I sucked in a breath. “I know you’re not weak.”
He smiled hard. “Damn right, Forgetful Girl. I’m not. And you’d do well to remember that. You do not want me as your enemy.” Something in his tone had my skin prickling. Enemy. He spoke from experience.
“How many do you have?”
His eyebrow quirked. “What?”
“How many enemies?”
He let me go, stepping away and withdrawing completely. “Too many for you to understand.” Pointing at his bike, he snapped, “Stay. I’m giving you one chance. You run and I promise I will find you. And if you make me find you, I won’t go through the trouble of selling you; I’ll be the one to make your life a living hell instead.”
Without another word, he spun and stormed toward the jail.
I reclined against the bike, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into. He disappeared through the visitor’s entrance, leaving me free, unhindered, and fully dressed in baggy men’s clothes in the noonday Florida sun.
Run.
The urge to leave was strong. My legs shuffled on their own accord, drifting away from his bike.
Wait.
I stopped.
Looking left and right, I brought my hands up to tangle in my red hair. I hadn’t tended to my hair in the shower last night, so it needed a wash, my teeth needed a brush, and I needed to remember. A headache pricked against my temples as I strained to recall who I was and where I’d come from.
The sun glowed from above, searing the painful skin from whatever burned me last night.
I groaned slightly with exhaustion. I didn’t know what I was doing—the risks and dangers I faced. But I couldn’t ignore the one thing I was certain about. The one thing I had to explore, regardless of my safety.
Arthur Killian was the key to finding my memory. I didn’t know how I knew. I didn’t want to question it. But my heart was the leader while my mind took an unwanted sabbatical.
I sighed, moving back toward the Triumph.
I was staying.
For better or for worse.
Kill appeared like a black stain against the grey-washed building. Even with people milling, and the imposing presence of police, he stood out like a flare lighting up the dark.
I held my breath as he glared toward his bike. A shadow crossed his face; his hands balled by his sides.
His eyes darted around the parking lot, searching for something. Searching for me.
He stalked forward, no hint of injury or pain. He moved like a man barely controlling his fury, then reining in his feelings with a scary nonchalance. He was a master at discipline, beating away the unwanted emotions as easily as locking a drawer.
I didn’t move from my tiny sliver of shade granted by the white Land Rover I sat against. For an hour, I’d stood under the glare of the sun but as the seconds turned into minutes and the tightness of my nose told me I was burning, I had to move.
The panic bubbling in my blood almost drove me insane as I searched for some semblance of shade. I might not remember what burned me, or how I earned half a body of scars, but my instincts did and it hated the very idea of singeing intentionally.
Kill stalked to his bike, his lips sneering as he muttered a violent, “Fuck.”
Two hours I’d waited for him, and in that time I’d done nothing but let my mind free. I hadn’t thought or forced memories to come. I’d stared at the road and conjured stories for the men and women coming and going from the visitor’s entrance of the jail.
It’d been healing in a way—not to force myself. Just to be. To learn how I thought, how I reacted. And I liked what I’d learned. I cared. I didn’t roll my eyes at the scantily dressed women obviously going to see their lovers behind bars, or scowl at the sprinkling of young children who screamed and threw tantrums as their mothers dragged them back to the car.
I was glad I didn’t have a temper or lack of tolerance for others. I just had to hope I liked the rest of myself as I grew to remember.
Kill spun around, glowering around the parking lot. I wanted to wait to see how irate he’d get—how fast he’d lose his temper—but I didn’t want him angry with me. I needed him on my side.
Standing, I stepped from shadows and into sunlight. Immediately, his gaze latched onto mine. The same reaction he’d had when he saw me on the battlefield blazed bright and true. My heart leapt out of my chest, winging to him.
The starkness of truth was a beautiful thing, reinforcing my craziness to stay.
He couldn’t hide that fervor for long. It just wasn’t possible to swallow something so powerful and real.
His face rearranged into the hard rage I recognized, and he stormed forward. Crossing the small distance in a blink, he grabbed my elbow. “Where the hell have you been?”
I pointed at the Land Rover. “Making sure I didn’t turn into a charred piece of barbeque while you left me in the hottest time of the day with no sun protection.”
His eyes soared up to the sky, the briefest sign of guilt crossing his face. He locked his jaw, looking back down. “You would’ve seen me leave the prison, but you stayed hidden. Why? Having second thoughts?”
I squirmed in his hold. “I wouldn’t be here if I’d had second thoughts, now would I?” I scowled. “I would be long gone, so let me go.”
My eyes widened as he obeyed, releasing me with a small shove. He grunted, swiping a hand over his handsome face. “What the hell are you doing to me? First, you make me say two little words that I haven’t said to anyone in the last five years, then you make me fucking apologize.” His eyes narrowed. “Which, for the record, hasn’t happened for the last nine years of my life.”
I hid my triumphant smile. “You haven’t apologized—not yet.”
He growled under his breath. “Don’t push me, sweetheart.”
I nodded. “Okay. Well, do you mind if we get out of this sunshine?” I hugged myself uncomfortably, trying to shield my arms from the glare.
He frowned but nodded. Cocking his head at his bike, he ordered, “Get on. I’ll take you somewhere cool.”
Chapter Seven
Riding was precious to me. The wind, the open roads, the knowledge I could go where I wanted and never return. It was the exact opposite of the cage I’d lived in for the past few years of my life.
I’d had not only freedom stolen but hope, kindness, and decency.
I no longer knew who I’d been.
I no longer wanted to know.
My past was dead and I fucking refused to dig up the horrors I’d endured.
It was just too damn excruciating.
—Kill
“You coming?”
Kill swung his leg off his bike and buckled his helmet to the handlebars of his huge Triumph. I looked around the undercover parking lot. It had low ceilings and lots of exposed pipes. “You’ve brought me to a plaza?”
He turned around, keeping his right arm wedged against his side. “Told you I’d get you some clothes. Plus, I’m starving.”
“Probably because your body is busy trying to heal while you’re gallivanting around town.”
“Gallivanting?” he chuckled. “Interesting word.” Stalking forward, he grabbed my hand, tugging me toward the entrance of the mall. “For someone who can’t remember, you have a good dictionary inside your broken brain.”
My fingers locked with his, tingling hotly. The sensation of him touching me resonated right in my core.
I tottered beside him, feeling too many things at once. My free hand went to my waist, wishing the drawstring on the baggy board shorts tied tighter. I had a feeling I’d lose them and have my pantyless behind exposed.
As we entered the mall, the sounds of eager shoppers, the smells of different cuisines, and the feel of blissful air-conditioning settled around us.
It reminded me of another time and place.
“You need a completely new wardrobe. You can’t go overseas to learn how to cut up innocent puppies and be dressed in a sack.”
I
shook my head. “What happens if I like this ‘sack’?” What if it reminds me of the past that I’m walking away from?
“Don’t. Don’t hurt yourself any more than you need to.” Taking my arm, he added, “No more arguing—”
The flashback snuffed out like a butterfly’s life span, leaving me wanting.
The crowd parted hesitantly as Kill and I entered the flow, moving with the tide toward the food court.
Kill didn’t pay any attention, striding powerfully with his head high and jaw locked. It wasn’t the weird wardrobe I wore bringing people’s attention, or even the height and physique of the man prowling beside me. It was the leather jacket slung over his shoulders. It was the motto engraved, PURE IN THOUGHTS AND VENGEANCE. CORRUPT IN ALL THINGS THAT MATTER., and the symbolism of what he stood for.
Biker.
Criminal.
Unpredictable.
Tugging on his hand, I whispered, “They’re staring. Are you sure we should be in here?”
Kill looked around. “Fuck ’em. I’m proud to wear this patch; they’re just ignorant of our world.” His lips twitched. “Probably thinking I kidnapped you.”
A small laugh escaped. “They’d be right.”
He slowed, a pensive look flickering beneath his scowl. “So much happens beneath our noses. Even if they suspected the truth, no one would call it in. Know why?”
I sucked in a breath, sensing the importance of what he was saying—how close it was to everything I needed to understand. “No.”
“Because it’s more convenient to believe what they’re told, rather than form their own opinions.” His eyes clouded as his fingers tightened painfully around mine. “Innocence doesn’t matter when ignorance is what people prefer.”
There, in the crowded shopping mall holding the hand of a biker president, I glimpsed something I wasn’t supposed to see.
Kill carried a weight inside. A betrayal so deep he lived, breathed, almost died with it, all while it rotted away at his happiness.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, breaking his trance, slamming him back to me.
His lips tightened and he glowered, striding faster toward the small restaurants, cafes, and well-known fast-food chains.
He didn’t acknowledge me or ask what my apology was for. He knew. He just didn’t want to admit that I’d seen through his lies.
Silently, he carted me inside a Wild Wild West–looking establishment, complete with horse heads, spurs, and muskets mounted on the walls. “Sit,” he snapped, throwing me into a black vinyl booth.
Turning, he headed to the bar. He ordered quickly, then slid into the booth opposite me without so much as looking into my eyes.
We sat awkwardly, looking anywhere but at each other.
The décor was a good distraction but I couldn’t stop my thoughts from bouncing back to Kill with every heartbeat. Last night I’d been so sure I knew him. So blind in my conviction that I’d allowed him to keep me and entered a world where I had no money, no guarantee of safety, and no promise of ever remembering who I truly was.
All for the slim chance that my gut was right.
I have no idea what I’m doing.
I still don’t know what I look like.
Who lived like this? Who drifted through life completely blank and didn’t tear the world apart trying to find their purpose?
Luckily, the food didn’t take long to arrive; the scent of grease and salt made my mouth water.
The waiter placed two large plates with burgers and beer-battered fries on the table. “You guys want some mayo? Sauce?”
Kill shook his head.
“Okay, then. Enjoy.” The waiter smiled and left us to eat. Once we were alone, Kill went to pick up his huge, oversize burger but hissed between his teeth as his right arm refused to do what he wanted.
He scowled at his chest, hating his weakness.
“I should check to make sure you don’t have an infection.”
His eyes darted to mine and I nodded toward his stitches. “You didn’t let me see how it looked this morning.” I couldn’t see anything with his thick jacket in the way, but he could’ve popped the stitches and be bleeding again for all I knew.
“Don’t worry about it,” he growled, shoving a few fries into his mouth. “I was able to drive a bike; I damn well don’t have an infection.”
I pursed my lips. “If you feel faint—”
He lowered his head, glowering at me from beneath his brow.
I held up a hand. “Fine. I’ll drop it. But it’s on you to make sure you don’t die.”
Eating another fry, he rolled his eyes. “Thanks for reminding me that I live or die by my own hand.”
Temper curled hot in my belly, but I let it go. There was no point to that argument. None at all.
Investigating my food, I couldn’t hold off eating any longer and grabbed the sharp knife meant for thick fillets of beef rather than burgers. Stabbing the blade into the middle of the delicious-looking burger, I sliced it down the middle.
Kill still hadn’t touched his, even though he’d devoured most of his fries.
I hesitated, glancing at the knife and back to his meal.
What can it hurt?
He needed help, and I couldn’t stand by and not give it.
I reached across the table, pierced his burger, and cut it into two easy-to-hold pieces.
He froze.
Relaxing into my seat, I looked away and focused on my food—giving him some space. The look in his green gaze shouted that he wanted to punish me—for no other reason than making him feel weak by caring.
Kill still didn’t move, glaring at his food. I wanted to yell at him to eat it—I hadn’t poisoned the damn thing—but I kept my lips sealed.
For a moment, I thought he’d throw it away just to prove a point. But finally he picked up a half and brought it to his mouth.
I hid my smile, pretending fascination in my own beef-and-cheese goodness.
His jaw worked, the muscles in his neck making my tummy flip as he swallowed. Everything he did was done with undisputed power. It both scared me and turned me on.
Regardless of my future, I was glad I’d been there when he needed someone. If I hadn’t been kidnapped or delivered to him, he would be dead. He wouldn’t have sought help. In fact, he looked as if he expected to die sooner rather than later. He had an aura about him that clouded and twisted with too many dark and dangerous things.
I won’t let that happen.
Nursing my promise, we ate the rest of our meal in silence.
“What are we doing in here?” I asked, looking at the wide-eyed girls and the female sale clerks eyeing up Kill in his leather cut. Their gaze held interest, fear, and a curiosity that had my tummy curling with possession. I’d seen him hurt and that vulnerability belonged to me.
Not them.
I hated the thought of others thinking they had that right.
“Buying clothes.” Kill tapped my head. “You’re not getting worse, are you? Short term memory fading, too?”
The high-end department store held clothing that I didn’t have to look at the price tags to know I wouldn’t be able to afford—even if I’d known how much money I had to my name.
Name.
Funny, I’d like to know that, too.
I waved at a rack of gorgeous skirts. “I don’t have any money.”
Kill immediately pulled out a silver clip, and flicked off five one-hundred-dollar bills. Holding them out to me, he said, “Take them.”
My mouth fell open, eyeing the crisp notes. “You’re offering me five hundred dollars?” I couldn’t stop my face twisting with incredulity. “I can’t take that.”
His eyebrow quirked. “Why not? I’m not going to put up with you wearing my clothes, and you currently look like a child playing badass dress-up.” He whispered, almost as an afterthought, “It looks fucking unsexy and not the way a woman should dress.”
Woman.
He’d called me a woman, rather than a g
irl like last night.
In a fast move, he grabbed my wrist and squeezed my metacarpal bones until my hand had no choice but to flop open.
“Ow!”
He slammed the money into my palm.
Letting go, he went to move away but wasn’t fast enough. I closed my fingers over his.
He stopped breathing.
Our eyes locked and the rest of the world disappeared up a vacuum where only silence and anticipation remained.
I trembled as the connection between us slugged me in the heart. His fingers twitched beneath mine; his lips parted as he fought hard against whatever existed.
I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t do anything but give in to the power sparking and arching and making me feel alive even while I felt completely empty. Empty of thoughts, of memories, of histories that could ruin what I’d found in the most unlikely of places.
His chest rose as deep-seated attraction and animalistic control entered his eyes.
I wanted to be alone with him. I needed to be alone with him.
He snatched his fingers from mine, smashing through the tender bridge we’d built.
“Take the damn money.” His face whitened, the cuts from last night standing out brightly.
Money?
I struggled to remember what we were talking about.
Swallowing hard, I murmured, “If I take it, I’ll pay you back.”
I didn’t want to owe him—no matter that it was just a simple thing, I had no intention of being in his debt.
He smiled, half cold, half full of pity. “Of course, you will. You’ll pay me back when I sell you.” Glancing around the store, he towered over me, dropping his voice to a whisper, “Your body will pay me back a thousandfold. Your obedience will pay me back for the small investment I’m making into your appearance.”
My heart shattered.
My stomach dropped.
All softness and attraction disappeared.
Sell me.
He’d been deliberately cruel to remind me. Not that I’d forgotten, but I’d hoped that time would grant me mercy—that it would…
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