Page 51 of Finding Fate

Fate

Before

Night bugs chirp andanimals shriek in the darkness. For once it's a decent temperature for comfortable sleep, but I’m not—asleep, that is. Here I am wide awake, overanalyzing today’s events with Nash. You’d think I’d be replaying the gun in my face, but nope, not me. I’m overthinking my hot neighbor rejecting me when I could’ve sworn.... I’m even worse at picking up on social cues than I realized, I guess.

We haven't spoken a word since his demand to put my damn burka back on, which now feels more suffocating than ever after the earlier reprieve. Somehow we went from joking to awkward in a matter of minutes. His touch shouldn't have affected me as deep as it did. Not here. Not him. He's not a bad guy, obviously, but just not the type of guy I should fall for. And again, like I keep reminding myself, I'm not falling for Prince Charming who came to save the... huh, what would that make me? Guess I'm kind of a mix between Cinderella and Belle.

Either way, I need to stop swooning over his gorgeousness. And the way he kicked the ass of those four guys without breaking a sweat. And those bad boy tattoos covering the sweet feminist lying within.

Shit. I need to get it together. I'm not the type of girl someone like Nash wants. He can get any girl back home with his cocky grin and soft brown eyes that make you want to sigh and smile. His half chuckle, half barking laugh annoyed the hell out of me at first, but now it's so him that anything else would be ridiculous.

So, what are we? Friends? I would say he's like Mac, but I'm not attracted to Mac. Mac doesn't make my insides tingle and heart race with every stolen glance. Mac doesn’t make me want—no, need his hands and lips all over my body unlike anyone before.

No, all that’s Nash.

And what am I to him? A damn regret.

Sometimes at night, I allow myself to daydream that I'm the kind of girl he would fall for. That he finds my weirdness beautiful and welcome compared to the blonde bimbos he's dated in the past—speculation, of course, since he hasn’t mentioned a peep about this girlfriend of his. That I'm the girl he actually wants to mean something and leave a mark so deep I'm permanently branded in his memory.

But that's just a daydream.

He's a good guy. A friend. A hot friend. A hot, funny friend.

Hell.

In the dark, I rub the bridge of my nose and sigh. There’s no way for this to end positive. Either I die here, or I go home brokenhearted still pining for the man who saved me. And if the past year has taught me anything, it’s that just breathing doesn’t make you alive.

The deep rumble of an approaching truck barrels through the dark, snapping Nash awake. "What's going on?" he asks and stands. Staring through the cracks, he monitors the camp activity.

"I don't know." And that's the truth, but the tension in my gut says it's nothing good. Surprises here, anything out of our normal routine, never are.

The rumble grows louder before a pair of headlights blasts through the thick trees. The driver pulls into the middle of camp and cuts the engine. The general’s second steps out of the passenger door, staring through the firelight toward our pen. He shouts something, sending two men into action, rounding the truck to pull something out of the bed.

For every step he takes toward us, I take one back until he's at the door and my back presses against the opposite wall.

"Nash," I whisper.

But he doesn't have time to respond. The general’s second steps through the now-open door and marches across the dirt, tightening a viselike grip around my bicep.

"Let her go," Nash growls from the other side. "Don't you fucking touch her, you piece of shit."

Not paying him any attention, the man yanks so hard my feet fly out from underneath me. Bolts of sharp pain shoot up my arm into my shoulder as I'm dragged across the dirt.

No. I’m not ready. Please not yet. Not now. I want one more night to dream of him. Of pretending my dreams might come true.

I kick and scream, attempting to get any traction I can as Nash bellows my name over and over. Splintering wood makes me pause to focus on the shaking shack. A wall explodes, followed by a barreling Nash falling to the ground amongst the rubble. Like he didn't just bust through a wall, he's on his feet in a flash and running for me.

A gunshot rattles my eardrums. To my horror, Nash stumbles to the ground with a grunt of pain. All fight leaves me, my body limp, not caring where I'm taken as I watch him push up only to stumble a few steps before being tackled by several men.

"Let me go," I beg. I need to help him, save him.

The men around camp stare but don't move to help. Not surprising.

"Please. Please help me." My voice breaks, making my words almost inaudible.

"You will see. What you did. You pay," the general’s second says above me.

On the other side of camp, we pause outside another piece-of-shit shack. I'm tossed in, the room spinning, and land hard on the soft soil. I shove my palms against the ground, shuffling along to put as much distance as possible between me and the man standing in the doorway.

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