Page 76 of Finding Fate

"Shut up," I shout, covering my ears so I don't have to hear his words.

"What happened? You came back different—hell, fucking traumatized. Did they hurt you? You can tell me. I won't—"

Enough. I know what he's doing, baiting me because the anger boiling inside is better than the hollowness I admitted to earlier. I flip him the bird and turn to run, but his arms wrap around mine, holding them to my sides.

"You have to talk about it," he breathes into my ear, a shudder raking down my spine. "Get it out, Fate, or it’ll smother you whole. Tell me. I promise I won't look at you any different. It won't change anything between us, but you have to let it out. Tell me what happened."

His strong arms wrapped around me, the warmth from his chest at my back envelops me with the sense of security. Here, right here, is where I've wanted to be. "I don't want to remember." My knees buckle as the memories of that night come flooding back. Those inked arms shift, moving to my back and under my knees, hauling me tight against his chest as he walks to the couch.

I stay curled against him as he sits and leans back, dragging fingers through my hair.

"You’re so much stronger than you realize. It's just us. Tell me," he pleads.

Maybe he's right. At this point, what do I have to lose?

Keeping my eyes squeezed shut and my face buried against his chest, I stammer through that night’s events. About how I stopped counting the men who revolved through the tiny shack. How her cries haunt my dreams. How the general’s second said over and over and over, burning it into my brain, that it was my fault. And how I believe him.

With each word, each tear, his hold tightens, which should feel suffocating but somehow strengthens me.

"None of what happened was your fault. None of it. No wonder...." Warm lips press against my forehead and linger. "Please tell me you believe me. It wasn't your fault. Don't fall for their lies."

Gathering the courage to pry my eyes open, I find him staring down, brows furrowed with a deep crease between them. "I don't... I don't know. If I hadn’t—"

"Then it would’ve been a different girl, different time, but it still would’ve happened. You can't blame yourself for their actions. They will pay one day, not you. You think your life has this negative affect on the people you care about, but I see the opposite."

"How? Destiny—"

"She made her own decisions. So did your mom. None of that was due to what you did or didn't do. That girl, what happened to her, was not your fault." When I try to look away, two fingers press my chin to tip my gaze back to him. "Nothing that happened over there was your fault. Do you hear me? Nothing."

Nothing. That's a tough one to believe. Especially when another threat still lurks in the shadows, and it is, in fact, all my fault that he's after me.

"Believe it," he says. Dropping my chin, he tucks me against his chest and goes back to stroking deft fingers through my hair. We sit in peaceful silence for several minutes before he speaks again. "Come on, you need to get out of this house. Let's go for a walk."

"Huh?" I push off his chest with a questioning glance.

"You need fresh air, and I need the full story," he says with a shrug. Like I weigh no more than a feather, he lifts me off his lap and sets me on the couch. Rummaging through a pile of shoes by the front door, he tosses a pair of flip-flops my way. When he doesn't grab a pair for himself, I notice he's already wearing shoes. Strange since we’ve only hung around the house.

As I slip the flip-flops on and start toward the front door where he’s waiting, I say, "I thought we agreed no talking required."

With a wide smile that's more mischievous than happy, he replies, "Yeah well, I lied. And I'm not sorry, because I was willing to do anything to get you to stay. Still willing too, if you're having thoughts of extending your stay."

"Anything?" I say teasingly, then brush past him out the door.

My back presses against the doorframe as I'm pinned against it with his hands on my shoulders. Gliding up my neck, they cup my face, thumbs stroking along my cheekbones, heat flaring in their wake. Explosions of need bloom between my thighs. I clench them tight in an attempt to soothe the steady throb.

"Anything," he repeats with a sensual undertone. "I never want you to leave me again." Dropping his hands, he steps to the porch. "I would offer up my body as incentive to stay, but...."

Oh no. I know where this is going. Ever since he mentioned packing up my stuff, I've wondered when this would come up.

"I think there's something in those boxes that you prefer to keep you happy instead,” he continues. “A few somethings, in fact." My cheeks burn, but I can't drop his quirked-brow stare. "Not going to fucking lie, kind of jealous of one of them. So damn big."

Every inch of my body catches fire from embarrassment. "Really, you're bringing that up? Right now?"

With a smirk, he grabs my hand and turns. "So, Pops, which will it be? Us talking about your small collection of not-so-small male vibrating body parts, or where you've been the past four months and what really happened the last day we were there?"

"You're a prick, you know that?"

"I prefer clever, but you say orange and I say potato."

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