What? Make him fall in love with you?
I lowered my head, all happiness at being with him dissolving.
Then anger shot through my veins, granting terrible recklessness. I scrunched up the money and threw it in his face. He jolted in shock as the bills fluttered down his legs, landing on the grey carpet.
His expression locked into that of sheer anger, hands balling by his side. “Pick. That. Up.”
I stood my ground. “I’m not buying clothes just so you can parade me around and get a better price for your investment.” I hated the wobble in my voice—the pain of knowing he only kept me around because he’d ended up with six girls instead of five. I was collateral. A bonus.
I didn’t want to be there anymore. I wanted to be somewhere quiet, so I could figure out the mess that was my life.
Heaviness settled over my shoulders. “You truly don’t know me—do you?”
He tensed, looking around the store again as if people were eavesdropping on priceless information. “I told you the truth.”
“You’ve never seen me before?”
A flicker of something crossed his face. I pounced on it.
“Last night, when you took my blindfold off—you recognized me. Tell me that wasn’t in my head.”
He gritted his jaw. “I don’t have to tell you a damn thing.”
“Please!” I said, louder than I’d planned. “Please… why did you look at me as if I were…”
A lover you’d lost and found.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, his shoulders bunched. “You really want to know? You’re seriously going to push me—here—in a fucking department store?”
My heartbeat thrummed as I tasted the truth. “Yes. I really want to know—more than anything.”
His entire demeanor shadowed, looking as if he’d stepped out of darkness itself. “You remind me of her. Every time I look at you, I see her. You stab me in the fucking heart every time you look at me with her eyes. My gut twists every time the sun catches her red hair. But it’s a lie. You aren’t her. You could never be her.”
Finally. Truth.
My body trembled in my rush to uncover more. “But I could—don’t you see? What if I am? I’m drawn to you, Arthur. I’m—”
“Don’t use my name.” His face went black. “And you can’t be her. It’s impossible.”
“Why? Tell me why!”
His control snapped and he thundered, “Because she’s dead. Okay? I’ve stood over her tombstone. I’ve read the death report. You. Aren’t. Her. You’re just a horrible fucking reminder of what I’ve lost.”
He ruined me, not with his distraught voice or the agony in his eyes, but with sharp brutal reality. Here was a man drowning for a woman he’d loved so fiercely only for her to die.
He was in love with a ghost.
I wrapped my arms around my chest, holding my bleeding heart together. What could I say?
I’m sorry I look like her?
I’m not sorry I look like her?
I’m sorry she’s dead?
Let me try and take her place?
Nothing would work when I’d successfully stripped away his darkest secret, the one he held so close and guarded.
“How? How did she die?”
His eyes flared wide. “I’m not telling you shit. You aren’t her. You will never be her. You talk differently. You’re burned and tattooed where she was pure, and when I truly look at you, you’re lacking.”
The word destroyed my heart.
“Lacking…” My head hung heavy and dejected.
He sucked in a breath, his booted feet shifting in place as if he wanted to disappear. “I told you not to push me.”
I nodded. Ignorance… I suddenly wanted it back.
We stood there, breathing harsh, not caring about the milling women and their carts full of items. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Kill ducked and collected the crumpled money. Standing, he muttered, “Go. Try some shit on. I’ll wait for you.”
I swallowed, then shook my head. “I—I’m not in the mood. You choose. I just want to leave.”
He laughed; it was full of anger. “Me? Choose women’s fashion?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, no fucking way. Not going to happen.”
“Then I guess I’ll stay in your clothes until you get rid of me.”
Just let me go home.
I needed peace and quiet and a mirror. I craved a reflection to look into my eyes and see what was so lacking for him to despise me.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Kill stole my wrist and hauled me past racks and hangers, straight toward the changing rooms.
What the hell—?
People looked up from browsing, their mouths popping wide. But no one stopped us. No one intervened. Kill was right about people staying away—even if they knew something bad was going on beneath their noses.
The second we entered a changing room, he slammed the door, locked it, then shoved me against the wall. His fingers dug into my throat. “Let’s get a few things straight, shall we?” His scent of ocean winds and leather drugged me. “Never stand up to me in public. Never think you can order me around. Never think I will give a shit about you.”
He breathed hard, sweat beading on his brow. “And never pretend I’m anything more than what I am. A man who had every inch of softness inside gutted the day they threw me in prison. The day she died. I’m not the man you think I am, sweetheart. Don’t ever forget it.”
Prison?
My legs gave out; my hands gripped around Kill’s wrist. “Please let me go,” I gasped. “I can’t breathe.”
His eyes narrowed, his fingers squeezing tighter. “Oh, and one other thing, never ask me about her again. I won’t be so nice next time you meddle in my past.”
He let go.
I bent over, sucking in huge lungfuls of air.
He backed up, pressing himself against the wall of the changing room. The small box was claustrophobic, with a bench, a chair, and a full-length mirror on the back of the door.
A mirror!
I latched onto the reflection like it would dispel all my problems.
I couldn’t move as I drank in the features of the woman my soul dwelled within.
My eyes: they were green and large and luminous.
My cheekbones: they were apple-shaped and flushed.
My lips: they were full and wet and naturally pink.
My figure: feminine with muscle definition and strength.
My hair: cascaded over my shoulders in a riot of cherry and burned orange.
I was pretty…
I leaned forward, touching the delicate skin beneath my eyes. No wrinkles apart from a few signs of maturity. I’d say I was midtwenties.
“Recognize yourself?” Arthur never took his eyes off me, his leather jacket creaking softly as he crossed his arms.
I shook my head, my red hair rippling over my shoulders—the stranger in the mirror copied me move for move. “No,” I whispered. “No, I don’t.”
And it hurt so damn much to see myself but feel no love, no history—nothing but smoldering anger for a brain so damaged it blocked everything out. Who was the girl in the mirror and why did I hate her?
Because she’s lacking.
A knock on the door startled both of us. “Um, excuse me. Only one person at a time in the changing room, please,” the voice of a prissy attendant sailed through the cheap veneer.
Kill snapped into action. Shoving me to one side, he wrenched open the door, and tossed a hundred-dollar bill at the woman with oversprayed blonde hair. “Forget the rules. Go and get whatever is the latest style for a girl her size.” He opened the door wider, pointing at me as if I were fungus growing on the wall.
Bastard.
Arrogant, egotistical bastard.
I should’ve run when I had the chance. I should’ve run from the parking lot at Florida State. Next time, I would run and never look back.
But I didn’t and I won’t. Because I’m an idio
t who craves answers over life span.
The girl narrowed her gaze at my figure. “What cup size are you?” she asked, eyeing my chest.
I slapped an arm over myself.
“Full C,” Kill replied. “Least that’s my guess.” He winked cruelly. “I did get to see them in their glory last night, after all.”
Tears speared my eyes, but I balled my hands.
The attendant scowled.
Not caring that the girl hadn’t left, Kill slammed the door in her face.
He cracked his knuckles and slipped his jacket off his shoulders. If the action hurt his stitches, he didn’t show it—back to being the hard-ass president who treated everyone else like dirt.
Sitting in the velour-covered chair, he spread his legs so I would have to step over him if I wanted to move.
I perched on the bench, crossing my arms.
Ten minutes later, the woman returned, passing me skirts, jeans, T-shirts, and dresses, along with a few gorgeously feminine lingerie sets.
I hung the hangers haphazardly on the hooks.
Kill once again shoved the door rudely in her face with a sharp kick from his chair. Looking at me, he snapped, “Try them on. Then we’re getting out of here. I’m done being around society that doesn’t have a clue about the real world.”
“The real world being the ones with guns and jail sentences and death?” I spun away, not wanting to see a response. Gathering a pretty silver maxi dress off its hanger, I kept my chest to the wall and away from Kill’s prying eyes.
Pulling his T-shirt over my head, I quickly shimmied into the dress. Once the dress was on, I bent and pulled off the ridiculously large board shorts, hiding my modesty.
Kill growled under his breath. “Clever.”
I faced him, hiding my victorious smirk. He might’ve seen me naked once, but I had no intention of letting him see me again. He was still in love with her. He didn’t need to see other women who lacked.
“Does it pass your approval?” My skin burned with anger—it misted from my stomach right through my limbs.
He shifted in his chair, eyes dropping to my chest. “It hides too much.”
I ignored that.
It fit me well; the size was perfect and the color set off my milky skin. Turning to face the wall again, I grabbed a pair of skinny jeans and hoisted them up below the dress. Bunching the material—so he could see the jeans—I turned.
Kill’s jaw was locked, his legs spread.
No! Not again.
I hated this man. I deplored him.
So why had the undercurrent of fighting suddenly switched to intensity?
Chemistry’s cruel trick—sending pheromones into the air—forcing two people together who wanted nothing to do with each other.
I sucked in a breath as my eyes fell involuntarily to his lap. There was no disguising the rapidly building erection beneath the tightness of his black jeans.
His long dark hair fell over one eye, obscuring the blistering want in his gaze. “Fuck, you drive me crazy with your broken memories and pushiness, but I can’t deny you’ve got a gorgeous ass.”
My cheeks pinked as my blood notched up a few degrees.
“Glad you noticed something about me,” I muttered sullenly. Dropping the material of the dress, I turned to get a sequined T-shirt with a tropical umbrella on the front. Ignore him. Then maybe whatever this was would disappear.
Tugging the T-shirt over the front of the maxi, I turned to show him. It bunched over the dress, but at least this way Kill wouldn’t see any part of me. “Does this fit your strict criteria?”
He gritted his teeth. “If you’re trying to piss me off—it’s working.”
I tilted my head, gathering my long hair and twisting it into a coil. “I don’t know what you mean.”
His hips twitched a little. “You know exactly what I mean.”
I smoothed the T-shirt. “You claim we don’t know each other, Killian, so how would I know what you mean?”
He stayed silent.
Sighing, I asked, “What do you think? Yes or no? You’re the one buying it—your call.”
His nostrils flared. “You don’t want to know what I think.”
My stomach twisted. The way he watched me did awful things to my blood pressure. An intolerable ache built between my legs.
I hated him but wanted him at the same time. It seemed my mind was locked to me but my desires weren’t. I knew what appealed to me. Him. This brooding, temperamental man who loved a dead girl. A man who was going to sell me. Trade me. A man who denied me freedom by hiding answers rather than with chain and key.
Turning away, I jumped as Kill suddenly stood up and grabbed my shoulder. He gathered my hair, fisting it into a ponytail. “Take off the dress.” Reaching with his injured arm, he hissed in pain as he plucked the buttercup-yellow bra and panty set off the hook and dangled it in front of my face. “Try this.” His hand tugged my hair. “And I expect you to face me while you do it.”
I gulped.
He let me go, returning to the chair.
My hands shook. Shakily, I put the underwear back on the hook. I wouldn’t—I couldn’t expose myself again.
My eyes snapped shut as he murmured, “Don’t make me tell you again, Forgetful Girl. I want to see you. I want to see how the clothes I’m buying fit.”
He was an ass, but damn if his voice didn’t lick through my insides and make me quiver.
“You’re not being fair.”
His voice throbbed. “I’m not being fair? You threw five hundred dollars in my fucking face. You made me talk about things I haven’t spoken to anyone about. You made me feel things I’ve tried to forget. All of that means you’re completely in my debt. And you said it yourself, these clothes are mine. You’re just the convenient hanger that will wear them for the time being.”
I spun around, angry tears glassing my eyes. “I’ll never be in your debt. Never!” Temper shot up my spine. “You’re an asshole.”
“I know.” Placing an elbow on the chair, he cupped his chin and ran a single finger over his bottom lip. “Now strip.”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
He waved at my body. “Won’t ask again.”
I backed up until the hooks pressed into my shoulder blades. “I could refuse. You can’t make me.”
He smiled slowly. “You could refuse. But then you’d get no clothes.”
“I could walk around naked. I can imagine that would be rather inconvenient to you—your so-called brothers at the compound wouldn’t do too well with double standards. What’s it going to be? Letting me have my dignity, or letting your brothers see me naked?”
I didn’t care my reasoning was rash and lacking common sense. I was done being cooperative.
His entire body vibrated with tension.
My voice dropped to a husky whisper. “The men who fought against you will want what you have. They’ll see me by your side and imagine fucking me. Taking me. Owning me. You’ll have to—”
“Shut up!” The seat squeaked as he exploded upright.
“Don’t hate me for pointing out facts.”
His muscles twitched. “You’re taunting me.” He scowled. “You really are fearless.”
“Not fearless. Just strong enough to know when to fight. You’ve forgotten that.”
“I’ve forgotten nothing.” His green eyes swirled with smoke, full of pain and torture. “I forget nothing.”
“Let me go,” I murmured. “This was a mistake. Give me the answers I know you’re hiding and let me walk out the door here and now. I won’t press charges. You’ll never have to see or hear from me again.”
Kill shook his head, gaze narrowing in suspicion. “What did you mean about double standards?”
The rules of the Club.
No getting caught.
No using the merchandise.
And, above all else, no going against family.
You broke the last rule. You and him. You were both to blame.
/> I stumbled forward as the flashback ended.
“Oh my God,” I whimpered. How did I know that? I didn’t come from this life. You don’t believe that. I’d hated Kill’s bike when I’d seen it because it reminded me of something I couldn’t remember. Once upon a time, I’d been immersed in this life. This biker world of hard-edged justice and danger.
Kill didn’t move. “What? What did you remember?”
There was no reason to hide it—no point ignoring the power the memory gave me.
I whispered, “Double standards. The rules of a Club. No getting caught. No using the merchandise. And, above all else, no going against family.”
He grabbed my shoulders, shaking me with violent fingers. “Where did you hear that?” He vibrated with anger. “Who the fuck are you?” he roared.
My head bounced on my shoulders. “I don’t know!” I cried. Winds, and the harsh whoosh of flames exploded in my ears, building and building until a cacophony existed inside my head. “I don’t know!”
Kill spun me around, slamming me against the mirror. The pain made my mouth pop wide.
His lips suddenly crashed down on mine, stealing my pain, muting the loud noises inside my head.
What!?
I froze.
His large hand grabbed my wrists, pinning them above my head. His heavy bulk sandwiched me hard against the mirrored door.
My body shot to life, roaring into bearing as his magic touch awoke every part. Fire—it existed inside, scarring my innards as truly as it’d done on the outside.
What the hell was he doing?
I squirmed, trying to get free. But his fingers were tight around my wrists, keeping me prisoner.
“Quit it,” he growled. “Just one taste. Just one—” Then his mouth was on mine again. His heat poured down my throat. His tongue shot into my mouth sending a convulsion of need through my body. His flavor—whoa, his delicious dark flavor made me instantly drunk on him.
My heart splintered.
My core throbbed.
My tummy clenched with heat.
My lips moved under his, unable to fight the attraction—the need.
I gave myself over to the kiss, wanting to grab his hair and hold him tight. I wanted to drink him. I wanted to bite. I wanted to feel him driving inside me, pounding at the padlocks of my mind and freeing me from secrets.