Scooting higher beneath the blankets, I squinted through the warm glare of the sun cascading through the window. “You should really wear a sling until the muscles aren’t so sore.” I pointed at his stiff arm. “You don’t want to rupture the stitches.”
He backed away from the bed. “You’re not my nurse any longer. Get up. We have business to attend to.”
“Business?”
He nodded. “You might’ve bought yourself some time by making me be… ah yes, that word I hate… grateful, but I have people to deal with, things to organize.” Grabbing the covers, he tried to yank them off me, but I curled into them and didn’t let go.
He scowled.
“Got shit to do, sweetheart, and I’m not leaving you here on your own. I don’t fucking trust you. So you’re coming with me.”
“I saved your life last night, yet you don’t trust me?” I wrapped my arms around my legs, hugging the warmth from the blankets.
What happened to the connection we formed last night? The truce?
He smirked. “It’s the reasons why you saved my life last night that I don’t trust you.” Moving toward the black-lacquered dresser by the door to the bathroom, he jerked open a drawer and yanked out some clothes. Board shorts and another black T-shirt stating AND REVENGE SHALL BE SWEET.
I eyed him. He looked angry and bitter—no trace of the man I’d glimpsed no matter how briefly last night. There was no denying he had a vendetta against someone.
“Put these on. We’ll get some clothes for you this afternoon.”
“You’re dressing me now?”
“You want to walk around naked?”
“No.”
He stormed to the door. “Good, put the fucking clothes on.”
He suddenly changed course, stomping back to the bed. He’d already dressed in black trousers, T-shirt, and big biker boots. Grabbing the end of the covers, he tore them off me, leaving me exposed and chilled.
“Hey!” I cried out as he shoved me onto my back, and yanked up the hem of my T-shirt, exposing my nakedness below. His eyes didn’t latch onto my pussy or breasts but the tattoo decorating my entire left side. His nostrils flared as he followed the colors down to my hip and the perimeter of my leg.
His face darkened, gaze churning with questions. “Do you really not remember anything about this?” He poked my hipbone where a spray of cobalt blue forget-me-nots danced merrily amongst the black shadow of smoke beneath.
“No.”
He poked my ugly, shiny burns. “And this. Tell me you remember something as fucking traumatic as being burned this bad. Who did it? What happened?”
“I don’t know how it happened.”
Burn, baby girl. Burn.
I shivered. Wrestling the hem out of his large grip, I covered myself. Had he spent the night thinking about her? This mysterious girl I seemed to remind him of?
“Are you sure about that?” He stood tall, towering over me. “What if someone tried to kill you all those years ago? Would that be traumatic enough to block it out?” His jaw chewed the words, yet again saying one thing while holding so much back.
Yes. No. I don’t know.
Green eyes.
Green eyes held the answers to everything.
“The trauma I experienced was blocked out by being taken by your men.” I held up my arm, showing him the minor burn on the underneath of my forearm. “Something happened last night. I was burned again. Maybe it triggered something in my brain, giving me amnesia.”
“So you claim. Your last chance to tell the truth.” He leaned over me, searching my gaze. “Your last chance to admit you’re just faking it. I’ve agreed not to sell you… for now. I’ll honor that for you helping me last night. Tell me the damn truth.” His posture hinted that he fully believed this was all an elaborate act. His strong features were fierce—determined to make me trip.
I shook my head. “I am telling the truth. I truly don’t remember anything. Don’t you think I would prefer to know who the hell I am? To be able to remember my family, my name—my purpose in this life?”
He backed away, smirking coldly, no trace of understanding on his face. “So I guess the nickname Forgetful Girl is staying.” He raised a hand, pointing at me. “I’ll know when you remember, sweetheart. I’ll see it in your eyes and when I do, then we’ll discuss your future.”
I gritted my teeth, hating his smugness, the cold aloofness that had replaced the small connection we’d been able to build last night. I had no reply.
“Get dressed. We’re late.”
Without another word, he stalked from the room, leaving me to slip into the board shorts and T-shirt he’d left at the end of the bed.
Prison.
I didn’t know what I expected when Kill dragged me from his home, plonked me on the back of his bike, and drove along busy roads beneath hot sunshine. Ideas of returning to the compound, or going to see a doctor—which would probably be advised—even the concept of a restaurant to eat at wasn’t far-fetched.
But jail?
That never crossed my mind.
Kill parked the bike in a designated parking spot and took back the helmet he’d graciously given me.
He had the manners of a gentlemen all wrapped up in the cutthroat harshness of a criminal.
His brown leather jacket hid the well-tailored black blazer he’d slipped over the requisite black T-shirt and trousers. He looked like a bad businessman who’d escaped from the office to play gangster.
But I knew the truth. There was nothing playacting about him.
He smoothed his hands through his long hair, jerking it back so it looked effortlessly styled and sleek with just one motion.
I hated how capable he looked. His skin was a healthy tan, his green eyes bright with intelligene, and his five-o’clock shadow trimmed but not shorn. Until I witnessed the painful way he moved, I would never have guessed he’d almost died from blood loss last night.
“Why are we stopping here?” I tried to shield my eyes from the sunshine.
“I have to go in there.”
“Why?”
He scowled. “You really think I have to answer your questions?”
“You want me to answer yours.”
He huffed. “Fine. My boss is in there.” He looked to the tall, threatening building, then back to me. “Shit, I didn’t think this through.”
He massaged the back of his neck, eyeing me coldly. “I’m so used to coming here—I didn’t think about visitor’s passes or what the hell I’d do with you.”
My skin crawled at the thought of entering such a place. “I don’t want to go with you.”
He chuckled. “You and me both. There’s no way I’m parading you in front of Wallstreet. Even if I could get you in.”
“Wallstreet?”
He smashed his lips together, then snapped. “None of your—”
“Goddamn business.” I finished for him, attempting a small smile, even though I felt exposed and entirely too vulnerable to be outside Florida State Penitentiary.
Yesterday I thought having no memory was a blessing—granting me strength where I might’ve been catatonic with terror. But now… now I felt as if strangers knew more about me than I ever would, that my secrets were floating around unclaimed, drifting further and further out of reach.
Kill rubbed a hand over his jaw, wincing as his injury made itself known. Then his eyes lit up, and he pulled out a cell phone from his back pocket. “I’ll call a babysitter. Keep an eye on you.”
“I’m not babysitting a fucking traitor.”
I jolted at the violence of the sentence. Questions followed swiftly. Who was the traitor? Me? Was my dream from my past or just a figment of my imagination?
My fingers tickled my side as I traced the burns below. Is that how it happened? A house fire?
I couldn’t stomach being around other people. Kill was my link. The green-eyed answer who I needed to keep close. I didn’t want anyone else.
My head snapped up. “Wait! I’ll stay. You have my word I won’t run.”
He paused, his thumb hovering over the screen. “I don’t trust you.”
“You do. I proved you can last night.”
He shook his head. “Last night and today are two entirely different existences, sweetheart.”
I climbed off the bike. “I agree. But you could’ve left me tied to the bed at your place. Why didn’t you?”
His jaw worked in anger. “Contrary to what you think of me, I only tie up women who want me to.” The way his voice dropped, as if that was a lie, sent a small ripple through my stomach. “I didn’t know how long I’d be. Couldn’t risk it.”
“And you think bringing me into public, where I could scream and bring attention, is a better alternative?”
His forehead furrowed, green eyes blazing. “You’re saying you would’ve preferred to be chained to the bed, unable to move, with no food, water, or bathroom facilities for the entire day?”
I blinked. “No.”
“There you go, then. You’re welcome, by the way.” He rolled his eyes. Stepping forward, he crowded me with his large bulk, pressing me against his bike. “Two choices. I’ll be the gentleman and let you decide which you want.”