My heart leapt into my throat. Fear shot down my spine.
Was that all this was? A negotiation tactic to get full control?
You don’t believe that.
No. Not after seeing the shackles and barricades falling from Kill’s soul. He’d been more honest with me in that one second than in the entire week I’d been his captive.
Kill moved, faster and faster, to the exit. His large body blocked me from potential bullets but not from the pain if he was killed.
Mr. Steel growled, “What the fuck are you doing? You know who I am. Don’t be so stupid. Full control—you won! Dump the girl and I won’t fucking kill you.”
“Don’t want your fucking stock anymore. Told you. She’s not for sale.” Kill’s body trembled with aggression, his hand stayed up, pointing with his weapon. “We’re walking. Nothing you can do about it.”
My eyes shot between the two of them.
I didn’t see who moved first but Kill was the fastest. The boom of a gun exploding echoed in my ears as Kill shoved me to the ground. Then he was gone, plowing into Mr. Steel and tackling him to the ground.
I scrambled to my hands and knees as Kill’s fist connected wetly with Mr. Steel’s nose. Blood spurted all over his linen suit.
Mr. Steel swung at Kill’s head, only to lose more ground, and was subjected to a harsh volley of fists to his rib cage. The second Kill delivered the punishment, he stood up and kicked him in the side.
A horrible memory of him kicking me like that came and went, tangling with my joy of his remembering. How would I consolidate his stubbornness and the pain he’d caused with the happiness I felt that he’d finally listened? He’d treated me terribly. Did I have enough forgiveness inside to forget?
Two stewards appeared, one holding a shotgun. “Stop!”
Killian backed away, his fists covered in Mr. Steel’s blood. “Let us leave, and we’ll cause no more harm.”
Mr. Steel coughed, sitting up gingerly. “You think this is over? That you can come onto my boat, renege on a business arrangement, and then fucking hit me?”
“No. I realize what I’ve done. But I’ve already given her up once. I won’t do it again.” Kill’s eyes landed on mine, shooting fire into my heart.
“This isn’t over, Killian,” Mr. Steel hissed.
Kill nodded. “I know.”
A never-ending second ticked past. Mr. Steel stayed on the floor, his temper howling around us. Suddenly, he slouched. “Wallstreet owes me fucking huge for this.” Looking at his stewards, he ordered, “Don’t fire. Let them leave. I’ll deal with him later.”
Kill nodded in acknowledgement of whatever deal they’d just struck and stalked toward me. Effortlessly, he lifted me into his arms and, with a quick shift, threw me over his shoulder.
“Hey!” I clutched his jacket, blood rushing instantly to my head.
“You can shout at me all you want when we get out of here. For now, shut up,” he snapped, slapping me on my butt and aiming his pistol at Mr. Steel again. “Don’t move.”
Mr. Steel nodded, eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’ll make my move. When you least expect it.” Speaking to the stewards, he snarled, “Escort Mr. Killian and his whore off my yacht. Immediately.”
Kill walked backward, his arm never dropping or finger relaxing on the trigger.
Mr. Steel climbed painfully to his feet, spitting a wad of blood onto the carpet. I craned my neck, catching glimpses of his rage while hanging upside down. Kill had just made a powerful enemy—all because of me.
All because Lighter Boy burned and kidnapped me when he wasn’t supposed to. I needed to know what the hell was going on.
Kill never stopped inching backward. His muscles tight and bunched, his leather jacket a warm comfort beneath me. “I’ll make this right. There’s no reason to have bad blood between us.”
Mr. Steel laughed. “Get off my fucking boat. I’ll show you how much bad blood I can cause.”
Kill flinched.
What did this mean for him? How would the mysterious Wallstreet take the news that Kill couldn’t sell me?
It’s not my problem.
I had too many of those to think about more.
Kill continued to walk backward, training his weapon on the stewards who matched us step for step. He tripped a little as the edge of his shoe caught the lip of the inner door. I grabbed hold of the door frame, steadying both of us.
Without a word, he kept moving, backing into sunshine and past the spa and bar on the Seahorse’s gilded deck. Each footfall took us closer to the back of the yacht and awaiting speedboat.
“The driver works for Mr. Steel,” I said, pinching Kill’s black denim–covered butt.
“I know. But he won’t refuse to take us back. Not now. He’ll mean to teach me a lesson, and that will only be possible if Wallstreet approves it.”
“And will he?”
Kill shrugged, jostling me over his shoulder. “Possibly. Depends how pissed off he is.” Twisting his torso, he gently placed me upright. His emerald eyes were incandescent with feeling. The tips of his fingers kissed my cheek, nudging me gently in the direction of freedom. “Get in the boat.”
My mouth dried up, tongue twisting with everything I needed to say. “Just because you saved me in the end doesn’t mean I forgive you. We need to talk.”
He scowled. “Not here and definitely not now.” Spinning around, he focused on the stewards who waited for us to leave. “Get in the fucking boat. Now.”
I didn’t hesitate again.
Without looking back, I climbed down the staircase at the back of the yacht and onto the landing pad, where waves lapped and drenched my flip-flops. The sunshine kissed my skin, bringing my attention to my half-nakedness.
Oh my God. I’d completely forgotten. So consumed with the standoff of trafficker and buyer and numb to anything but the confusion glowing in my heart. Slapping an arm over my chest, I awkwardly climbed into the boat. The skipper gave me a smirk, then looked away the moment Kill jumped into the vessel.
Mr. Steel appeared at the top of the yacht, looking down on us with evil stewing in his gaze. “This isn’t over, Killian.”
“I never expected it would be,” Kill replied.
With a slight nod from Mr. Steel, the skipper teased the engine and we shot away into whitecaps and wind. I welcomed the whoosh of air as we sped away, leaving madness behind.
Narrowing my eyes, I took one last look at Mr. Steel and the life I’d narrowly missed. Then I looked at Arthur Killian, and the questions began to build. Wave after wave of them slowly rose inside my mind, damming in one churning mass thanks to the great wall protecting my memories.
One thing was for sure.
This had to end.
Tonight.
Tonight I would know who I truly was.
And Arthur would help me remember.
Chapter Sixteen
Fuck.
It was real.
She was real.
She was alive.
And I’d… I’d…
What have I done?
—Kill
Tension.
I’d felt it. I’d witnessed it. But I’d never been smothered by it.
The fifteen-minute boat ride was torture. My heart struggled to beat beneath the thick waves of anger coming from Kill.
Anger?
I couldn’t understand it. Why anger?
He didn’t say a word. Didn’t even glance my way.
But I felt his every thought, every speculation—lashing me like a whip.
Everything had changed.
Everything was different.
I sat beside him, red hair streaming in the wind, clutching my naked chest. I wished I had the bronze dress—anything to hide what I didn’t want others to see—but the dress and the bikini top were scattered on the floor of Mr. Steel’s yacht. All I had was the precariously tied bikini bottoms.
The wind bit into my skin as we tore faster and faster over turquoise water. The sun beat down on
scars and tattoos alike.
Kill seemed to fade, turning inward to his thoughts. His dark hair tangled around his forehead, obscuring his eyes.
He remembered.
He believed.
But why?
My gaze dropped to my hip—the same place where Kill had suddenly let go of his fierce conviction of my lies and let the truth awaken him. I searched for the key that had unnerved him so much.
There was nothing.
I saw nothing.
No matter how long I stared, I couldn’t see what he did.
I traced a strange equation hidden beneath smoke tendrils and forget-me-nots, but it didn’t mean anything to me—that part of my mind had yet to unlock.
The rage, confusion, and questions were swiftly becoming a pressure cooker inside. I knew I would explode if things didn’t start making sense soon.
The moment the speedboat docked, Arthur shrugged out of his leather jacket and threw it over my shoulders. The dense material weighed a ton. My eyes flared as he stole my hands, shoving them through the sleeves like I was a child.
Why had he given me his jacket now—why not at the start of the boat ride? Was he so far inside himself even basic things were taxing?
I wanted to ask him, but suddenly didn’t have the strength.
Neither of us said good-bye to the skipper, and Kill took my hand once we were on dry land, leading me quickly and firmly through the busy harbor and back to the parked SUV.
Opening my door, he didn’t say a word as he waited till I’d climbed in, then jumped into the driver’s seat.
This was the eye of the hurricane.
The unsustainable armistice that would tear us apart the minute we confronted all that we weren’t saying.
I just hoped we’d both be strong enough to survive the uprooting of our past, present, and future.
Turning the key, Kill coaxed the gas and shot into traffic.
He drove like a devil.
He drove as if he was terrified of anyone seeing me.
He drove as if he wanted to reenter the past.
Chapter Seventeen
Everything I believed had been a lie.
Not only had the people I loved stolen my life, but my ability to find goodness in others—including myself.
She was right in front of me all this time.
In my bed.
In my arms.
Yet my blind hatred and absolute conviction to never be hurt or deceived again had almost cost the girl I loved her life.
What did that make me?
And how could I ever fucking deserve her after what I’d done?
—Kill
Strangeness.
Strangers.
Strange happenings.
The past week of my life had just been strange. No explanations for behavior or hints at what was hidden. The moment we arrived back at Kill’s place, he left: squealed into the garage, shot from the SUV, and disappeared into the house.
A single sentence fell from his lips, garbled and nonsensical. “Give me… I need… I’ll come… Give me time.”
Without another word, he’d abandoned me. The gates were locked, the security system activated. He didn’t care about leaving me alone, standing gaping and wearing his jacket in the garage. He just took off, slamming a door in the depth of the house.
Give me time.
Where had he gone?
He’d run.
I’d sat there for a time, waiting. I’d been patient, giving him time to put his thoughts in order. After all, this wasn’t easy. The girl he’d loved, the girl he thought he’d murdered, the girl he’d gone to prison for, was back. Alive. Amnesiac, with no memory of how or where she’d been, but back and healthy and utterly ready to talk.
That was enough to make anyone run.
But love should be stronger than uncertainty of what it all meant. Shouldn’t it?
I waited for over an hour, but he never returned.
So I entered his home full of stealth and wariness, searching for the strangest man I’d ever known. For an hour I searched, but found nothing.
He’d gone.
The pain that caused me was tantamount to being worthless and sold. What had he seen that made him save me then disappear as if I were an infectious disease that needed quarantining?
Why had he kissed me and poured every inch of his heart into mine and then left?
It didn’t make sense.
It doesn’t need to make sense when someone’s breaking.
With a heavy heart, I tended to my other needs.
Preparing a dinner of salmon penne, courtesy of the gourmet meals Kill had had delivered, I ate alone, staring into space. My ears twitched for the barest of sounds, hoping he’d join me—drawn by pesto and cream. But he’d well and truly vanished.
Afterward, I drifted to his office, where I sat in his chair staring at the equation artwork, begging my mind to be kind and show me what Kill had seen.
It had everything to do with math. Everything to do with homework lessons and stolen touches. But my brain ignored my prompts, refusing flashbacks and snippets of my previous world.
It wasn’t until fatigue dragged me to bed that I sat on the edge of the mattress—the same mattress where Kill had taken me for the third time—and my listlessness turned to anger.
I balled my hands.
No.
I wouldn’t let him play me like this. I wouldn’t let him scramble my brain anymore. I was done being kept in the dark.
After the way he’d treated me. The way he was going to sell me?
He didn’t deserve to run off. He had an obligation to face me. He had the job of listening to me while I cursed him and his broken mind—while I shouted everything that I’d kept bottled up.
It’s time for the truth.
Time for him to grow some balls and talk to me instead of running. Time for me to figure out the mess inside my mind.
Wrapping my tattered courage and strength around me, I stood and beelined for the full-length mirror in his walk-in closet.
Shrugging from his jacket, I let it thud softly against the carpet. Instantly, I missed the smell of him—the soft musk of rebel winds and salt.
With my lips pressed together and my green eyes fierce in the reflection, I undid the loops on my hips and let the remainder of the gold bikini fall to the floor.
Naked.
My heart skipped a beat as I inspected every inch of my flesh. From the top of my head, to the tips of my toes, I forced myself to recognize the outlander in the mirror. Starting with my scars, I traced the puckered skin, tickling sensitive smoothness, pining for the lack of sensation in certain areas. My skin didn’t tingle or react—the nerve endings burned beyond working. The blankness was eerie, and I fluttered my fingers quicker, wanting to ignore the disfigurement and touch my tattoo.
He didn’t focus on my scars.
Leaning closer to the mirror, I arched my back so my inked hipbone reflected center place. I bent forward, squinting at the black symbols forming a diamond shape.
“Not like that. God, what’s in that brain of yours?”
I giggled. “Poems are in there. Words and words and words.”
“Words won’t get you wealth.” His voice was firm but laced with a smile. I wanted to look up and see the boy I loved, but my attention remained locked on the lined graph paper of my homework.
“Words are valuable. They’re the wealth of a soul.”
The boy jolted beside me. He uncrossed his legs uncomfortably. “That’s mighty thoughtful for a thirteen-year-old.”
I shrugged. I’d been told that many times. “Age doesn’t mean a thing when you just know.”
I looked up into his bright green eyes. The eyes of my nightmare lover and dream stealer.
I looked up, fell in love, and knew without a doubt he was mine. I swallowed as sexual tension sprang between us. “Age doesn’t mean a thing when two people want each other.”
Art looked down, fumbling with the Libra
eraser. “Buttercup… don’t.”
“Don’t what? Admit that I want you or remind you that you want me, too?”
His eyes were tortured as he looked up. “Of course, I want you. So damn much. But I’m not going near you until you’re at least fifteen.”
That was years away. I would self-combust before then.
“I’ll make you break that promise,” I murmured, already swimming with ideas on how to seduce him.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I know you have the power to make me break it, but if you care about me at all, you’ll let me wait.”
“That was underhanded.”
He laughed. “It’s the only weapon I have against you.” Tugging me close, he wrapped his arms around me and whispered, “As you wish, Buttercup.”
My tummy fluttered.
As you wish. The epic line from The Princess Bride. Farm Boy would say it to Buttercup—a secret message.
As you wish.
I love you.
I stumbled as the flashback ended as quickly as it began.
He’d loved me so much. So deeply. Despite my frustration and hurt of his treatment recently, I couldn’t hate him. After all, I was the one who left him. I’d lived a new life without remembering him, while he suffered believing he killed me. Not only did he have to consolidate a broken heart, but he also had to come to terms with murder.
Damn, we needed to talk.
Returning my attention to the equation on my skin, my eyes strained as I tried to unlock what it could mean. It looked like a pyramid of algorithms, hiding the treasure map I needed.
“Come on. Remember!” I hissed at the mirror. The rest of my tattoo came to life, showing hidden designs that didn’t offer any help. A small unicorn. A fairy hidden by petals. The star sign for Sagittarius, and filigree words wrapped around intricate colors. They were beautiful but meaningless.
I hypnotized myself as I stared harder, forcing past the sluggish forming headache and hammering at the wall in my mind.
But nothing worked.
Time lost all meaning as I dove deeper into the ink. I forgot about Kill and the buyer and the mad rush to return. I forgot about finding him and screaming at him to tell me what I needed to know.