Fate Book

  “Look out your window,” he said.

  My pulse revved as I walked over and looked down at the sidewalk. The tall, dark shadow of a man leaned against a motorcycle of gleaming chrome under the moonlit sky.

  “I won’t be far, Dakota.” Had he meant that as a threat? Or to comfort me?

  I nodded and backed away from the blinds.

  “Now get some rest,” he commanded.

  The call ended, and I sat on the bed. “This isn’t happening. He’s not real…”

  Afterward, I lay there, trying to solve the puzzle, but got nowhere. Eventually, I drifted off and dreamed of another life. I imagined it was the one I might’ve had if things hadn’t taken such a drastic turn. Instead of being hit by a car, I showed up at school and ran into Janice outside of homeroom. She and her friends laughed at me, which I expected, but when I saw Dax’s face as I entered the class, that’s when it really stung. Maybe it was pity or disdain, but the look in his eyes made me feel hollow. Ashamed.

  Maybe my new alternate reality wasn’t so bad after all.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Friday.

  “Honey, I’m leaving for work now,” my mother’s calm and cheery voice infiltrated my deep sleep. “Mandy also left you a note—she stopped by before school, but I didn’t want to wake you.”

  I looked at my nightstand, but there was still no clock so I looked at my phone instead. It was well past noon.

  “And,” she added, “your father texted this morning. Says he’ll FaceTime you as soon as he checks into his hotel in Shanghai. Probably around 10:00 p.m. our time.”

  He’d been in Australia earlier in the week, so I knew that meant he’d be tired. But he generally Skyped or FaceTimed with me every two weeks. In another month he was due home, so I’d see him.

  “Okay. Rest.” She kissed my forehead. “I love you, honey.”

  “Wait. Mom.”

  She was almost to the doorway. “Uh-huh?”

  “It’s about Santiago.”

  She smiled. “He’s in the kitchen, making you breakfast.”

  “He is?”

  “He called this morning and said his schedule freed up so he asked to keep you company.”

  Terrified, I just stared. I didn’t know what to say. This was bad. Really, really bad. What if this guy didn’t leave? Would I have to run? Give up my life to get away from him? Not that my current life was oh-so-wonderful, but I had plans. College. My new life.

  I sighed deeply. How the hell did I get myself into this? Just a few days ago, the most important things in my life were telling off some stupid girl and getting a guy to smile at me. None of that seemed important now. My entire life had taken a trip down the rabbit hole, and I just wanted to dig myself out before it ruined my plans for a future. I deserved the happiness that awaited me. I’d worked damned hard for it.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  I knew Santiago was in the other room. If I told her the truth—or what I believed to be the truth—would Santiago really tell her about my dad? Would he really hurt me?

  Shit. “Nothing. I guess I’m still freaked out,” I said.

  “That’s a very normal reaction. You almost died yesterday,” she replied. “But you have nothing to worry about. You’re safe. Alive. And that Janice girl is in custody. If she ever comes near you again, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  Wow. I’d never heard my mom say an angry word about anyone.

  I bobbed my head. “Can you come home early tonight?” I didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary with Santiago.

  Her sparkling blue eyes studied me for a moment. “Okay. I’ll do my best, but I want you in bed—alone—before I get home.”

  Alone? Did she seriously think I was sleeping with that scary guy? “Mom, you really don’t have to worry about that.”

  She looked at me as if I had not one, not two, but three heads growing from my neck.

  “What?” I asked defensively.

  “I was young once, too, Dakota. And your boyfriend is no slouch.”

  “Huh?” Had she just call my “boyfriend” hot?

  “Honey,” she warned, “do I look like an idiot? Just promise you’ll be safe, okay?”

  “No. It’s just that I—”

  “Ooh.” My mom glanced at her watch. “Gotta go. See you tonight, honey.”

  “But—” she disappeared.

  I lay back in bed and stared at the ceiling. This was all just so dang bizarre, and the gift of a full night of sleep hadn’t changed that one bit.

  “Nice pajamas.”

  I popped up on my elbows.

  Santiago’s intimidating, well-muscled frame occupied the doorway. He wore black leather boots, a navy blue tee, and faded button flies that hugged his powerful legs. I didn’t want to acknowledge how looking at him made me feel things I had no business feeling. But that would be like trying to ignore a truck parked on your face.

  He bowed his head. “Good morning, Dakota,” he said in that deep, almost too-masculine-to-be-true voice with the thick Spanish accent.

  “I…I…”

  “We’re back to stuttering again, are we?”

  I nodded, and he smiled as if I amused him.

  “Get dressed—I have business to take care of today, so you’ll be going to my place after you eat.”

  He had a place? “Your place?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why am I going there?”

  Anger flickered in his eyes. “Because I can’t leave you here alone. My house is…” he paused, carefully considering his words, “in the hills, about fifteen minutes from here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t understand what?” he asked.

  “Why you think I’d leave here and go anywhere with you?”

  “Thought I’d answered that question already. Only, I’ll add to it that if you don’t come willingly, I’ll drag you. Get dressed.” He left and closed the door behind him.

  Oh crap. I didn’t want to go anywhere with him. What if his house had a basement with my name on it? And would he really drag me out of my home, kicking and screaming? No. Something told me this guy didn’t want to be noticed. He lived in the shadows.

  A ghost…

  I decided that no matter what, staying in my pajamas was not going to be helpful. I threw on my favorite jeans and a tee and then pulled my hair back into a ponytail.

  Suddenly, I heard a loud crash from somewhere inside the house. I placed my ear to my bedroom door. The ruckus continued. Then I heard grunting and an “Ahhh!”

  I yanked open the door and went into the hallway. The sound was actually coming from my mother’s bedroom only two doors down.

  I ran and looked inside, hoping and praying it wasn’t my mother making that awful sound.

  “Oh my God!” I screamed. Santiago was on top of a man, pounding him in the face. I couldn’t see the guy well, but he appeared to be wearing some sort of blue work uniform, like those guys from the electric company.

  Santiago looked up at me. “Go to your room and lock the door. Don’t come out until I get you,” he screamed.

  I couldn’t move.

  “Do it!” he commanded.

  I found my legs and scrambled to my bedroom, locking the door behind me. As an extra measure, I went into my private bathroom and locked that door, too. The house fell into an eerie silence, and I vacillated between holding my breath and panting. I could only imagine what was happening. Santiago was going to kill the man, right there in my mother’s bedroom.

  Oh my God. What do I do?

  Several minutes passed before I womaned up, went back into my room, and grabbed my phone next to my bed. I was about to hit 911 when I heard the sirens. I looked out my window at the two police cars pulling up. Had the neighbors heard the noise?

  Thank God.

  Deep voices rumbled through the house, and I wondered if they were taking Santiago away along with whomever he’d been beating to death. One could only hope. r />
  What felt like an hour passed before a light knock on the door startled me from my state of paralysis. “Dakota. It’s safe now,” came Santiago’s deep voice. He knocked again. “Dakota? Open up.”

  I slowly unlocked the door and turned the handle, cracking open the door.

  Santiago’s intense gaze greeted me. “The police are here,” he said. “They want to speak to you.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Some asshole burglar. Nothing to be afraid of,” he replied.

  “What? Someone just broke into my house?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Thankfully,” he mumbled.

  “I’m not following. You’re happy someone tried to rob us while I was home?”

  He shrugged. “Come on. The police are waiting.” Santiago marched downstairs, and I followed. The living room, a sort of ode-to-white shrine because my mother liked to meditate in there, crawled with uniformed people.

  “Hello Dakota, I’m officer Melrose,” said the shorter, blond policeman.

  I shook his hand.

  “I understand you’re not feeling well after yesterday’s little incident, so Santiago’s asked that we don’t take much of your time,” he said. “Can you tell me what you saw?”

  Santiago’s asked? Since when were the police so accommodating?

  Santiago moved to my side and placed his arm around me. “It’s okay, Dakota. Don’t be afraid,” he whispered in my ear.

  Afraid? I was so frenetic I thought I might actually pee myself. “I—I—heard a crash and then saw Santiago beating some man in my mother’s bedroom,” I managed to eke out.

  “Thank you, that’s all I need,” the officer said.

  I was about to throw myself at the officer’s mercy, beg him to help me, when he turned to Santiago. “Can’t thank you enough for catching this guy. He fits the description of someone who’s wanted for rape, murder, and ten counts of burglary.”

  “Rape? Murder?” I blurted out.

  “A woman walked in on him while he was cleaning her out,” said the officer.

  How horrible. Could that have been me?

  “No problem,” Santiago said. “Thanks for showing up so quickly.”

  “That’s what we’re here for,” Officer Melrose said. “After yesterday, I hate to ask you to come in again, but will Monday work to make a formal statement?”

  So they already knew Santiago because he’d been to the station after Janice ran me over.

  “No problem. Thanks.” Santiago shook his hand.

  Officer Melrose looked at me. “You’ve got a really good guy there, Dakota. I’d hang on to that one.”

  I stood there completely flabbergasted as the officers left the house.

  Santiago’s phone rang, and he quickly answered it. “Yeah?” He listened for a few moments. “No.” He listened some more. “Of course.” He hung up the phone.

  “What the hell just happened?” I asked. And who was he speaking to?

  “You got lucky. That’s what happened,” he replied.

  “Some guy broke in and my stalker—who’s holding me prisoner, by the way—happened to catch him and beat the crap out of him. Not sure I’d call that luck.”

  Santiago brushed his hand through his messy, dark hair, and I couldn’t help noticing how his generous biceps flexed as he did this.

  I’m an idiot.

  “My mother was killed by an intruder,” he said matter-of-factly. “I found her facedown on the kitchen floor when I was ten. So, yeah, I call it luck.”

  I gasped. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

  He shrugged. “So am I. They never caught the guy.”

  What a tragic story. I couldn’t imagine how he felt, never getting justice for something like that. I wondered if that had something to do with why he was with me; however, when I jammed the clue in with the other pieces, the puzzle remained scrambled. He had a past, a tormented one that haunted him. Still didn’t explain why he was invading my life or threatening me not to squeal.

  Suddenly, my stomach lurched, and I felt my legs giving out. Santiago caught me before I hit the floor.

  He scooped me up in his arms, and though I didn’t black out, the dizziness and pounding in my head made it impossible to open my eyes. He held me tightly and carried me up the stairs. I heard the pounding of Santiago’s heart against his chest, and I felt the warmth of his body against mine. I couldn’t deny it felt strangely comforting. Yes, he was real. He had to be. Ghosts didn’t have heartbeats and radiate heat. Ghosts didn’t get phone calls or casually speak of their dead mothers.

  “You’re all right, Dakota,” he whispered. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  Had he meant me to hear that? Or did he think I was out cold?

  I remained perfectly still, hoping he might reveal something more, another piece of the puzzle.

  He laid me down on my bed and ran his hand over my face before checking my pulse. “You’re strong, Dakota. Just like I knew you would be.”

  He knew I would be? Like he’d been planning to meet me? But I’d randomly found his picture.

  Then I felt something I didn’t expect. His lips brushed across my cheek. And while I didn’t want to admit it, something about the gentleness sent tiny waves of pinpricks charging through my entire body. I felt like I’d been licked by a hungry, dangerous lion. It felt fucking wonderful.

  I gasped and opened my eyes. Santiago immediately straightened up, startled by my abrupt awakening.

  He stared at my face for a moment, studying me with what could only be interpreted as some sort of admiration. Then, as if catching himself doing something he shouldn’t, he started to turn away. “You haven’t eaten yet; I’ll be back with those pancakes I made you. Then we’re leaving.”

  He made me pancakes? This was all too much. Too bizarre. He threatened me, protected me, made me breakfast. He watched over me like an overzealous boyfriend.

  “Wait!” I sat up, and I could see from the look on his face that his patience was being tried. “Please, whatever is going on, whatever is happening, I need to know.”

  “Know what?” he growled.

  “Who are you?”

  His fists clenched into tight little balls. “I told you, stop asking.”

  I held out my palms. “I don’t know what’s happened or what I’ve done to you—I mean, yes, I stole your photo—and I’m sorry—but other than that, I have no clue what this is all about. Please, just tell me.”

  He marched over and glared down before placing both hands on the sides of my face. The kinder, gentler Santiago I’d seen only moments ago was nowhere to be found. “Do you want your mother to get hurt, Dakota? Do you?” He pulled back but kept a firm grip on my face. “Because if you do, keep asking questions you know I won’t answer. Keep resisting.”

  I stared at his face and saw something in the depths of those dark, sultry eyes. A sort of sadness or, perhaps, fear.

  “Do you want someone to die, Dakota?” he whispered coldly.

  My body instantly reacted to his brutal words, but my mind screeched to a halt. He had made it sound like he would do the hurting, but now I knew that just couldn’t be right. Could it? So did that mean someone else wanted to hurt me and my mother?

  “Answer me,” he said.

  I shook my head no.

  “Then, who am I?”

  “My boyfriend,” I croaked.

  “Very good.” He released his grip. “And you will stop asking questions?”

  I couldn’t promise that so I didn’t respond.

  His eyes narrowed just a bit. “Dakota,” he blew out a tension-filled breath, and I could’ve sworn I saw steam. “Is what I’m asking you to do so terrible? Is it so hard to imagine me being your boyfriend—a guy who will make sure nothing bad ever happens to you again? Who will do everything possible to make sure you live a long, happy life?” He inclined his head and whispered in my ear. “Is it so hard to pretend that you’re mine?”

  The narrow space of air between us
filled with a strange tension. If I didn’t know any better, I would say it was sexual. My stomach fluttered and breasts began to tingle. My heart felt like it might beat its way out of my chest. I suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about his full lips. What would he taste like? I wondered.

  Crap? What’s wrong with me? My mind caught up with my very gullible body, realizing that he had switched tactics on me. Intimidation no longer did the trick so now he was using my obvious sexual attraction to him to kowtow me. The sad part was, it almost worked, and that was the irony of the situation. He scared me. And the more frightened I felt, the more drawn to him I became. It was as if he could sense it, too, because he had no problem tuning right in and using his body and voice to make me feel like he really wanted me.

  Idiot. He’s playing you.

  “Are you going to hurt me or my mother?”

  “I would die for either one of you. In a heartbeat. ”

  That wasn’t the answer I expected. Why would he say something so morbid and dramatic? “How am I supposed to believe a word you say when you keep threatening us?”

  He shook his head. “You don’t need to believe my words, just look at my actions.”

  His actions said I should be very, very afraid of him. He was lethal, sexy, and a complete enigma. But something in my gut made me want to believe him. Perhaps it was that tormented look in his eyes. I just didn’t know.

  “Can you at least tell me something about yourself? Do you have more family? Where do they live? Do you have a brother, dog, fish? Tell me anything so I know you’re real.”

  He stared for a sobering moment, his beautiful brown eyes as cold as a slab of granite. “I like camping.”

  “What?”

  “You know, camping. Trees. Mountains. Cooking over a fire.”

  This was not the sort of personal information I’d meant. “Does your version of camping involve a gun and killing something?”

  He shrugged his brows. “A man’s gotta eat.”

  “Figures.”

  “You asked for something personal. I gave it.” He crossed his thick, muscular arms over his chest.

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Now you’ll stop asking questions?” he said.

  I hung my head, thinking the worst of my faculties. A small part of me wanted to play nice and stop resisting the situation. “I’m crazy. I have to be.”