Page 62 of Finding Fate

Fate

Today

No way this is real. He’s dead. Right?

Dead or miraculously alive, either way I need to get out of here. The moment he turns and focuses out the door, I move in the opposite direction on silent feet. There has to be a way out this way.

I keep my eyes trained on their backs to ensure no one catches my escape. By the time my hand wraps around the handle of the back door, neither Nash nor the other two have turned. Their guns are still drawn, and from the way they’re staring outside, something must be happening out there.

He must be close. So close they're all on guard.

Shit. I have to get out of here.

No doubt he tracked my prints the second they were run through the system. I tried to stop them at that damn base, tried to make them understand, but they didn't. Now they know where I am, and worse, who I am. The stupid, spur-of-the-moment announcement of who I worked with and why I was there has damned me for the rest of my life. No one is safe, especially anyone I care about. More for their sake than mine, I have to get out of here.

These past few months on the run have taught me to be cautious and ready. Ready to run. And I will. I'll keep running. Especially to keep Nash safe.

Nash who’s alive. And I’ll run to keep him that way. Because if he's near me, if anyone finds out what he means to me, then he's dead like all the others. I have to go, even if the sight of him made every fear fade, the desire to collapse into his strong arms overwhelming.

I want to give it all to him. Give up this constant courage and strength I've had to drum up every day since he died. Thought he died.

Alive.

Even as the door quietly clicks closed and I take off toward the tree line, his face is the only image I see. Still a beard but clean. Those beautiful, soulful brown eyes sad and searching for any hint of life from me. His lips no longer cracked and dry but soft and full. The smells have greatly improved too.

Yes, pulled against his chest, safe in his strong arms—which look to have gotten bigger somehow—is where I want to be.

But instead I'm running. For him and those other men in the house, I run.

The warm, dry air makes it difficult to catch a full breath. I'm too used to the muggy, smothering humidity of the African jungle. Mountains rise in the distance, snow covering the peaks. For a half second I allow myself to revel in their natural beauty. I have no idea where we are but it doesn't matter. I can survive. I'll find a way—I have to. I survived Africa, and I can survive being on the run here.

I turn back to the house at the shouting of my name from a bellowing voice. Nash sprints toward me, catching up quick with each long stride. But something about the way he's running... it's like he's limping, but with the way he's gaining ground, there's no way he's injured.

Something brushes against my back, my arm.

"Fate, stop. Where in the hell do you think you're going? Stop, dammit," he shouts as he gets close enough to wrap an arm around my waist.

One foot clips the other, sending me and Nash tumbling to the ground. Air shoves from my lungs as my side slams into the hard, rocky terrain. At my back, Nash grunts a string of curse words and grips my shoulder, rolling me to my back.

"Let me go," I yell and fight against his grip. "I swear, Nash, let me fucking go."

"No," he shouts back. Catching both wrists in one large hand, he slings a leg over my hips and squeezes his thighs. "What the fucking hell, Fate? Why are you scared of me, dammit? I won’t hurt you."

I stare up into those confused brown eyes. Chest heaving, I attempt to catch my breath, but it's a challenge with his pressing weight and his closer-than-ever proximity. Everywhere he touches burns. A foreign quiver builds in my belly, heat flooding to my cheeks.

Breaking his intense stare, I turn and look to the trees. He can't know how he affects me. If he does, he'll either think I'm a stupid girl for falling for the hero of the story or return the feeling, which might be worse for him.

"I know you won't hurt me." A flash of relief sparks in his eyes. "But I'll hurt you. Let me go, Nash. Let me leave so you don't.... I can't be here. I won’t do this to you again."

The grip on my wrists eases but my arms are still pinned above my head. Leaning over, he closes the gap between us. "Could’ve sworn nothing that happened over there you actually did. Unless you took a few swings when I wasn't looking or passed out. Pretty sure those pieces of shit did it all on their own. If my memory serves me correctly, that is. It has been a while."

"It's not a damn joke," I seethe, hitting his back with my knees. A smile grows, pulling the corners of his lips up at my failed attempt to knock him off. "You know what happens to people—just let me go, Nash. Please. Let me disappear. Let me do that for you."

"Fuck. No. I've spent the last four months. Four. Months. Searching, waiting, fucking dying over here not knowing where you were. Wondering if you were hurt or scared, or hell, fucking caged up again. I'm not going to let you run away now. Not when...." His head dips, dropping his gaze from mine. "Hell, Poppy, I just got you back. Give me a few days of peace before you try to leave me wondering again. Give me that."

I need to say no, but the soul-crushing look in his eyes means I can't.

"One day. I can give you a—"

---