. Much worse.

Nash busts through the door in a fury, ready to kill, but skids to a halt two feet from the general’s second at the sight of his large silver gun.

Pointed at me.

Trembling, arms up, I stare down the hollow gun barrel.

"Stop." Nash's voice shakes as he keeps his eyes locked on the gun, on the finger lightly grasping the trigger that would take my life quicker than any of us can blink. "You don't want her. You want me." His chest heaves up and down with each labored breath.

"No. Want the girls. Where they?" the evil incarnate man sneers. A resounding click sounds through the little space. Even an idiot who knows nothing about guns, like me, knows what that means.

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