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

by Micah Persell

  He had seven days! Seven whole days to win her over and get his life back, and this—the smile and concern—already boded well.

  “Well, you certainly came back, all right,” Farrah said in a way that was obviously trying to be blasé but was ruined by the hint of joy in the undercurrent.

  Before good sense could stop him, Oliver reached out and cradled her jaw in his hand. She froze with another soft gasp, and Oliver leaned in and brushed his lips across her cheek. “Good morning.” And then, because he liked the way her eyes had widened from his proximity, he leaned in again and whispered in her ear, “Thanks for being here when I woke up.” He’d meant to keep the words light and in accordance with how he felt, but they held a gravity that he didn’t intend and was more truthful than he wanted to admit.

  “Well, you did make me promise.”

  “Good to know you keep your promises, Farrah.”

  Her body jolted, and he reluctantly let her pull back. “You remembered my name.”

  He remembered everything about the moments before he died, which in and of itself was remarkable. He had always suffered memory loss in the past. And he had always woken in the worst state of meltdown panic imaginable, too. This time, the mere sight of Farrah immediately derailed that panic.

  At that moment, Abilene’s face appeared in the rectangular window of the room’s door, her brows raised in question. Usually, she had to sedate him when he came back, and it was beyond surreal that she wouldn’t have to now. He flashed her a quick thumbs up, and she disappeared after a quick smile.

  Farrah cleared her throat and moved from the edge of his bed to the chair beside it.

  Well, fuck. He didn’t like that development at all. He clenched his fists to keep from reaching for her and hauling her back against him.

  “So, it is time,” Farrah said.

  Oliver frowned.

  “Time for you to tell me why you die. Because of me.”

  Ah. That beautiful topic. A topic he had harped on for years. And yet, he remembered what he’d told her before he died as clearly as he remembered her name. That quick reassurance for her fears made him uncomfortable in that it flirted dangerously with the truth. Might even be the truth.

  “Ah, yes. Dying. Well.” Oliver rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

  “Is it because I’m your…Impulse Mate?” She asked, saying the odd pair of words haltingly.

  Oliver’s hand hit the bed with a thud. Great. “Who told you?”

  “It was Dahlia,” Farrah said. “And only because I was severely…distraught over having you die in my arms. Which could have been avoided if someone had simply told me the truth about what he wanted from me all along.”

  Uh, oh. He recognized that tone. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I.”

  Farrah’s laugh startled him. “In trouble?” she asked. “With me? Aren’t I your prisoner? You being in trouble with me would be a new shift in power.”

  Oliver frowned. “You aren’t a prisoner.”

  Farrah sobered. “That is patently false, and we both know it.”

  Oliver sighed. Freaking angels. This was Anahita’s fault. “I don’t want you to be my prisoner, how about that?” Oliver said, surprising himself when he discovered that it was true.

  Farrah’s eyes widened. “It is…a start,” she conceded. “And the whole truth would be a great way to continue.”

  She was right. They couldn’t carry on as they had this past week. It wouldn’t get him where he needed them to be: in bed together. “You were brought here, because I die without you.”

  Farrah pulled a face and waved him on with her hand, all I know that part.

  Rip off the Band-Aid, Phillips. “If we don’t sleep together, I’ll continue to die.” Immediately, Oliver winced. That was simply the worst possible way he could have phrased that.

  Farrah laughed once and then quickly sobered. “Wait, you are serious?”

  Oliver groaned. “I know that came out as the world’s smarmiest pick-up line, but yes, I am serious. And before you punch me in the throat again, just hear me out.”

  When Farrah cocked one eyebrow and crossed her arms, Oliver took that as a sign to continue. “The United States government has been running tests on the fruit from the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge; you’ve probably figured that out by now.” Farrah’s expression didn’t change, but he could see her body straighten slightly. Huh. Maybe she hadn’t known all of that. “The testing has been going on for about a decade now. When early testing of the Trees found that the fruit turned man immortal, a man named Major Taylor decided to create a fleet of immortal soldiers, but there was a weakness involved: pairing with one’s ideal mate.” Oliver took a breath. “The Tree of Life was designed to…nudge humankind toward procreation. And that nudge manifests itself in physical discomfort the longer the Impulse Mates avoid—” Yep, this was going to come out creepy “—having sex with each other.”

  Farrah’s lips parted. “Procreation?” Her brows shot to her hairline. “You want to have a child together?” she asked in obvious disbelief and something else. Horror?

  “No!” Oliver blurted. Immediately an image of Farrah round and carrying their child flashed behind his eyes, and it made his belly ache with longing. Wait, did he want that? “Ah, fuck me,” Oliver groaned.

  “It is not going to happen that easily.”

  A startled laugh, more a bark than anything, burst from Oliver’s chest, followed by an enormous belly laugh. Had she seriously just joked around with him? He peered at her though eyes bleary with tears of laughter and saw that, yes, she was sporting a smile — a huge, gorgeous smile.

  God, she is so beautiful. The thought sobered him, and his laughter died out. “I don’t expect it to be easy. Trust me.”

  Farrah’s smile faded. “Tell me what you expected to happen when you gave me the fruit. And tell me the truth.”

  Oliver closed his eyes, sighed, and opened them again. “I was hoping it’d fix your vision for you. That you’d look at me, pair with me, and be in the same boat with me.”

  “My…vision?” Farrah asked. “Are you—” She paused and swallowed hard enough for Oliver to see her throat move. “Are you ashamed of my blindness?”

  Oliver’s heart plummeted. “No!” he practically shouted, leaping from the bed and kneeling beside Farrah. “God, no,” he repeated, reaching out and grabbing her hands, just sick with himself that he’d made her feel that way. “Farrah, it would have made things easy, that’s all. I was tired. Feeling trapped. The clock was ticking down, and I’d managed to make you hate me just when I’d found you. I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know if I could even trust you with the truth, so I tried to find a way around it, and it was stupid.” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead into her upper arm. “I should have just talked to you.”

  “Trapped,” Farrah muttered, almost as though she were talking to herself.

  Great, now he’d managed to insult her, too. “Not trapped by you…I mean,” he drifted off. He had felt trapped by her. That he didn’t now was…odd. “I don’t expect it to be easy. I’ll work for it. I will. Just…give me a chance. A little one.”

  She sighed, “Well, I certainly did not foster a talk-with-me environment.”

  Oliver’s chest tightened and expanded all at once, and he thought he’d die of hope. “I swear, after we’re done—after I have my life back—I’ll help you do whatever you can think of. Set you up wherever you choose. Give you everything you need. You’ll never even have to see me again if that’s what you want.”

  ***

  At his words, tears stung Farrah’s eyes, and she cursed herself a fool. Her heart was breaking as though the past few hours she had somehow convinced herself that what she felt for Oliver was real, reciprocated, and the makings of a relationship.

  In other words, she had utterly lost her mind.

  Luckily, at least one of them had his head in the right space. Farrah’s purpose was finally revealed.


  She was no more than a prostitute. Her situation had not changed in anything but location.

  A virginal prostitute. The joke was on him. “So, I am to have sex with you, and then you will compensate me?”

  Oliver hissed a breath. “That sounds…horrible.”

  And, yet, he did not refute it.

  “Farrah,” he said after a few moments, “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. This is the only way I know of to make you want to do it. And I really don’t like the idea of you living the way I found you. I want something different for you.”

  The only way he knows of? Farrah’s brows drew together. “You do not know how to make women like you? Do you only sleep with prostitutes?”

  “You are not a prostitute.” He gave her hands a small jerk for emphasis.

  Ah, but you can’t take it back now.

  “And I already told you, I will work for it.”

  “Yes, and it doesn’t sound any better now than it did the first time.”

  Oliver sighed. “Damn it. Farrah, I’m trying here. I’ve been in prison for ten years. No, I have no fucking idea how to get women to like me when I can’t rely on my dumb-luck looks! And I need it to happen with you in a very short amount of time.”

  Prison? Farrah eyes widened, and Oliver cursed.

  “Of war, woman,” Oliver said. “Prisoner of war, not prisoner of doing bad stuff. And, if it matters—” He cleared his throat. “I haven’t slept with any other women at all in quite a while. Definitely not since I saw you.”

  Farrah closed her eyes. Do not say these things to me, she mentally begged. He simply could not tell her he planned to sleep with her and pay her and then follow it up with something that made her heart beat in an odd little rhythm.

  “Oliver,” she began and hesitated. “I can make you no promises right now.” Well, that was not the definitely not that I planned to say. Farrah reeled with dismay. Was she truly entertaining this offer?

  The truth was, Farrah saw herself in Oliver, and that rocked her. She knew exactly what it was like to be trapped in a situation she did not want; she had known it every day of her life since she could remember. Wouldn’t she do anything she could to get out of a situation that was ruining her life?

  The fruit she held in her hijab bounced against her back as she pushed to her feet. Yes. She would do whatever it took: steal, lie, kidnap—maybe even kill—if it meant a life free from torture.

  And yet this man before her was offering her a better life while his own depended on her answer.

  It put things into perspective.

  She heard Oliver get to his feet beside her. She turned toward him. “How long do we have?”

  Oliver cleared his throat and his shoes shuffled against the floor. “Seven days.”

  Farrah frowned. He’d died on the seventh day. “Oliver,” she said, her tone warning him that she knew he wasn’t being fully forthcoming.

  “Five days.”

  He’d disappeared on her at the fifth day. “Try again.”

  “Three days,” he mumbled. “The pain becomes borderline incapacitating on the third day.” A pause. “But I can go longer—” he started to say in a rush.

  Farrah held out a hand, stopping his words. “Three days. Okay.” That was a very short time. In the scheme of things, would it really set back her goal? She must contact Ibrahim before she decided anything. “Can I have a little time to think on this?”

  “Yes,” Oliver blurted. “Definitely yes.”

  His words were uttered with such relief that Farrah was led to believe he thought she would refuse him outright. That makes two of us.

  “Let’s go back to our—” She broke off and blushed. “Back to your apartment, please. I will be able to think better there.” And sneak a phone call.

  “Farrah—” Oliver began. She waited for him to continue, but after a few moments, he gripped her hand and guided it to the bend of his elbow. “Of course,” he whispered. As he led them through the military compound, Farrah mentally recited her plan on repeat as she absently counted steps: call Ibrahim, see if there was more word of her mother’s location, decide whether to give Oliver her virginity in exchange for compensation.

  Easy.

  Farrah snorted, and Oliver jerked against her. “Something funny?” he asked, a lilting smile in his voice.

  She shook her head. There was nothing funny about this.

  Oliver stopped suddenly, and Farrah frowned up at him. “We’re right in front of the bedroom.”

  Farrah’s eyebrows rose slightly. That was fast. “Thank you.”

  “Okay, then,” Oliver said, his voice hesitant. “I’ll just let you do your thing.”

  Farrah nodded, stepped into the room, and closed the door behind her. She sighed and leaned back against it. She should be racing toward the phone on Oliver’s dresser. Why was she hesitating?

  She forced herself to walk forward and locate the phone. She dialed each number much more slowly than was required for accuracy, and didn’t bother bringing the phone to her ear. As soon as she heard the distant, tinny greeting on the other end, she pushed five twice and settled the phone in its cradle once more.

  She propped her hip against the dresser and drummed her fingers against the smooth surface. When the phone began to ring again, Farrah let it ring twice before picking it up.

  She did not bother with a greeting. “Is there any more word on my mother?”

  Ibrahim sighed, casting static into Farrah’s ear. “This is very dangerous, Farrah.”

  Only a day ago, Farrah would have agreed with him. But, she felt she was in no danger here under Oliver’s protection. “Is there?” she prompted, both anticipating and dreading the answer.

  “No, there isn’t.”

  Farrah drew in a breath and blew it out. “Will you call me at this number if there is?”

  A pause. “Are you going to be at this number for a while?” He did not wait for her to answer. “Farrah, you are growing sloppy. Is everything okay?”

  “Believe it or not,” she said, “I think I am actually safe here. And I am only staying for a short while. At maximum, three days. If there is word in that time, will you please call? It will be better that way, I think.”

  “Farrah, if you’re safe, why in Allah’s name would you only stay there for three days?” The dismay in Ibrahim’s voice was evident. “You know how rare that is.”

  Because I am only wanted for three days. Maybe even less. If she walked out of this room, told Oliver she agreed to his proposition, and he bedded her right then, would she be ejected from the compound that very same day? No. Not ejected. Put up wherever she wanted.

  “If I change locations, I will call back in the usual way. If there is no new word, there is no need to return the call.” Better to cover all possibilities.

  “You confound me, Farrah, but yes. I agree to this. And I hope there is word soon,” he continued. “For many reasons.”

  Farrah gently placed the phone on the hook, resisting the urge to slam it down on Ibrahim’s good, common sense.

  Find Mother. Well, right now she couldn’t. And what was three days, really?

  The thought rocked her.

  Did she— Oh, no. She…wanted to do it. Was tempted to accept Oliver’s offer. She felt her face blanch and swayed on the spot. Pressing a hand against the wall to steady herself, she tried to calm the rush of panic. There had to be a reason she wanted this. A good one, not the ridiculous draw she felt to him. Her mind scrambled—

  Ah! He’d given her life; she could return the favor. Yes, that had to be the reason she wanted to do this. No other.

  Farrah reached into her hijab and pulled free the fruit that had been secured there. She weighed it in the palm of her hand. When next she saw her mother, she would be able to provide her immortality, but little else. Not without what Oliver was offering.

  But as she thought of touching him intimately, exploring his body, a smile spread her lips. A smile that had nothing to do
with a business transaction and everything to do with anticipation.

  She jerked upright. No.

  She walked to the corner where there was a potted plant and hid the fruit beneath the drooping leaves, where it would wait for her until she needed it.

  Despite how desperately she wanted to say yes, Farrah would decline Oliver’s offer.

  She frowned.

  At least, she was pretty sure that’s what she’d do.

  18

  Oliver sat on the couch, his left knee bouncing so hard that his keys jingled in his pocket. Tell her the truth. Brilliant fucking plan.

  The truth had only convinced Farrah that she was a prostitute, and even thinking the word made Oliver wince. But the really unfortunate truth was, that was what Oliver, in his brilliance, had offered her.

  The plan had sounded much better in his head.

  Are you really offering to pay your fated mate for sex and then boot her to the curb?

  Oliver felt sick to his stomach, and he could feel the Voice’s displeasure, though it hadn’t spoken to him since he’d brought the offer to the table. Oliver reminded himself he just wanted his life back. His old life—the one before the shitstorm. And Farrah wasn’t in it.

  Besides, she obviously wants to return to her own life as well. To leave. I’m just giving her an out.

  No, she’s probably the enemy. You’re offering her something temporary because you can’t trust her.

  No—

  “Ugh.” He groaned, jerking forward and snatching the remote control from the coffee table. He needed something to drown out the cacophony in his skull. He clicked the television on, finding a Star Wars marathon that only included the original trilogy—thank fuck. A New Hope was halfway over, and Oliver settled back against the cushions, but as soon as his shoulders hit the leather, the bedroom door opened.

  Oliver shot to his feet, jamming buttons with as many fingers as he could until the television flipped off. He spun around to find Farrah framed by the open doorway. Her hijab was down and draped around her shoulders. As was typical every time he saw her, she made his belly ache with her beauty. It was a good thing she was a distance away. He wanted to reach out and wrap that thick braid around his forearm, then use that hold to drag her into a kiss.