Stretching my tight neck muscles, I force myself to ignore the headache that’s growing behind my eyes. Dealing with my crazy mother has this effect on me, which is why I try my bloody hardest to avoid her. The pounding pain refuses to budge, increasing when the realization that I need to seriously bump my hours up at the gym hits me. There’s no way I can afford to keep paying the bills and save enough in time to move closer to my art school in the city.
It could be said that I really have three vices—sex, fighting, and drawing. I’ve had an artistic streak for as long as I can remember, and have always wanted to become a professional artist. It’s only recently that attending art school and then getting a tattooing apprenticeship became my life’s goal. The whole “starving artist” persona that appealed to me as a kid, has been replaced by the need to earn money from my art. Tattooing is the easiest way to do that, so that’s been my new plan.
In between bouts of massaging my temples, I stash the food into the pantry. Breathing deeply in an effort to calm the tension headache that’s now in full effect, my gaze is drawn to the huge tattoo on my right thigh. It’s my own design, and a constant reminder to never trust anyone ever again. Not that I really need one.
Inspiration struck late one night, and I sketched Lucifer sneaking up on three kneeling angels and planting a knife in each of their backs. The angels are bleeding from the knife wounds between their wings, and Lucifer’s smiling down at them evilly. He’s happy with his handy work, and off to the side is God drawn as a woman, sitting idly, watching her children being taken down by someone who used to be one of them.
Zali hates it. She reckons it’s morbid and ugly, and that I should get over what Dad did to us when he up and left. I can’t be like her, though. Every time Cooper cries because Mum’s gone out and left him with us again, or I watch a little more of his childhood being stripped away from him when he wakes in the morning to another strange man in our home, the hatred I feel at our parent’s betrayal festers a little more, gaining intensity, and making the crater in my chest where my heart used to be grow bigger.
One of my regular clients at the gym owns a tattoo parlor. Most of my tattoos are from my own hand—I find the allure of having my art permanently on my body and the peace I find as the needle drills into my skin addictive, so I’m covered in more ink than I ever expected to be. We have a deal where he sells my drawings to clients in exchange for free tattooing and his assistance with the spots I can’t reach myself.
Running my finger over the face of Lucifer where he sits smirking like the devil he is, I push down the hurt, and concentrate on the anger and hatred. Slamming the pantry door shut, I grab my keys and decide it’s time to get the fuck out of here before I march into Mum’s room and tell her exactly what I think. I can’t spend another second in this hollow, memory-filled house that used to be our family home.
BRAWL, an MMA Standalone is OUT NOW
SNEAK PEEK of my medical suspense serial, AMNESIA.
Currently available for FREE on Wattpad, to my newsletter subscribers or on my website.
CHAPTER ONE
Baby blue walls.
I don’t have baby blue walls.
Why that’s my first thought I wouldn’t have a clue, considering there’s a warm, hard body wrapped around my naked form when I’m positive that I usually sleep alone.
Throbbing pain greets me when I crack first one eye and then the other. The pain is just bearable so I persevere. Opening my eyes all the way as I slowly roll to face the person snuggled into my back, I take in the luscious dark and wavy hair that tops their head. Piercing dark, brown eyes meet mine when I lower my gaze and I flinch.
“Good morning Amber. How are you feeling today, baby?”
Even with his voice sleep-roughened, the stranger sounds like sex on a stick. It’s ridiculous but my core clenches at his words, warmth flooding my lower belly as my nipples furl into tight buds.
“Roll over, baby.”
Not waiting for an answer he gently nudges me onto my back and I obey him without further thought.
Moving between my legs, he prods my pussy with his hot erection. I gasp as he slides his length between my wet lower lips, from my throbbing clit to my entrance and back again. A slow, precise torture that accelerates my heartrate and spikes my desire.
“Oh, Amber. Baby. Two more days. I can’t wait.” He groans against my mouth as he seeks my lips with his own. Belatedly, thoughts of stopping this stranger from touching me—kissing me—enter my mind but it’s as if he has me under a spell. As soon as the idea of resistance enters my mind, it disappears like a puff of smoke. Replaced by a craving to please him—to make him happy.
“Two days until what?” I force the question from my throat when he falls away from me onto his side. Staring down at me with intense, lust filled eyes, he shakes his head. His expression changes from sexual to upset in a heartbeat, the corners of his full lips drooping as he drops his gaze from my eyes.
Panic at disappointing him fills me and an apology makes its way to the tip of my tongue.
“I’m…” I begin, but he cuts me off by softly laying a finger against my lips.
“Baby, don’t say sorry.” An obviously fake smile lifts his lips, causing my pulse to rise in panic again. “We have two days until we can make love again. Two days until we get the all-clear after your accident. You remember, don’t you?”
He runs a finger gently down the side of my head. I jerk away from his touch with surprise when his finger meets bare skin where there should be hair. Scowling, he looks at me through hurt eyes. I smile tentatively, feeling bad for hurting him.
Lifting my own hand, I gingerly touch the same spot he did. The raised lump of a long scar runs from my forehead in an arc. It ends behind my ear. The scar doesn’t hurt; however, it feels new. Still slightly swollen and a tiny bit tender.
Scrambling from the bed, I pay no mind to my nakedness as I move towards the mirror that I spotted attached to one of the doors of the walk-in wardrobe.
Standing in front of it on wobbly legs, I stare at the unknown woman who greets me.
A short woman with black shoulder length hair with a large part shaved bald near her right ear, big brown eyes, and pale skin looks back at me. I don’t recognise her at all.
“Who am I?” I breathe the question as I touch the cool glass with a shaking hand. Lifting my eyes to his as he approaches, I ask. “Who are you?”
Coming to a stop behind me, the man wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me to him tightly. He’s naked as well, his erection still standing tall and proud, poking against the middle of my back. He regards me over the top of my head, our eyes meeting in the mirror, and I run my eyes over what I can see of his tall, rangy form. Athletically built, tanned and lightly muscled, he’s extremely good looking.
Tall, dark and handsome just about sums him up.
Holding himself with an autocratic, self-assured air, he’s intimidating yet it feels right to be in his arms. A complete contradiction in emotions since I’m certain I don’t know him. I can’t explain it, but I’m overwhelmed with the need to please this man, almost as if his needs supersede my own.
“Baby, calm down.” He rubs his hands up and down my arms, leaving goose bumps in his wake. “You’re Amber St George. My beautiful, thirty-year-old fiancée.”
Smiling, he points at himself. “I’m Jax. Jaxon Ray. I’m almost thirty-five. This is our home. We’ve been together since you finished high school. We were due to meet with our wedding planner when you were hit by a car crossing the street four months ago. You nearly died and you’ve had memory problems ever since. It was the worst day of my life, baby. I was running late for our meeting so I didn’t have a clue you were hurt until you were brought into the hospital.”
My legs tremble as his explanation takes shape. Jax notices, and leads me to the edge of the bed. Pushing me gently by the shoulders until I’m sitting, I allow him to pull me into his side when he sits next to me.
“Y
ou work at a hospital?” My voice sounds hesitant to my ears. He holds the answers I seek, yet I’m unsure if I want to know them. Why? I don’t know, but something feels wrong.
“Yes. I’m a neurosurgeon.” Jax’s tone conveys his pride in his profession, his chest puffing as he continues. “I operated on you once they stabilised your other injuries. I’m the reason you’re alive without any signs of brain damage. I’m the reason you’re regaining your memories one at a time. My techniques are working, baby.”
Bounding to his feet, his excitement fills the room. The enthusiasm Jax exudes is contagious, bringing a smile to my face even though I don’t entirely follow what he’s saying.
“You and me Amber, we’re the perfect couple. Baby, we’re going to have it all. My techniques will fix you. Your recovery will put me on the map and make my career. And you are…”
“A teacher.” I cut him off, the words falling from my mouth without conscious thought but with utmost certainty.
Staring at Jax blankly, all I can see in my mind’s eye is a woman who looks like a healthy version of the one I just saw in the mirror addressing a classroom of children who appear to be five or six years old. The woman—me—looks happy, a large grin covering her face as she reads to the children who are sitting quietly on a threadbare carpet. I’m mentally comparing the expensive looking bedroom I’m sitting in with the cheap furnishings of the classroom in my vision when I’m startled by Jax’s outburst.
“NO!” He yells. “You are not a teacher. You are my fiancée.”
Seizing me by the shoulders as he drops to his knees in front of me, Jax peers into my face—deep into my eyes—and shakes me like a disobedient child. His dark eyes radiate his fury at my assertion, as if the mere mention of teaching is a personal insult to him. The panic that gripped me earlier takes hold once more, and my heart pounds in my chest as my mouth becomes dry.
“Yes,” I croak, the need to placate him threatening to overwhelm me. “I am your fiancée.”
If I hadn’t seen how angry he was with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed the change in him. At my acquiescence, the fury melts from his features. He lets go of my shoulders and hugs me to him.
“That’s right, baby. You’re my fiancée. Your career is to support mine. You’re my backbone.”
Relief courses through me at his calm response. Letting go of me, Jax stands and pulls me to my feet by each hand. His hold is gentle, although his tone leaves no room for argument when he speaks, “That’s enough talking for today, baby. I don’t want you to overdo it.”
Nodding, I smile when he kisses me, running his fingers down my sides before cupping my ass and grinding me against him. His touch creates an instantaneous reaction within me, stoking my libido and spreading warmth through my limbs. My reaction is bizarre, almost an ingrained response, and it unsettles me that I’d respond with such potency to a man who was menacing me, not even two minutes ago.
“Have a shower and get dressed, Amber. I’ll head downstairs and make some coffee.”
In silence, I watch as he dresses in a dark business suit, knotting his tie as he moves to leave the room. I blow a kiss in response to the one Jax blows my way as he exits, simply because I know he expects it.
The moment the bedroom door shuts behind him; I breathe a sigh of relief at finally being alone.
My eyebrows drawn together, tongue poking from the corner of my mouth, I rifle through all of the drawers before heading into the walk-in robe. With one ear listening for Jax, I quickly scan the contents of the closet. Nothing looks familiar, yet everything appears to be my size. None of it strikes me as being my style, yet try as I might I can’t picture my style.
Searching Jax’s side, I don’t find anything of interest. The bedroom and closet appears to belong to a well-off couple in their early thirties. Which is exactly how Jax described us. Shaking my head at my irrational suspicions, I give up my exploration and head for the bathroom to shower and dress as requested. As I’m showering, my predominate thought is about poor Jax and the stress he must be under trying to help me regain my memories, especially in face of the paranoia I seem to be suffering as a side effect.
I don’t remember him, but I’m certain that I’m incredibly lucky to have such a man for support.
CHAPTER TWO
“So she didn’t argue with you this morning? She accepted your story?” A woman’s voice poses the questions as I’m walking down the ornate stair case. The delicious scent of cinnamon French toast fills the air as I descend, making my stomach rumble.
After taking my time showering and dressing, it became apparent that I needed to venture outside of the bedroom. Jax obviously wasn’t coming back for me. Mustering every ounce of courage I could find, I’d pulled open the heavy bedroom door and peered into the luxuriously appointed hallway. The expensive furnishings and abnormally long length of the hallway lead me to decide that either Jax or I come from old family money. I don’t know how I know but it’s not possible for a neurosurgeon and his unemployed fiancée to live in such a palatial home without possessing serious money to begin with.
“We had one tense moment when she mentioned being a teacher but apart from that, it all went to plan.” Jax answers, sounding smug and filled with glee. Nothing at all like the understanding and patient man I met this morning. I remind myself that he wasn’t totally understanding or patient, his reaction to my comment about being a teacher was quite scary and over-the-top if I’m honest.
“Oh Jax.” The woman laughs, great peals of laughter that set the hair on the back of my neck on end. “Your techniques are working. Her new memories will be irreversible within the month…” She trails off when I accidentally stumble down the last step, my heels clicking loudly against the marble floor as I struggle not to topple over.
“Amber?” Jax appears through a doorway, an apron around his waist and an egg flip in his hand. “Are you okay, baby?”
An older looking woman follows us into the kitchen as Jax grips my elbow and leads me towards a breakfast bar. Picking me up by the waist, he places me onto one of the tall stools before heading around the other side of the bench and continuing to flip the toast he’s cooking.
Pulling my eyes from his strong forearms as they flex while he works, I turn to face the newcomer. She’s an attractive older lady with blonde hair and the slightly pinched look about her features that people who’ve just embarked upon fillers and Botox get about them. I’d put her in her mid-forties.
“Good morning, Amber. How are you today, sweetheart?” Her words are caring but their delivery seems condescending.
I take an instant dislike to her. “Who are you?”
“Now baby, surely you remember Nurse Belinda?” Jax interjects. Spinning on my stool to look at him, I shrug. Placing a delicate china plate filled with French toast in front of me, he kisses my cheek. “Belinda has been looking after you while I’m at work ever since you were discharged. We’re very lucky to have her. Lucky that she accepted our offer to leave the hospital and look after you full time for me.”
Jax bestows a brilliant, megawatt smile on Belinda and she visibly preens under his attention.
“It was a very generous offer, Jax.” She purrs.
Honestly? I might not remember the man or my feelings for him, but he’s my fiancé not hers. Her behaviour gets my back up. Unsure how to react, I take a bite of the French toast. A moan escapes me as the cinnamon bursts over my taste buds.
Wow, he can cook.
“You like that, baby?” He asks, running a finger down my cheek as he gazes in my eyes. A haze of lust overcomes me at his touch, my nipples pebbling noticeably through the sheer top I’m wearing over a silky camisole. Belinda’s sardonic snorting breaks through my mindless response and I make myself move away from Jax.
Swallowing, I nod. “It’s yummy.”
Peering up at Jax when he doesn’t answer me, I notice the silent conversation he’s having with Belinda over my head. He doesn’t look happy with her, wrath c
olouring his demeanour as he appears to chastise her for laughing at me. Intrigued, I chance a look at Belinda. I’m left in shock at what I see.
Fear is written all over her face—her eyes wide and beseeching, her face pale under her makeup, her mouth opening and closing as she silently pleads for forgiveness. She’s scared of Jax.
“Amber.” Jax is gruff as he demands my attention.
Swivelling my head back to him, I’m thrown further when I take in his blank countenance. Not a sign of his anger can be seen, he’s expressionless. My misgivings from earlier in our bedroom return with vengeance. Maybe my suspicions are founded after all?
“Amber.” He clicks his fingers in front of my face, pulling me from my dark worries.
“Jax.” I answer him after a long second.
“Eat up, baby. You need a full stomach before I administer your meds. I have time for a memory session before I’m needed at the hospital but only if you hurry.”
Hesitant to call him out on what I just witnessed, equally reticent to question the meds and memory session, I smile at him as if I’m blasé to what just happened and dig into my now cooled toast.
CHAPTER THREE
“Okay, baby.” Jax blows on the crook of my elbow to dry the antiseptic wipe he’s just spread over my veins. “Take a deep breath. This will only be a slight pinch.”
Screwing my eyes shut as he injects the clear fluid into my vein, I immediately feel woozy and light headed. Turning my head from where I’m lying on the velvet settee in his office, I search for his handsome face as the room spins.
I should’ve asked more questions instead of blindly following them into the office once I’d finished my breakfast. In a dark recess of my mind, the thought that I’m not the meek, easy-to-please girl that I seem to be around Jax pops free.
“I’m gonna be sick…” I try to tell him but the words are mumbled, tripping over themselves in their rush to leave me. As quick as it comes, the nausea leaves and I’m left with a feeling of indescribable ecstasy. My body feels as if it’s glowing, my cheeks heating as a smile breaks free of its own accord.
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