Amnesia: a psychological thriller

by Kylie Hillman

  “Whatever it takes to keep her under control,” my dad answers, his strong, no-nonsense voice floating after us.

  “The finish line is too close for this to fall apart now.” Henry sounds stern when he comments. “If it does, we’re all ruined.”

  His strange choice of words piques my curiosity and I try to force my mind to provide the answer to my newest question.

  How do I make this fall apart so I can ruin them all?

  TEN

  A gut feeling is a funny thing. You’re supposed to trust a hollow, empty feeling in the pit of your stomach with your most important decisions. To allow it to dictate your response to life’s challenges. I’d laugh at the stupid idea that my intuition was trying to tell me something if my mind didn’t feel like a blank canvas, with every memory that I try to take hold of slipping from my grasp like I’m trying to pick up water with my fingers.

  The darkness in my mind is enough to scare me witless.

  The dark soil that is being thrown, handful by handful, on top of my uncle’s lowering casket as the assembled crowd passes by the receiving line that I’ve formed with my parents and my fiancé appears to be mocking me. Ridiculous, I know. Yet, it’s earthy consistency—it’s sheer ability to grow life from its bare essence—mimics my own vitality. For when I awoke in the arms of the man who calls himself my husband-to-be this afternoon, he casually mentioned that we should start trying for a baby now that our wedding date has been set.

  My murmured concerns about my lack of memory were summarily dismissed. The overbearing need for the pair of us to produce an heir as soon as we can apparently takes precedence over my need to know who the hell I am. To remember if the man currently clutching my hand as if it is his lifeline is indeed who he says he is.

  My childhood sweetheart.

  My soulmate.

  Every time I test the taste of those words on my psyche, the emptiness in the pit of my stomach almost brings me to my knees in protest.

  Intuition is powerful. It’s honest. It stays true in the face of fallacy.

  And, mine has made its objections known.

  All is not as it seems.

  “How are you feeling, baby?” Jax whispers his question into the veil of thick, black hair I’ve been using to shield my face from his observant eyes.

  The last of the mourner’s shuffle past, dutifully tossing their measure of soil into the hole Uncle Charlie now uses as his final resting place. Ignoring Jax’s question, I ponder my lack of grief at my uncle’s passing while my feet wearily trudge behind my family as we prepare to leave the gravesite. Apart from an annoying niggle at the back of my mind, a weak tickle that vies for my attention, I feel nothing for the man whose body lies in the Cherrywood casket that’s barely visible in the six-foot-deep hole. I know I should. He’s my paternal uncle. Yet, the gaping cavern that has been formed by my lack of memories doesn’t allow me the luxury of mourning the loss of this family member.

  “I said,” Jax pulls me into his side, wrapping a tight arm around my waist and forcing me to stop. “How are you feeling?”

  The words sound as if they’re being ground out from between gritted teeth. I lift my face and meet his angry gaze. The depth of ownership in his black eyes, the muscle that works in his jaw as he waits for my response.

  It scares me.

  But, I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t also excite me.

  “I’m okay.” The answer is simple. It’s also a complete lie. Nothing about this situation is okay. I feel as if quicksand has gathered around my feet and is trying it’s hardest to suck me down, while the only person available to take my hand and stop me from drowning, is the man standing beside me.

  And, I don’t have any way of knowing if he’s trustworthy, apart from the feeling in my stomach that says he’s not.

  “Good.” Jax runs his hand up the side of my arm. He tangles his fingers in my hair, goosebumps breaking out over my skin at his touch, before he lowers his mouth to mine. Our lips meet. A joining that doesn’t escape my father’s attention when he turns to see what’s taking us so long to follow him since we’re now the only people left in the cemetery. The crooked smirk he sends my way when our eyes meet ramps up my misgivings to another level.

  Jax notices. He stiffens, pulling away from me and resting his forehead against mine. A sigh that matches the one I’m stifling on the inside is the only sound he makes for a drawn-out moment. Then, he lays a hand on either side of my face. His touch is gentle. Reverent. It sets my pulse racing and lights a fire in my lower belly.

  “Baby. There’s a lot of water under the bridge between us. Quite frankly, I’m happy that you can’t remember anything. It gives me the chance I need to repair our relationship. To prove that I love you more than anything. That I’d kill anyone who hurts you—myself included.”

  The words are perfect. The moment is everything a woman could dream of. If I took him at face value, the churning sixth sense in my stomach would settle, and my worries would disappear. I could move forward with my life with this man’s word as my guiding light. His self-proclaimed love could be the foundation I rebuilt my memories upon.

  The only problem?

  His eyes.

  There’s nothing in them to support what he’s saying. The fundamental depth of emotion—of life—that your expression should provide is missing. Jax’s eyes are bleak. Black. Barren. I doubt the love he professes to have for me because I don’t believe that he’s capable of feeling it. Amnesia is not a barrier to my understanding of feelings; if anything, it’s heightened my perception since I have nothing else clouding my judgment. And, it’s my judgement that the man holding me is devoid of normal human emotion.

  “Thank you.” It’s not the answer he wanted, but I’m not lying to him. “Hopefully, one day soon, I can return the sentiment.”

  “You will. Very soon.” There’s no room for disagreement in Jax’s answer. It’s final; as if his thoughts on the matter are definitive. The be-all and end-all of my life. My enigmatic fiancé steps away from me, taking hold of my wrist and pulling me towards the waiting limousine before I can mount an argument. Not that I want to. His command—for it most definitely wasn’t an assurance—stirs a fluttering in my stomach that’s drowned my previous qualms in something that doesn’t fit the discussion we’re having. A giant, lava-like wave of desire has taken flight, filled with the promise of ecstasy at the hands of the brooding man currently looking at me with liquid lust in his eyes.

  “After you, baby.” Jax motions for me to enter the vehicle before him. I duck my head, and as I pull my skirt above my knees so my legs aren’t impeded, my entrance into the limo is halted by a warm hand on my inner thigh. It trails a heated path up my leg, stopping when it meets the outer edges of my panties. I fall still, one leg in the car, one rooted to the ground, unsure how to proceed. My father’s curious gaze meets mine, jolting me out of my stupor.

  I begin to move, halting when Jax presses himself into my side. His fingers breach the side of my silk panties, running a smooth finger straight down my centre. A gasp—of shock? Of lust?—escapes me, followed quickly by trembling when he presses down on that one spot that’s guaranteed to bring any woman to her knees. I attempt to clamp my thighs together to stop Jax from repeating his torture, but it’s too late. He rubs his fingers over that spot again; this time, dragging a groan from me. To lessen the chances of my parents finding out why I’m acting like I’ve lost my mind, I straighten and step back outside, slamming the car door shut as I do.

  “I told you that you’d return my sentiments very soon.” Jax murmurs in my ear when I face him. With his athletic frame, he crowds me until I’m pinned between him and the limo, his rogue limb maintaining its position under my skirt. “Bet you didn’t think I’d be right this quickly?”

  “Jax.” What is supposed to be a reprimand emerges as a sultry purr.

  He moves his hand, this time parting my lips and pressing his middle finger into me. My knees buckle, completely giving o
ut when Jax pulls back just enough to add another digit. Now, I’m being held upright by the same hand that’s slowly tormenting me. Jax presses his full weight against me. He runs his tongue along my collar bone, then up the side of my neck until he reaches my earlobe.

  “Say you love me.” The demand is whispered, although it doesn’t lose any of its strength from its low volume.

  “No.”

  Another finger is added to the two already assaulting my aching core. His pumping picks up pace. I’m being teased beyond all reason, my own needs used against me.

  For what? Because he wants me to return the words that I didn’t believe?

  Or, is it to satisfy the thirst for control that I can feel emanating from him?

  “Say it, Amber. If you say it, I’ll stop.” Another groan leaves my lips and Jax smiles. “Or, not. It’s up to you.”

  I’m in two minds. Say it and stop him? Let him finish me and give him the satisfaction of knowing he got under my skin anyway? The decision is taken out of my hands when Jax increases the thrusting of his fingers. In a matter of minutes, he has me on the verge of an orgasm so I decide to simply go with it and then deal with the repercussions afterward. But, it’s not to be. No sooner am I edging toward the precipice than Jax sinks his teeth into my ear lobe and dishes out another order.

  “Say. It.” I can’t even speak so I shake my head and wrap both of my hands around his wrist. My futile efforts are met with a chuckle and a merciless curl of his fingers so he’s pushing on my G-spot. “Tell me that you love me. I’m not going to stop until you do. If you don’t then you’re going to come all over my fingers with your father listening and the driver watching in the side mirror. Which will it be, Amber?”

  When he puts it like that, the answer is simple.

  I’m going to lose either way.

  My head lolls against his shoulder. I bite down on my bottom lip to regain some composure, then open my mouth and utter the words I was trying to avoid.

  “I love you.”

  “I know you do, baby, and I appreciate that.” Jax sounds like the cat that got the canary until his tone darkens. “But, I still have to teach you a lesson.”

  At first, I don’t understand what he means, but it becomes brutally clear in seconds. The orgasm that I thought I’d avoided is lifted to a new level when he fucks me with his hand—because fucking is what it is. The almost sweet way he was working my body moments earlier disappears, replaced by three curling, straining fingers and a thumb that presses against my clit with sadistic intent. It pushes me over the edge, leaving me crying out from the waves of my climax, and slumped against the shoulder of my tormentor.

  My heart is pounding in my ears and I’m panting like I’ve just run a marathon. The world has soft edges when I lift my head and inspect the immediate vicinity for witnesses to my shame. Apart from the people I am yet to face within the vehicle I’m leaning against, I think I’m home, free and clear.

  Jax shrugs when I finally met his eyes, a devious glint adding a new sheen to the dark depths. He makes short work of removing his fingers from me, straightening my skirt and pulling me upright before opening the door for me. I force myself to put one foot in front of the other, making my way inside the vehicle without impediment this time and seating myself next to my mum.

  “Did you sort your little problem out?” My mother addresses me for the first time today.

  Jax settles himself next to me before I have time to respond. He slides a possessive hand between my tightly-pressed-together thighs, his lips thinning with disapproval when I don’t immediately allow him the access he seeks. The scowl turns into a smirk when I decide that it’s easier to give him what he wants than give him a reason to teach me another “lesson”. I part my thighs, a small sigh of relief leaving me when he doesn’t lift his hand any higher.

  “We most certainly did, Cynthia.” Jax chuckles once he’s answered the question that I left hanging in the air. “It always takes Amber a little while to come to her senses, but she gets there eventually. I truly think she enjoys our little come-to-Jesus chats. She certainly finds unique ways to make them come about—”

  It takes me a second, but when I catch on to what he’s doing, I dig my nails into his leg to cut him off. Instead of the anger that I was expecting, I’m shocked when Jax tilts his head and smiles. This time it reaches his eyes, and I realise that maybe I’ve read him wrong. There’s genuine affection in the chocolate depths and a reverence that has my heart expanding until it feels too big for my chest.

  The contradictory man squeezes my thigh, then lays his arm across my shoulders and pulls me into his side. As the limo begins to pull away from the cemetery, Jax lays a finger under my chin and lifts my face until I’m looking at him. Planting a soft kiss on the end of my nose, he winks.

  “I love when you come for me. Think you’d mind if you did it more often?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Good. Because I’m not planning on asking again.”

  ELEVEN

  “Thank God that’s over.” I lean into Jax, nudging him with my shoulder until he puts an arm around me after he closes the door behind the final guests. Uncle Charlie’s wake went as I expect one should. There were moments of sadness. Some of grief. But, mainly, it seemed like it was filled with disbelief that he was gone so soon and in such a violent way.

  “Hopefully, they find who did it quickly.” Mum echoes my thoughts as she beckons us through the formal area where we’d just entertained the guests and into my father’s office. He’s sitting behind his desk with Jax’s dad, Henry, standing at his side. They both look up from the paperwork they’re going over when we enter, greeting us with expectant expressions.

  “They’ve already arrested his killer.” Jax ignores our fathers. He faces my mother and I before expanding on the bombshell he just dropped. “The police have the madman behind bars, which is where he’ll stay if I have anything to do with it.”

  “Most definitely.” Dad inclines his head when he voices his agreement. “Xander Barrett will trouble this family no longer.”

  At the mention of my uncle’s killer, a ringing starts in my head. It’s followed by the infernal churning nausea that plagued me earlier today at the graveside. Xander Barrett. The two words bounce around my skull. They taste familiar—and not at all like a murderer’s name should. Instead, it’s like they’re weighed down with significance. I chant them, over and over, so that I don’t forget.

  “Take a seat.” My father breaks my concentration. He gestures to the two seats in front of his massive oak desk, drumming his fingers on the table until me and Jax are seated. “That’ll be all, Cynthia.”

  I twist in my seat, catching a glimpse of my mother’s face falling at her summary dismissal. The sympathetic smile I send in her direction is ignored. She pulls the big, heavy doors shut behind her, the gesture symbolic to me somehow. It feels like a portend to how my childhood may have been.

  My father. The dominant spouse.

  My mother. His subordinate.

  “Amber-Rose.” Dad clicks his fingers after he says my name. I barely have time to turn back to him when he’s snaps at me. “For crying out loud, get your head in the game, girl. Your days of creating chaos for this family are over.”

  Swivelling quickly in my seat, I return my attention to the man sitting in front of me. He’s scary as hell. His ambiguous comment goes straight over my head, even though I can tell that the other two men in the room agree with his nasty accusation. Faced with a growing hostility that’s making the atmosphere heavier by the second, I find myself shrinking back in my chair to put some extra space between us. My father’s ever-so-slightly lifted shoulders, permanent sneer, and tight-lipped smirk showcase his satisfaction with my response, leaving me kicking myself for being so weak.

  “The prenup?” Jax breaks the stifling silence. My stomach tries to invade my throat as it finally becomes clear why we’ve been summoned to meet with our father’s. Marriage and babies are
the order of the day, it would appear. “Let’s get it sorted, once and for all.”

  He smiles at me, grabbing my closest hand and squeezing it almost apologetically. “Then, Amber and I can get on with our life and you two can rest easy knowing that you’ve secured our family fortunes for generations to come. It’s a win-win, really.”

  Immediately, I reassess my earlier thought that Jax agreed with Dad’s claim that I cause chaos. The realisation that I have one person on my side settles the apprehension that was trying to choke me. I sit up straight in my seat, returning my fiancés pressure with sure fingers.

  Jax’s father chuckles, then makes a choking sound. I catch an exchange between father and son, one in which the offspring emerges as the victor. Henry’s cheeks redden before the scarlet extends all the way to the tops of his ears.

  My father clears his throat, bemusement written all over his face. “Well, Jaxon, I guess that’s one way of putting it.”

  He pulls one of the files free from his overburdened in-tray and flips it open. Laying it on his desk, he steeples his hands over the document and regards me and Jax with a serious expression. “I’ve been waiting for more years than I can count for this day.”

  Henry nods from his vantage point behind Dad’s shoulder.

  “The joining of the St. George political dynasty with the Ray medical legacy is going to shake this country to its very core. Your drug,” my father inclines his head in Jax’s direction before speaking again. “It’s going to revolutionise dementia treatment, it’ll bring hope to those suffering from Parkinson’s. Why, my daughter is living proof of its effectiveness in lessening the impacts of traumatic brain injuries. The possibilities are endless. The money to be made is unimaginable. The St. George name will be on everyone’s lips for the foreseeable future, as long as this marriage goes ahead and the data stays where it should be. Dead and buried.”

  Dad stops speaking, his chest heaving, bright spots on his cheeks. The gleam in his eye is almost maniacal, and I feel as if I’m missing a large chunk of information that would allow me to make sense of his diatribe.