I screamed, tugging on my hair, willing the memories to unlock and grant me relief. But the pressure just kept increasing, building, building until every hair follicle hurt my skull, until my eyes felt too big, until my tongue felt too swollen.
I couldn’t see. I couldn’t hear. Only the chugging crazed beat of my freaking-out heart echoed in my ears.
“Plea—” I slurred.
The crash of everything from my past consumed me and I couldn’t bear it any longer.
I let go of sanity.
I succumbed to the silently screeching dark.
Fuzz and cotton wool and clouds were my welcome-back-to-life party.
I smacked my lips, grimacing at the horrible taste in my mouth. My nose was blocked and my head bellowed with pain.
I moaned as feeling came back to my body; I winced as I touched my ribs.
He kicked me.
Hot tears came to my eyes as I recalled what had happened. He’d been nasty since I’d arrived, but that kick… It spoke volumes.
I doubted he knew how much he’d shown me in that brief moment. His anger had been uncurbed, unrestrained. He’d kicked me. Not the bed or the chair. Me.
Because I was the one hurting him. I was the one forcing him to face things I could only guess at. He carried so much inside he looked like he was drowning every second.
The kick shocked me, not because it’d been a horrible betrayal of violence, but because it was a cry for help.
My vision flickered as my thoughts turned to the rest of the afternoon.
I recoiled, not ready to pass out again from overload of stress and secrets.
Rubbing my eyes, I sat up. My heart fell to my toes.
I was in a cell. A cube with a sink, kitchenette, toilet, and bed. There were no windows, pictures, or carpet, and only had one way in and out which was undoubtedly locked.
The bright lightbulb above me was harsh and piercing and there lurked a rank scent of fear and vomit.
Where am I?
Standing unsteadily, I made my way to the heavy door and knocked. “Hello?”
I waited for a response.
I continued to wait.
I was more patient that I’d ever been.
Nothing.
Ignoring the splintering headache, I turned to investigate every inch of the small box. I looked under the bed, between the springs and the mattress, even tried the faucets to see if there was anything I could unscrew and use as a weapon.
Just like my knock.
There was nothing.
Then the lights went out, drenching me in darkness.
I stood in the middle of my prison and began to cry.
Morning.
Grasshopper woke me with the scrape of a key and the blissful opening of the door. He carried in a steaming Pop-Tart and some water.
I hadn’t slept at all. My mind didn’t want to fall back into the abys of unconsciousness. Instead, I repeated everything I’d remembered so far.
Corrine.
Buttercup.
Barbeque.
Flames.
I tried to piece them together like a glow in the dark puzzle—only the pieces refused to merge and there was nothing luminescent about them.
I still wore the pink skirt that Kill had pushed up my hips to take me, and the cute grey sweater that hadn’t kept me warm throughout the night. The blankets on the bed smelled of perfume, and I’d thrown up at the thought of the other women spending the night here—waiting for their new fate.
Grasshopper placed the Pop-Tart and glass on the rickety table beside the bed. “You okay?”
I snorted, rubbing my forearms and not making eye contact. “What do you think?”
He growled under his breath. “If you’re hurting a smidgen of what he is, then I’d say you’re hunky-fucking-dory.”
I gritted my teeth and didn’t say a word.
Uncomfortable silence reigned; I made no move to break it. Grasshopper bounced on the ball of his shoes. “Brought you breakfast.”
“Don’t want it.”
“You have to eat.”
“No, I don’t.”
He bent over and captured my chin, making me look at him. His blue eyes were strained, tiny lines feathering around them. “Stop it. Be good and you can come hang with us in the den. You’ve got another night with us before the handover.”
I wrenched my jaw from his hold, breathing hard. “I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to ‘hang’ with trafficking bastards, and I sure as shit don’t want to talk to you.” Hunching my shoulders, I curled into a ball and closed my eyes. “Leave me alone.”
Grasshopper stood over me. The sound of his grinding teeth was the only noise. His nostrils whistled annoyingly as he deliberated doing God knew what. “Remember those three questions I was going to ask you? Back at Kill’s place?”
A stabbing pain spread through my body at his name. I didn’t reply.
He huffed. “Look, give me the answers and I’ll decide if there’s any merit to Kill’s behavior… If not… I’ll speak to him.”
I stiffened, opening my eyes and glaring. “You’re sick, you know that?”
He scowled. “Why am I sick for trying to be nice to you? I don’t have to, you know. I could leave you alone until the sale is done. Let you go fucking mad in here.” He crossed his arms, blue eyes piercing mine. “Unless you’re already mad, of course. Then it won’t matter.”
I sat up, nursing the fire in my belly. “Ask. Then leave me the hell alone.”
What are you doing?
Everything inside screamed for me to clamp my lips together and not play his horrid little game, but there was a small part of me that still hoped for redemption.
Grasshopper swallowed, taking his time to form the first question. “When he took you—did he fuck you doggy-style?”
My mouth fell open. “That’s the most disgusting, prying question I’ve ever—”
“Just fucking answer it. Did he?”
I narrowed my eyes. I refused to answer such an invasive, personal question. Didn’t matter, though, because my silence gave away the answer.
He took me on all fours once. The other times had been different…
Grasshopper sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “He did. Just like he always does with Club whores or any other woman who slithers their way into his bed.”
My heart twisted green with envy, rotting with jealousy for a man who I hated. Who’d kicked me… taken everything from me… who’d burned down my—
It wasn’t him.
I slapped that thought away, but the thread of truth worked its way past my defenses and grabbed a bullhorn so I couldn’t ignore it.
It wasn’t him with the match. You know that.
I balled my hands. No, it hadn’t been him who set my house alight.
A man with green eyes. An older man in a black leather jacket and a vicious smile.
Green eyes.
Green eyes.
Green eyes.
“Next question,” Grasshopper said. “Did he tie your hands so you couldn’t touch him?”
I couldn’t stop the spring of tears shining my shame and answer.
Grasshopper nodded. “I take that as a yes.” Lowering his voice, almost as if he felt sorry for me, he muttered, “Last question.”
I already knew what it would be.
“Did he blindfold you so you couldn’t look at him?”
I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
I placed my palms over my eyes and turned away, hating the sobs that boiled in my chest.
A small cry spilled from my lips as Grasshopper rested a heavy, comforting hand on my back and rubbed circles. “Three yeses. That means, whatever you think you saw—whatever you thought you felt—it was all a lie.”
He kept stroking me, the gentleness of his concern seeping into my weary bones.
I sucked in a breath, whispering raggedly, “Explain how I know about the eraser. That he trades the stock market. That he’s the kindest
, sweetest boy I’ve ever known? That I loved him?”
Silence was thick, before Grasshopper replied, “We can’t explain what happens when our minds decide to go on fucking vacation. Who the hell knows how and why we create fantasy worlds. You said so yourself, you don’t remember anything. You’re making it up. You’re creating lies that you believe so deeply that to you they’re truths—but to Kill… It’s fucking killing him.”
He stopped stroking me and stood in creaking leather and boots. “Don’t take it personally. He’s an asshole to all women. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but he lost his virginity the day he got out of prison. He only did it ’cause the bastard was twenty-four, had never been in a pussy, and was the youngest president to inherit the Club. He needed to man up—and fast.” A proud glint formed in his gaze. “I was the one who brought the whore to him. I was the one who was there from the beginning, helping him turn this Club around.”
I bit my lip, willing my breathing to be silent—to hear every word this man might spill.
He nodded, lost in his own thoughts. “He bound her, blindfolded her, and fucked her from behind. To this day, he’s never done it any differently.”
He took me facing him. Twice.
My heart twisted in a weird combination of disgust and optimism.
“Why?” I breathed.
“Why?” His eyebrows rose and he chuckled. “Thought that would be obvious.”
I waited, not moving.
He sighed and muttered, “Because he can’t stand them to be close, because they aren’t her. He can’t stand for them to look at him, because he thinks they see what he did. And he can’t stand to be touched any more than necessary as he can’t—under any situation—be offered comfort when he’s the reason why she’s no longer around to be loved.”
My heart shattered.
Kill confused me utterly.
But I pitied him more.
“How—how do you know all this?”
Grasshopper smiled sadly, moving toward the door. “How does anyone ever know the inner secrets of a man ridden by demons?”
I shifted onto my knees, begging him silently to finish his riddle before abandoning me to loneliness.
He cocked his head. “By watching. By listening to what they don’t say. By riding beside them when they snap and fly from the compound to visit the grave of a corpse. By being the only one they confide in.”
He opened the door, stepping through.
“Wait!” I cried.
He turned, his eyes resigned. “What?”
I wrung my fingers, wishing I had more knowledge. Wishing upon wishes that all of this made sense to my mind while it made implicit sense to my heart.
I ached for him.
“Why are you telling me? Why show me his secrets, when you just proved I’m just like all the rest? That I’m not… her?”
He took a moment to reply. “Because you’ll never see him again. And hopefully, knowing what haunts him will give you the closure you need. To know that you never stood a chance.” His voice lost its chivalrous edge, sliding straight into arctic. “I told you so you’ll never try and ruin him again, because you’re nothing to him. Just like all the rest.”
His words tore me into pieces and there was no one who cared to sew me back together again.
He slammed the door.
He left me to bleed out with a soul that was unstitched and drifting away with endless pain.
“What’s my name?”
Nothing.
“What’s my name?”
Silence.
“What’s my name?”
Blankness.
I cursed in frustration. The swear word bounced around the black box with no one but me to hear it.
Fourteen hours had passed since Grasshopper fed me breakfast and shone light on his president—a man he obviously loved. Six hours had passed since another Pure Corruption brother brought me dinner of microwaved lasagna and a soft drink.
Two hundred and seventeen times I’d asked myself the same question.
Two hundred and seventeen times I’d gotten no reply.
It was all enough to drive me into madness.
I gave up, sliding down the wall to lie on my side on the lumpy mattress. My inhale and exhale were the only noises in my silent world. It was as annoying as a tap dripping, or a clock ticking, or a fly buzzing.
There’s no way I’ll sleep.
I was drained but not sleepy. Teary but not hysterical. I’d made it this far without losing faith—I just had to keep going, no matter what tomorrow brought.
Balling my hands, I wedged them beneath my cheek and began all over again.
“What’s my name?”
Nothing.
“What’s my name?”
Silence.
“What’s my name?”
Sarah.
I froze, turning to stone.
“What’s my name?” I whispered.
Sarah.
“Sarah! Dammit, leave the poor pussy alone.”
I grinned at Corrine, tucking the little black-and-white kitten into my jacket. “Pussy, huh? That’s a bad joke—even for you.”
She giggled, her blonde short hair ruffling in the winter wind. Living in England was a privilege to be around monarchs and history and pedigree of families who could trace their lineage back to the Stone Age, but damn, the weather sucked.
I’d moved to England to study my degree. I’d moved from the United States. I’d moved because…
Like always the wall came up, slamming shut in my face. I sighed, so used to not remembering anything before my fourteenth birthday that I no longer cared. I had a great new life, a boyfriend who adored me, and an education that allowed me to work with animals who appreciated everything I did for them.
I was living the dream.
So why does your heart pine for something you don’t recall?
The question was like a haunting—never leaving me alone.
Corrine looped her arm through mine, joining forces against the ice. We lived not far away, in a quaint studio apartment that we both could barely afford and that created multiple problems whenever one of us wanted our respective lovers to spend the night.
Living with no recollection of my past or family was hard, but somehow I’d made it. The doctors said I might remember someday. But as the years ticked past, that scenario became more and more unlikely. There was nothing they could do for complete amnesia brought on by almost dying. And I was beyond grateful that my other brain functions seemed to be normal. No one could explain the burns to my body—or how I was found supposedly in a ditch of some field.
It was all a mystery, never to be solved.
In tribute to a past I no longer knew, I’d inked the mirroring side with everything I could imagine I liked when I was a little girl. I went crazy, and paid the price in pain and needles, but every time I looked at the tattoo, I somehow felt closer to my past.
However, there was one hidden design that I knew would someday unlock my mind.
An equation.
Buried and obscured so the scrap of truth would be seen only by me. No one else would get it. No one would give me a key to solving it. It was my ultimate goal to know.
“Fancy a movie tonight?”
“Sure,” I said, pressing my nose against the soft bundle of fur. I hated seeing abandoned pets. I single-handedly kept the animal shelter in business by delivering homeless creatures.
I did it because I was homeless in a way, too.
“Good. I’m thinking something sexy. Fancy watching some naked man with blue eyes ravaging the heroine?”
I laughed, squeezing her arm tight. “I’m all for that—but can my hero have green eyes instead?”
The past faded away.
A smile bloomed on my face.
“My name is Sarah, and I’m beginning to remember.”
Chapter Fourteen
Work came in many forms. Many obsessions. Many goals.
Mine hadn’t de
viated since my life had changed forever.
I had a plan. I’d been working on it for eight long years.
Every contact, every dollar, every trade was all for one outcome.
And finally, after all this time, I could taste freedom from my quest.
I was about to become their worst fucking nightmare and they were completely oblivious.
—Kill
“Morning,” Grasshopper said, sticking his head around the door.
I sat up, stretching and trying to hide my yawn. There was something different inside me—a cracking of sorts. It was as if the wall that barricaded everything wasn’t as strong anymore—hairline fractures, tiny fissures had diseased the fortitude, allowing spears of light to glow.
I was told I might never remember past my fourteenth birthday. Until a week ago, I couldn’t recall anything at all and lived another life that I was only just starting to remember—yet the memories that were coming fast were the ones buried so deep they were sluggish and heavy, and so unbearably precious to be viewed after all this time.
“I’m here to take you to the bathroom. You can freshen up. I have some clothes for you, and then you can come eat with the boys.”
I blinked, trying to steady my world of biker lunches and showering, before being trafficked to some unknown buyer.
Ask him.
I shot to my feet, feeling gross and unwashed but more alive than ever. “Kill’s dead girl. I know her name.”
Please, be right. It has to be right.
Grasshopper scowled, his blue eyes darkening. “I highly doubt that.”
Sucking in a breath, I said quickly, “Sarah. Her name was Sarah.” Is Sarah. I strode forward, rushing, “I don’t know my last name yet, but I remembered! Don’t you see? Tell him my name and he’ll understand. He’ll know I’m telling the truth!”
I bubbled with excitement and a hint of fear. What would he do when he learned that everything I’d said was the truth? Would he beg forgiveness for kicking me? Would he slam to his knees and actually hug me—to allow me to hug him back for the first time since my “death”?
Grasshopper’s face had gone scarily unreadable. I couldn’t tell if he believed me or wanted to throttle me. Cocking his head, he said, “Get in the shower and I’ll call him. I’ll get him to join us for lunch before you leave.”
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