by James, Gemma
“Game’s over!” Zach shouted. “Your ass is going to pay for this stunt.”
I sucked in a breath, counted to five, then jumped to my feet. I’d find a way to survive. I’d do it for Rafe. I took off running again, and the forest whirled around me in a kaleidoscope of doom—every way I looked seemed the same. A huge boulder blocked my path straight ahead, and I was pretty certain going right would take me too close to the road. The easier way, for sure, but also the one that would expose me the most. I made a sharp left and bumped into another tree.
A warm tree. An angry tree with arms that reached out and folded me in a crushing and possessive embrace. “Stupid, stupid girl.”
His hand gripped the back of my neck. I lashed out with the keys, screaming, and did little more than swipe the air until his fingers banded around my wrist painfully. My grip loosened, allowing him to apprehend my makeshift weapon. He turned me around and propelled me forward, back in the direction I’d come.
“Let me go!”
“Sure thing, love.” He forced me to my knees and backed away. “I find it interesting you’re trying to run. Didn’t you tell me we’d get far away from the island, just the two of us?” Breathing hard, I angled my head and watched as he tested the branches. He paused long enough to glower at me. “Or were you lying?”
“I-I didn’t—”
“Shut your deceitful mouth, or I’ll shut it for you.”
I pressed my lips closed, and dread coiled in my belly, intensifying after he broke off a switch. With a cruel growl, he hefted me up by the back of my shirt. “Zach—”
“I said shut up! Not another fucking word.”
I was familiar enough with that tone to know when to give in. A deep ache tore through my chest. I held my fists to my breasts, as if I could keep my heart from beating through my ribcage. We cleared the last of the trees, and I realized I hadn’t run as far as I thought. I stumbled toward the cabin on trembling legs. Adrenaline seeped from my bones, leaving behind a coward who nearly sank to the ground with each step. Once we reached the porch, I fell to my filthy knees. Zach pulled me to my feet, dragged me up the stairs, and kicked the door open. He shoved me toward the bedroom and left me in the middle of the floor where I turned to a puddle of skin, bones, and a heart that beat too rapidly.
“Don’t you fucking move. If I have to chase you through those woods again, I’ll beat you unconscious.” He dropped the stick, as if to taunt me with its promise and the reminder of how little of a threat I posed to him.
After he left the room, another surge of adrenaline fueled my veins, and I crawled to the stick. But it was flimsy, barely thick enough to pass as a branch. What was I going to do? Whip him to death with it?
“Playing with your implement of punishment?”
I pushed to my feet and wielded the switch as if I could cause real damage. “Stay away from me.”
In one hand, he fisted a coil of rope. In the other, he gripped a bottle of what looked like cheap whiskey. He brought it to his lips, took a long swig as if his life depended on it, and placed the bottle precariously on the edge of the dresser. Reaching out a hand, he appeared unworried as he gestured toward me. “Hand it over and I’ll go easy on you.”
“You call whipping me going easy?”
He launched himself across the room, grabbed my arms, and the stick fell to the floor as he slammed me against the bedpost, facing outward.
“Zach!” I pleaded as he wrapped the rope around my wrists, tightening the knots with quick and jerky movements. He secured my hands to the post above my head, and the smile that graced his face was so cruel, I flinched from its impact alone. He withdrew a knife from his pocket and snapped open the blade.
“Zach, no!” I recoiled, but the sharp edge didn’t sear my flesh. Instead, the rip of fabric slashed through my ears. He slit my tee down to the navel, parted the material, and slapped my breasts once they swung free.
“God, I love your tits.” With a moan, he rubbed his rough cheek against them. Retrieving the switch from the floor, he took a step back, and we exchanged a moment of understanding, of silent communication between punisher and punished. Still, I wasn’t ready.
He’d hurt me before, with his hands, his teeth, but when he swung that stick down on my breasts, the point of contact served as an epicenter, and every muscle in my body spasmed from the deep ache. I clenched my teeth to keep silent.
He lifted his arm again, a tilt to his head as he regarded me, and I yanked at the bindings, composure slipping. “Don’t.” I twisted my hands, but that only made the rope dig into my wrists. “Please, please, please! Oh God—” The stick cut across my nipples, and I screamed his name. For the first time ever, he made me cry. More than cry. I bawled, begged, sobbed under each brutal lash.
“Shhhh.” He kneeled, bringing him eye level with my heaving chest. “Lex…” His whisper carried a strangled plea, and I wondered what the hell he had to plead for. He wasn’t the one on the receiving end of that stick. “Why do you make me hurt you? I should be inside your tight cunt, exactly where I belong.” He wedged my thighs apart and dipped his fingers into dry heat, then pulled back with a frown. “I want you drenched. You know how hard it gets me.”
Fingers spreading the lips of my mound, he buried his face there and dragged his tongue over my clit. I groaned, repulsed by the slick heat of his mouth. He kissed up my stomach, leaving a wet path to my breasts, and I stiffened. He licked the peaks, first the left then the right, and when he moved away, crimson stained his lips. My blood.
“This hurts me as much as you.” The muscles in his left arm tensed, fist tightening around the switch, readying for another swing.
Nothing on Earth prepared me for strike after strike on my breasts and stomach. “Stop!” Fire danced across my flesh, and I howled at the excruciating sting. I resisted glancing down, scared to see the blood smearing my skin, the ugly red welts he must have left behind. Instead, I focused on him, on the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the rigid set of his jaw. The regret in his eyes that made me want to gouge them out. He had no right to feel regret or pity. If either of those elusive emotions existed inside his cold heart, they were fleeting—like dust obliterated by an unstoppable storm.
The stick struck the floor an instant before he gingerly probed my pussy. His frustrated gaze clashed with mine, and I knew I was in deep shit.
“Zach,” I whispered. “Please…”
“Please what? What do I need to do to make you wet? What did he do?”
I shook my head. No, I couldn’t talk about Rafe. A sob broke free, then another. Tears slid down my cheeks, and each one amplified the grief simmering in my soul until all I felt was denial. Anger.
Rage.
“You killed him! I hate you.” I lifted a knee and struck his erection. “I fucking hate you! Do you hear me?”
Zach stumbled back, out of striking distance. While he doubled over, wheezing between lips tightened in pain, I unraveled, my gut-wrenching sobs tearing through the air, my feet uselessly kicking as acceptance finally penetrated.
Rafe was really gone.
I wailed, aching to clutch my breasts and contain the agony pouring from me. Zach might as well cut my chest open and carve my heart out with his teeth. It wouldn’t devastate any less. Nothing mattered anymore. He could beat me, cut me, kill me…I felt nothing beyond hatred and the remnants of despair.
I lifted my head, peering through tears and the messy curls clinging to my face, and caught his gaze, blasted all my hatred in that stare. He turned away, as if he couldn’t stand to look at me. But was it the sight of me that bothered him, or the truth that stared him in the face?
4. RUDE AWAKENING
Rafe
“You have a condition called dissociative amnesia.”
Before I could ask what the heck that meant, my brother beat me to it. Typical Adam behavior. He’d just arrived, but he was already taking over. Clearing his throat, he leaned forward, dark hair brushing his brows as he cast a glance
in my direction. “What does that mean, exactly?” His get-to-the-point tone commanded Dr. Brady’s attention.
“Dissociative amnesia usually occurs due to a psychological trauma, rather than a physiological one.” The doctor gestured toward me. “In the case of your brother, it’s unusual, as it’s neither generalized nor selective. He hasn’t forgotten his entire life, or bits and pieces, he’s lost a large segment of it instead.”
“And you’re positive this isn’t from physical trauma?” Adam asked.
“Going by the MRI results, no. Everything looks good.”
I shifted carefully so the hole in my shoulder wouldn’t throb too much. “Then why the fuck can’t I remember the last eight years?” The doc’s brows furrowed, and I winced. “Sorry, I’m just…” Pissed that you guys are talking like I’m not here. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
His ruddy face hardened. “This type of disorder doesn’t always make sense.”
“Now you’re calling it a disorder? Am I crazy? Is that it?”
“No, Mr. Mason.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, and I was certain he meant to intimidate with the firm set of his mouth. He didn’t approve of me, that much was obvious. Maybe he took issue with my career as an MMA fighter. Or the tats. Possibly, he detested foul language and the pricks who spewed it. “For whatever reason, your brain is burying part of your life.”
“What can I do about it? Is there some sort of treatment or medication? When will I get my memory back?”
“There isn’t a specific treatment for amnesia. Surrounding yourself with familiar people and places, getting back to your normal routine, those things might help your memory return. I recommend consulting with a psychologist. I believe working with a professional will help you get to the root of the cause.”
So he was saying I was crazy. Fucking wonderful.
Adam stepped forward and shook Dr. Brady’s hand. “Thank you.”
The doctor nodded, his stony expression unchanging. “I’ll be back soon with those referrals.” He directed his cool blue eyes on me. “Tell the nurses if you change your mind about the pain meds.”
“Sure.” The psychoanalysis wasn’t happening, and neither were the drugs. I couldn’t stand the drowsy, looped, out-of-control state they put me in.
Dr. Brady left and shut the door upon his exit. The dead silence that engulfed the room weighed on my nerves. I didn’t know how much longer I could take in this place, gunshot wound or not. I’d regained consciousness a few hours ago to find a stranger at my bedside who claimed it was 2014. Imagine my shock when I learned it was true. He’d informed me I’d been out for three days, spouted a bunch of other stuff, things that didn’t make much sense, and then the doctor had come in, followed by the nurses, who all poked and prodded. Tests were ordered, more words said, and it all hazed in my mind like smoke.
“You’re refusing medication for pain?” Adam frowned as he took a seat. “You’ve got nothing to prove. No one’s going to care if the big, bad Rafe The Choker Mason takes a pain pill. There’s no reason for you to suffer.”
If I listened beyond the condescending tone, he almost sounded like he gave a shit. I met his tired green eyes, noting the pronounced wrinkles surrounding them. He’d certainly aged since the last time I remembered seeing him.
Which was eight years ago…wait, longer.
“I’m fine, Adam.” At least I knew his name. Fuck, at least I knew my own. My memory had a warped sense of humor. How could eight years just disappear? It pissed me off that everyone seemed to know more about those missing years than I did, including a guy I knew nothing about. Jax wanted to talk. I felt it in my marrow, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear what he had to say. The doctors, the nurses—they all treated me with a professional air, but underneath, I sensed an undercurrent of hostility. Disgust even.
Who had I become? And what was up with the way my brother was looking at me? Like he fucking cared. Most of all, the absence of one person ate at me like a maggot.
“Where’s Dad?”
Adam perched his elbows on his knees. “Dad is…he’s…busy.”
I pushed myself up despite the pain, needing to be on equal ground. “Don’t feed me that bullshit.” Jax had been dodging the question since I’d first opened my eyes in this place. Now Adam was doing the same.
He dropped his head into his hands then dragged his fingers through his hair. When he looked up, stress etched across his features, tightening his mouth and jaw. “We’re on much better terms than we used to be, so you can cut the attitude.”
“Since when?”
“Since you got out—” He cursed under his breath.
“Got out of what?”
“I think Jax should be the one to tell you about that. He should be back soon.”
“I don’t even know the guy.”
“You know him better than you think. He was your cellmate.” Adam closed his eyes. “Shit.”
A heavy glob of dread pressed on my chest. “Cellmate?”
He rose from the chair. “I realize this is horrible timing, but I have a meeting I need to get to. I just stopped in to check on you. I heard you were awake.”
“Some things never change,” I muttered. “Whatever you’re keeping from me, just tell me. It couldn’t get any worse than this.”
“I’m not sure how much you should know. We don’t know what caused the amnesia. Maybe you should take the doc’s advice and talk to someone who specializes in this stuff.”
“You mean a shrink?”
“Yes, I’m talking about a shrink.” Sarcasm dripped from the last word. “Excuse me for worrying about my little brother.” He wandered around the room, and each second of disquiet niggled at my irritation. I didn’t like being left in the dark.
“The sheriff’s waiting to talk to you,” he said, clearly changing the subject. “And speaking of, so is Nik. Are you up to seeing her yet?”
I shook my head. The last memory I had of Nikki involved a night of the wildest, roughest sex of my life—the kind that marred skin with bruises.
Eight. Fucking. Years. Ago.
I was scared shitless to find out what had happened since that night.
Had I made it to the UFC?
Were Nikki and I a…thing? A thing didn’t encompass how I felt about her. I was far from ready to settle down, but if that day ever came, it was too easy to see her filling that role. Easier to think of her than the brunette who tested my sanity and willpower every time I saw her. I wasn’t about to touch jailbait.
Except she wasn’t jailbait anymore.
My head spun, though whether from the puzzle pieces of my own mind, or the constant ache in my shoulder, I didn’t know.
The door suddenly opened, and Jax stepped inside. “How’re you feeling?”
I glanced down at the bandage covering the area where a bullet had passed clean through. “Good as can be expected.” My gaze veered to my brother. “Adam won’t tell me shit.”
They exchanged a look, and I gritted my teeth.
“This is getting old. Spill, or I’ll find out on my own.”
Adam looked at his watch, and the shuffle of his feet told me he was itching to ditch. “I think you should fill him in, Jax. You know him best anyway.”
What the hell? How could this stranger know me better than my own brother? Okay, so we weren’t exactly close, but still. We were family.
“I’ll call you after my meeting ends.” He reached for the door.
“Adam,” I said, sitting up straighter. “Where the fuck is Dad?”
“I don’t think now is the time…” He swallowed hard.
“Just tell me. Is he sick? Out of state on business? What the fuck is going on?”
“Dad passed a year ago.” His voice was so soft and low, it took a few seconds for those words to penetrate. Strength fled my body, and I sank into the pillows. A lump formed in my throat, preventing me from speaking. Something foreign burned behind my eyes. Tears. Grief. I never cried. Crying wa
s a weakness. Crying was for pansies.
Adam dropped his head, one hand on the open door. “Rafe? Did you hear what I said?”
Through my blurry vision, I saw a nurse move past in the hall. “How did it happen?” I didn’t recognize the thick quality of my voice.
“Cancer.”
I thought back to all the years I’d seen a cigarette dangling from Dad’s mouth, all the times Adam and I tried to convince him to give up the habit. “He never quit, did he?”
“He was the definition of stubborn,” Adam said, shaking his head.
“Did he suffer?” I knew it was a ridiculous question, but I had to hear it.
My brother lifted his eyes, so like my own, and the weight of his sorrow crushed me. “You know Dad. He fought with everything he had.”
“Did we get to say goodbye?” The thought of him passing alone was too much, and I swallowed hard before clearing my throat. “Was he at peace with it?”
Again, Adam and Jax traded a glance. My brother nodded. “Yeah.”
Jax scowled. “Don’t lie to him. Not about this.”
“Jax,” he warned.
“No. He deserves the truth, no matter how much it sucks.” Settling into the chair Adam had vacated only moments ago, Jax rubbed a hand down his face. “You weren’t there when your old man died. They denied your request for furlough.”
As I tried to process what he’d said, what they’d both said, my gaze swerved between them.
Furlough.
Cellmate.
Eight years gone.
I wasn’t there for Dad.
Wasn’t there for Dad…
“Somebody start talking.”
5. ECSTASY
Alex
The slam of a door sent a shot of adrenaline through my veins, and my heart galloped in time to his steps coming closer in the hall. Rope pulled at my sore wrists, rubbed raw from hours of trying to get free. We’d spent the last three…maybe four days in this room, fucking, fighting, and fucking some more, barely taking time to fuel our bodies with what little canned goods Zach found in the cabin. It was like a nymphomaniac had taken over his being. Now that he had me here to himself, he couldn’t stop thrusting his cock into me.