Of Blind Fate (Operation: Middle of the Garden Book 5)

by Micah Persell

  The hand Oliver grasped her arm with immediately went slack. He tried to suck in a breath, failed, and fell to his knees as his lungs began to burn. Tears flooded his eyes, making it hard to see the woman who had moved quicker than any soldier he had fought.

  She was running. Fast. Getting away from him.

  Oliver’s lungs spasmed, and he drew in a breath that ended in a hacking cough. He dashed the tears out of his eyes with a palm grubby from the marketplace ground and was able to see Luke running past him, in hot pursuit of Oliver’s fucking One.

  He managed to croak, “Get her!” He drew in another breath, stumbled to his feet and yelled with more strength, “Don’t hurt her!” What the fuck? He was here for justice and revenge! Some force might be necessary. “I mean, hurt her if you want,” he mumbled. As soon as the words left his lips, something within him recoiled, passionately objecting to the idea of his mate coming to harm.

  Just perfect.

  Oliver took several unsteady steps forward, his breathing coming easier now, before he switched over to a slow jog. His eyes never strayed from Luke, knowing Luke would sooner die than lose Oliver’s one chance at survival. Luke disappeared around a bend, and Oliver panicked, forcing his body into a sprint far before it was ready. The crowds quickly moved out of the way of the panting American who was barreling through the crowd with what had to be a pretty nasty bruise developing over his Adam’s apple.

  His skidded around the corner, nearly slipping and falling on his ass, and saw that Luke had followed the woman down a dead-end alley—their first stroke of luck.

  Oliver put on another burst of speed as Luke reached forward and clasped the back of her tunic.

  She spun again, and before Oliver could shout a warning, Luke ducked, missing the chop to the throat that seemed to be this woman’s signature move. Oliver slowed, knowing Luke had the situation in hand, and his body began to protest its recent abuse. He collapsed forward, bracing his hands on his knees and fighting the black dots that were swimming in his vision.

  He tipped his head up just in time to catch Luke taking a knee to the stomach. What came next happened almost too quickly for Oliver to see. Luke hunched over, and their foe delivered an elbow to the back of Luke’s neck, sending his head snapping forward and into her upraised knee. Blood spurted across her tunic, and as Luke reached for her again, she placed a hand on his shoulder and took a swinging leap onto his back, driving him to his knees with her body weight.

  Oliver straightened, unable to keep his eyes off of her as she wrapped her arm around Luke’s neck and secured it with her other arm. Luke’s eyes widened, and he scratched at her skin, but she held steady.

  Oliver’s lips parted. She was magnificent.

  With a jab of his elbow to her ribs, Luke freed himself from her slackened hold, but she was quick to grab onto his shirt, yanking him up and using the momentum of his moving body to spin into him, kicking Luke’s legs out from beneath him so that he sprawled on the dirty ground, landing first on his already smashed nose. Luke’s groan echoed through the alleyway.

  Okay, magnificent, and obviously a maniac. She fought dirty; she fought hard. She had to be fighting because she was as guilty as the others. The almost nonexistent doubt Oliver had been harboring over his mate’s innocence shrank even further.

  Oliver surged forward. The probability that her presence in his prison the day they had Impulse-Paired was no coincidence broke him from his frozen stupor. She had to have been working with their captors. Perhaps was still working with the men who had imprisoned Oliver, Luke, and Max for nearly a decade.

  Revenge.

  Luke wasn’t moving when Oliver stepped over him. That would also not go unpunished. Oliver braced his feet and spread his arms wide, ready to engage when she inevitably rushed him in an attempt to get to the exit he blocked.

  But the woman was backing into the corner. Her eyes were wide and roving over everything in front of her without catching on any one thing. Her harried breaths echoed off of the buildings surrounding them, and she crouched, her palms braced on the buildings on either side of her as she sank into the corner.

  For the first time since seeing her across the marketplace, Oliver noted how small she was. She was a slight, tiny woman. He shook his head. A slight, tiny woman who had soundly kicked Luke’s ass.

  Oliver narrowed his gaze, snared by her gorgeous eyes. They were a light, butterscotch-color. A color that seemed familiar to him. A color that warmed him down to his core. Framed by those thick, black lashes, her eyes captivated him.

  The One, the Voice insisted. Again.

  Oliver drew in a slow, silent breath and couldn’t believe what he was going to do next. Rather than rush her, he straightened from his battle stance and spread out his palms in a we-won’t-hurt-you manner. As he mentally scoured through the possible things he could say to her to put her at ease, he took a step forward.

  In the process, he kicked a pebble that bounced off the ground to his left and rolled to a stop inches away from the woman.

  She froze. Her fingers flexed against the buildings, her breathing stalled completely, and she rose slowly from her crouch. Her eyes were the only thing that continued to move frantically, and they searched every inch of the alleyway.

  When her gaze swept past Oliver without stopping, he got that same feeling of dejavu. Her eyes. That familiar color. His lips parted.

  He knew why it was familiar. He’d seen that color before in Max’s eye. The one that had been maimed by their captors when they’d held him down and sliced his face with a blade drenched in the juice from the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. Max had only survived the torture because he’d already eaten the fruit from the Tree of Eternal Life—had become immortal—and even then, it had nearly blinded him.

  A chill skittered down his spine. The way she searched without seeing…. “My God.” Her head snapped in his direction. “You’re blind.” Why would they maim one of their own?

  Her sightless gaze snapped his direction. Without a word, she launched from her corner, spun, and delivered a mule kick to the center of Oliver’s chest.

  He stumbled back, his heels bumping into Luke’s rib cage. Oliver lost his footing, falling backward. His back hit first, knocking the air from him, and his head cracked against the ground with a resounding thwack. The last thing he saw as his vision faded to black was the flare of her tunic as she rounded the corner, escaping him again.

  2

  Stay alive. Stay alive. Stay alive!

  Farrah’s frantic breaths echoed around her, and, though she knew she always got lost when she was panicked, she couldn’t calm herself down.

  She groped along buildings, stumbling at a too-fast pace to get away from her attackers, searching for any familiar feel: a tell-tale crack, an oft-passed doorway. Anything that would help her figure out where she was.

  And all the while, she prayed she was putting distance between herself and the two men who had tried to abduct her.

  She whimpered. Who were they? The fact that there were several options for who could be trying to abduct her only caused her breathing to accelerate even more.

  Think, Farrah, think!

  There! The familiar scent of the firni shop—pistachios and cardamom. For some reason, she’d gravitated toward this shop for the two days she’d been back in the place where it had all started. A city she had promised herself she would never have to return to.

  From here, she could find her way to her shelter.

  At last, her heartbeat slowed; she was able to hold a breath in her lungs for more than half a moment.

  She listened carefully, tilting her head to the side and holding still. No signs that her panic had been noticed by those around her. No hurried, booted footsteps from the men she had been forced to fight.

  She straightened, withdrawing her hand from the cool façade of the building she leaned against. She must, at all times, guard her blindness. No one could know: a lesson that had been come by the hard way, as all of
Farrah’s lessons had been.

  She straightened her hijab, pulling the front forward so that it would hide her face better. The fewer physical characteristics she revealed, the less likely she was to be recognized. She began a steady, measured walk past familiar landmarks: the deep, bass voice of the blanket vendor; the constant stream of chatter from the women selling tunics; the hollow echo of an empty shop that had recently closed.

  No one called to her. No one tried to engage her in conversation. No one recognized her. She’d survived. Farrah breathed deeply for the first time since feeling that man’s fingers on her arm.

  That man who had also smelled like pistachios and cardamom. That must be why she hesitated before defending herself. That insane—insane! —inclination to turn into his touch…there could be no other explanation.

  Although—Farrah frowned as she turned and walked through a passage between buildings—she couldn’t recall the pistachio and cardamom scent from his initial touch, only from when he cornered her in the alleyway. Which means there was another explanation for why she hesitated in the marketplace with his warm fingers upon her skin.

  Farrah’s breathing hitched, her past crashing down upon her. She had been drawn to the stranger. Interested in him. Without knowing anything about him.

  Her entire life, Farrah had been on her guard around new people, knowing she could not make the same mistakes her mother had. Those who did not immediately seek to harm Farrah had done so eventually.

  And despite years of vigilance, she had taken solace in a single touch.

  She stumbled over a root, the location of which she’d had memorized for years. Her lips parted around a silent gasp as she pitched forward. Her shoulder collided with a wall, a loud thud reverberating through her entire body. She bit her bottom lip, holding back a groan from inside her mouth.

  Her shoulder would be sore for several days.

  She pushed from the wall, rotating the abused joint as she walked, hoping that the motion would help to abate the worst of the bruising.

  Calm yourself, girl, she inwardly coached. She was not like her mother. Unlike her, Farrah knew other people never offered anything without strings attached, and because of that, Farrah had reduced her life down to survival: stay alive; tell no secrets—ever. It was because her mother had not focused enough on those two things herself that Farrah had a third goal: find Mother.

  Farrah had not seen her mother since she was a very young girl. She’d been ripped from Mother’s arms by a trafficker in the employ of Aaron: the man Farrah had come to view as Father. Mother had been deeply in love with Aaron, and he’d offered them both everything in the world. He had promised marriage; they’d been full of hopes for the future.

  Instead, Farrah received a life of slavery.

  Now, in every situation, especially in those encouraging exchange of secrets, Farrah had learned to ask, what do they want in return? It had helped her to stay alive more times than she could count. And this situation with the man in the market? The cardamom stranger had offered nothing but violence. What did he want in return?

  Nothing Farrah was going to give.

  Feeling stronger, Farrah slowed her steps, listening carefully to be sure she wasn’t followed, before ducking into the final passageway. The farther she walked into the narrow alley, the more the bustle of the marketplace receded.

  Farrah trailed her fingers across the buildings on each side of her, not for guidance, but to gauge temperature. They were cooling; the sun was going down.

  The darkness of the world would soon match the darkness Farrah experienced as status quo. And with that darkness came more danger.

  Farrah reached the end of the narrow alley, ducked around the pile of crates she had stacked to hide behind, and sank to her pallet with a sigh. Only here, protected from the eyes of those who would harm her as soon as they knew she couldn’t see their attacks coming, did she lower her hijab. She drew in a slow breath as she threaded her fingers through her waist-length hair, undoing the loose braid she had fashioned this morning.

  The best part of the day: this brief moment between the worries of the light and the worries of the night.

  As she finger-combed her heavy waves, her shoulder twinged slightly, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. She pulled her hair over her shoulder with one hand and reached into the crate to her left with the other, feeling around until she located her last apricot.

  Her thumb immediately encountered a large soft spot in the fruit, and Farrah’s stomach grumbled in protest when she briefly had the thought that the fruit was too old to eat.

  Old or not, she had nothing else. She hadn’t eaten since her apricot last night. Farrah raised the fruit to her mouth, took a reluctant bite, and wrinkled her nose.

  It was definitely rotten. When the bite she’d taken reached her belly, she felt worse not better, and so, she sighed and rolled the apricot from the tips of her fingers to the corner where she could hear the scrabbling of her rodent roommates.

  The last of the warmth faded from the ground beneath her, and, right on cue, the noise of the nighttime dwellers began to rumble in the alleyways.

  Farrah quickly re-braided her hair, knowing if she had to fight to protect herself, her loose hair would be a hindrance as well as a handhold for an enemy. Her braid done, she resettled her hijab over her forehead.

  Oh, how she hated this city. She’d finally thought herself free of its hold on her, only to receive word that Mother may be mired in its abysmal depths. She would do whatever was required to find her mother and get them both away from here as quickly as possible, but every second in this city stirred up memories she’d tried to forget.

  In the building behind her, she heard the announcement for the last prayer time of the day; it was one of the reasons she’d chosen to hide here. It was unfortunate that she had to carry out the sacred act of Salaat in such squalor, but prayer in any circumstance was better than no prayer. Farrah went through the familiar and dear motions, and resettled against the wall some time later, ready to keep up her vigil for the night.

  Several minutes passed, and Farrah found her blinks lasting longer and longer. Perhaps she could doze for a few minutes before she really had to be on her guard. She was so very tired. Couldn’t remember the last time she’d truly slept.

  Almost with a mind of its own, her head canted to the side until her temple came to rest against one of her crates. She didn’t even recall shutting her eyes.

  ***

  Oliver’s eyes snapped open. He was staring at a magnificent sunset, the sky a brilliant burst of tangerine and rose. Its beauty was incongruent with the pounding originating from the back of Oliver’s skull, and he frowned, trying to puzzle through the dichotomy.

  A moan sounded from near Oliver’s knees, and whatever his legs were propped on began to move. Oliver looked down to find his legs resting over Luke’s back. “Not the weirdest way I’ve woken up,” Oliver mumbled, leaning his head up and rubbing a palm across an impressive goose egg.

  Luke pushed up on straightened arms, and Oliver rolled to the side, gritting his teeth as his head pounded even more.

  “She beat you up, too?” Luke turned his head and scanned Oliver with his gaze.

  “I did not get beaten up by a 90-pound girl.”

  Luke stood, wobbled a bit, and pinned Oliver with a glare. “What happened, then?”

  “Shut up.”

  “You should have started by telling her she’s beautiful.”

  “So much shut up.”

  “Have you ever seen anyone fight like that?” Luke asked, an inappropriate amount of awe in his voice. “She was incredible.”

  “Yes, she was.” The words came bursting out of Oliver without his permission, and he didn’t miss the look Luke cast him, a weird mix of pity and I told you so. Oliver shoved to his feet and began to wipe dirt and gravel from his palms. “She’s also blind.”

  Luke laughed but quickly sobered. “Wait. What?”

  Oliver looked at Luk
e. “She’s blind.”

  A furrow appeared between Luke’s eyes. “That’s impossible. She countered every move, delivered every blow…perfectly.”

  “Think about it. Did she ever hit you without already having a hand on you somewhere? Or you having a hand on her? It’s how she got her bearings”

  Luke’s eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

  “Yup.”

  “She’s…she’s really blind?” Oliver didn’t bother confirming. Luke swallowed hard enough for Oliver to see his throat convulse. “What does this mean for you? For the Impulse?”

  “I don’t know what it means,” Oliver snapped. “Shit.” The Impulse was sight-based, as in, when you saw your Impulse Mate, you paired with them. Oliver had paired with the little ass kicker when he’d seen her through the bars of his prison cell two years ago, but she would never see him. “This is just a fucking bouquet of greatness.” Oliver glared up at the sunset. It had already faded to dusk. One day down. One day closer to death.

  Tomorrow, the pain would start. Tiny, inconvenient tingles and itches along his skin.

  Without a word, Oliver turned on his heel and stormed out of the alleyway. The marketplace was abandoned as night approached. The cover of night would make it easier to track her down.

  Luke’s footfalls sounded right behind him. “Okay, Oliver, let’s take a breath.”

  Oliver’s teeth ground together so hard, he wouldn’t be surprised if Luke could hear them. “How many breaths, Luke? Enough to get me to my next death? There are no breaths. There is no time.”

  “You’re mad. If you don’t calm down, you could hurt her.”

  Oliver stopped so quickly that Luke plowed into his back. “I would never hurt a woman,” he roared, turning on his friend.

  When Luke’s expression said he didn’t believe him, Oliver’s gut pitched. “You really think….” With a shuddering sigh, Oliver forced himself to slow down. “Her eyes were the same color as Max’s eye. The eye.”

  Luke’s lips parted. Oliver saw the moment Luke realized she’d been mutilated dawn on his face. “Then she’s innocent!”