“Ah, you’re awake, Buttercup.”
I shot upright, huddling into the corner on the bed. Everywhere around me rested familiarity and home. From the frilly yellow bedside light to the macaroni-and-glue photo frame holding a photograph of Arthur and me at our favorite swimming hole.
Although… the photo that’d been in that frame before was of us baking with his mom, all covered in flour, not swimming. And the light shade had been bigger.
“Do you like it?”
Unwillingly, my attention shot to the one man who should’ve been there to protect me. A surrogate father, an uncle, my in-law if Arthur and I ever got married.
Wrapping my arms around my knees, I glared at Scott “Rubix” Killian. He looked similar to his youngest son, but not completely the same. Arthur had inherited his beautiful green eyes from him, but the kindness in his soul definitely hadn’t come from this bastard, who’d set my house on fire and left me to burn.
“What’s going on?” I asked. My voice was a wispy thread, tangled in memories and uncertainty. Clearing my throat, I tried again. “What am I doing here?”
Rubix came closer, his black leather jacket blazing with red thread of a rose being shanked by a dagger. “You’re home. What more do you want to know?”
I looked around the room that at first glance looked like my childhood sanctuary. My mind was full of curses while truth slipped though my frantic heartbeats as I tried to make sense of everything. “This isn’t my home.”
Rubix chuckled, sitting heavily on the edge of the mattress. “You always were smart, Buttercup.”
“Don’t! Don’t you dare use my father’s nickname for me.”
He held up his hands, showing a folded file in his right palm. “Touchy, touchy. No need to draw blood… yet.” His green eyes glittered. “You’re right, this isn’t your old room, but I thought you’d recognize it just the same.” Leaning forward in a cloud of mechanical grease and leather, he murmured, “Go on. Take a guess as to where you are.”
“I already know I’m at the Dagger Rose compound.”
He nodded. “Yes, that’s obvious. But where in the compound?”
Forcing myself not to freak out, I looked harder at my surroundings. The walls had been freshly painted to mirror mine, the bedspread as close to the one I had that it was uncanny, but the space was different, the cornicing slightly odd.
My heart charged with knowledge.
No!
This was just cruel.
Rubix knew when I’d figured it out. “Do you like the improvements? After all, Arthur was never coming home. What with serving time and then leaving to betray me even further with a rival gang, I found no reason to keep his old décor.”
He reached out and patted my knee.
I cringed away from his touch.
“I had my men decorate it for you. So you felt welcome with your own family once again.”
“You aren’t my family,” I spat. “You killed my family.”
He laughed, waving the file in his hand. “You continue believing that, princess. And while you do, how about some light reading?”
He placed it on the bedspread, his face tightening. “Inside is the truth. The complete truth. About your death, your parents’ death, Arthur’s trial, my testimony, and everything your fucking lover—my bastard son—has been up to the past four years.”
Standing, he ran his hands angrily through his short hair. “Read it, and then judge.”
“I know enough to know I hate you. You ruined my life.”
He froze, energy whipping around him. “Did I, Cleo Price? Are you sure it was me who ruined you?”
Panic drenched my system. I scrambled onto my knees. “It was you who wrote the letter. You tracked me down and brought me back. For what? What do you have to gain?”
He chuckled. “Ah, patience, little princess. You’ll find out what my plan is for you soon enough.” Cocking his head, his eyes dropped to my bare legs. All I wore was Arthur’s T-shirt, still warm from sleeping in his arms, still saturated with his scent.
Tears sprang painfully at the thought of him beaten and bleeding.
I wanted to beg Rubix to let me go—so I could make sure he was still alive.
“How did you find me?” I whispered.
Pride and black smugness filled his face. “I tracked down the FBI detective who was dealing with your case—a Mr. Davidson, I believe. He was rather tight-lipped about a burn victim who’d been amnesiac, but I got him to talk eventually.”
Chills hurt worse than any fire in my chest.
The sweet man who’d given me a second chance had been hurt or killed trying to protect my identity. All this time I thought no one wanted me—only to find out I’d been hunted by the one man intent on destroying me.
“How could you? How could you laugh and love my parents and then turn around and murder them?”
A horrible smile twisted his lips. “Like I said… don’t be so sure it was me who stole your precious family, Cleo.” Pointing at the file, he moved toward the door. “Read it and find out.”
He slammed the exit behind him. The sound of a lock twisting dispelled any hope of escape.
My head hurt, panic drenched my bloodstream at the thought of Arthur’s condition, and claustrophobia itched like a terrible enemy.
Forcing myself to keep my breathing low and even, I looked at the file.
Intolerable curiosity grew in my heart. Answers. Finally. Answers sat within reaching distance… black and white… truth.
But is it the truth?
I’d been around Arthur enough to know his need for vengeance rested on a betrayal of huge magnifications. He wouldn’t want to kill his own flesh and blood, unless they made him do something dreadful.
Something as dreadful as murder?
I sat twining and untwining my fingers.
Courage failed me as the file seemed to grow in size, throbbing with temptation. If I read it, there would be no removing the knowledge. If I read it and it destroyed me, there would be no way to piece myself back together.
Suddenly, I wanted Corrine. I wanted her easy, breezy nature, her eternal optimism and bounce. I’d been fumbling in the dark for so long I craved light. I craved normalcy.
None of this is normal.
Why had Rubix stolen me?
What did he have to gain after all this time? Unless… unless there was something in my mind that he wanted? Something I’d forgotten… or deliberately deleted because my brain couldn’t handle it?
The mood ring Arthur had given me swirled around my sweat-dampened digits. My stomach rolled at the way I’d left him.
Please, be okay.
Tears swarmed at the thought of him waking up alone. How would he survive me being taken?
He’ll come for me.
I knew that without a shred of doubt. The only horror was—what if they killed him?
I couldn’t think about that.
My eyes fell begrudgingly on the file.
Answers.
Truth.
All whispering sweet nothings in my ear to read. Read!
Leaning forward, I grabbed it. My hands wouldn’t stop quaking as I opened the folder. A gust of terror disappeared down my spine at the first document.
Completed Testimony for Scott Killian
Witnessed and Lodged by Officer Clark
Notes: this is a true statement gathered and witnessed of the events that occurred on the night in question involving the murder of Paul, Sandra, and Cleo Price along with the destruction of their household.
Transcribed and authenticated as part of trial material for triple homicide by Arthur Killian.
Please note, this testimony was used as Evidence A in the case of State versus Killian.
Witness Testimony:
Officer: Please describe the night in question.
Scott Killian: I’d just come home from dealing with business outside our normal trading hours. My oldest son, Dax, needed some help, which called me away. I look back now and thi
nk I should’ve done something. I should’ve known. Arthur had been acting strange for weeks. He’d always been ambitious, believing he was smarter than everyone else. Flashing his grades in my older son’s face as if to say he was better than us. He had aspirations. That’s why he spent so much time with the president’s daughter, Cleo.
Officer: Your son and the deceased were in a relationship?
Scott Killian: Yes, he made that poor girl fall in love with him when she was barely out of diapers. I watched from the sidelines, believing that Paul would put an end to the obvious issue that was going on. But he never did.
Officer: What issue?
Scott Killian: Control. Arthur was only sleeping with the daughter to gain complete control. He was using her.
Officer: What brings you to believe that?
Scott Killian: A couple of weeks ago he came to me with a plan. A plan to get rid of the president so he could take over. He believed having the president’s daughter, and being the son of the VP, would ensure he could take over seamlessly. Of course, I told him no. I beat that kid up for ever thinking such a thing. I know now I should’ve done more, but at the time I believed I’d disciplined him enough to put such a sinful idea out of his head.
Their death is on me, because I didn’t know my son’s true capabilities. I raised a monster. I raised a killer, and for that I will always be sorry.
Officer: Please, continue about the night of the murder.
Scott Killian: Sure. That night, like I said, I was out. But I returned just in time to see Arthur leaving our house and crossing the compound to theirs. He disappeared inside. I don’t know what made me follow him—perhaps I didn’t want him sleeping with Cleo anymore, or perhaps I still didn’t trust him after his admission of his plans. Regardless, I followed him.
Officer: And what happened when you followed?
Scott Killian: I followed him deeper into the house. I stayed hidden as he pulled out a silenced pistol and stood over the sleeping forms of my best friend and his wife. I watched as he raised his arm and first shot Paul in the forehead and then shot Sandra. He shot people who were almost family to him in cold blood.
Officer: Then what happened?
Scott Killian: He left, but then returned with gasoline, which he poured over their corpses. I exited the house, heading past Cleo’s bedroom to see if I could save her. She was lying facedown on the carpet. He probably killed her while I was out with Dax. Not wanting to touch evidence, I left quietly.
Officer: Then what happened?
Scott Killian: My son set fire to their house, probably to try and conceal what he’d done. The moment flames erupted, I called the police and the fire department.
Officer: And you’re willing to repeat what you just said in a court of law? Everything you’ve just told me is the truth and nothing but the truth?
Scott Killian. Oh yes. Nothing but the truth. My son is a murderer and deserves the worst sentencing imaginable. I can prove it was premeditated and will stand by my testimony to honor my friend’s memory. My son must pay for what he’s done.
Tears streamed down my face.
Lies.
Heinous, horrible lies.
Arthur never slept with me out of respect. He managed to control himself, knowing that we were too young, even when we wanted to be together more than anything.
Arthur never disrespected anyone. He was a good person.
An amazing person.
This traitorous statement sent Arthur to prison for triple homicide. It slandered him as a cutthroat beast who had no soul and could shoot people who’d patched up his bruises delivered at the hands of his father. Arthur adored my mother. So many nights he’d come around, lip bleeding from discipline and shoulders slumped from unhappiness. My mother would hug him, kiss him—she loved him like a son.
He would never be able to hurt them.
Ever.
Arthur wasn’t using me. He wasn’t planning to murder my parents.
Was he?
I clutched my hair, tearing it at the roots, refusing to let such evil seep into my thoughts. I knew the boy who held my heart. I knew his dreams and aspirations, and I knew how tender and loving he was.
He would never kill those he cared for. Never!
As I rocked on the bed, swallowing back sobs and terror, something twitched inside my mind.
A gentle clinking as a chain loosened around the fissured wall, falling away like dead vines.
Keys suddenly fit into locks, and the wall—the horrible, frustrating, crippling wall that I’d lived with for eight long years—began to crumble.
Brick by brick. Mortar by mortar. It collapsed into a pile of earthquake-reduced rubble.
Then the pain and fogginess of being drugged intensified as every memory that had battered for freedom suddenly rushed forward unhindered.
Shards of thoughts.
Splinters of recollections.
They all flew into being, crushing me beneath the weight of knowing.
My mind!
Everything was there.
Every file in its perfect place.
Every thought where it should be.
A perfect Rolodex of childhood happiness, teenage trials, and then…
No.
Two weeks after my fourteenth birthday. The night of my parent’s murder.
No. No. No.
Please no!
My hand slapped over my mouth.
My mind snapped and the wall that’d only just crumbled was suddenly reerected, blocking out the quick glimpse I’d seen.
My thoughts scrambled, wiping any evidence free from my mind. A perfect eraser for a broken brain.
That was what my amnesia was protecting me from.
The truth about what happened that night. The truth I wasn’t strong enough to face.
I knew now why Arthur thought I would run when I remembered. I understood why he was petrified to tell me.
But he had it wrong.
So wrong.
I didn’t hate him—I could never hate him.
But I could hate the ones who were there that night—the ones who shattered not just my world but the boy I loved to the point of no redemption.
That night was heinous. Drenched in blood, deceit, and terror.
Arthur. God—
What they did to him… It was vile.
My heart spasmed, blocking out the rest like heavy smog.
The lies made more sense than the truth, but I knew which one to believe.
The reality wasn’t clear-cut or simple. It was twisted and hid so many sins.
And my mind didn’t want me to remember.
It protected me for one reason alone.
One vital self-preserving reason.
The truth had the power to kill me.
The truth was despicable.
To Be Continued....
About the Author
Pepper Winters is a New York Times and USA Today international bestseller. She loves dark romance, star-crossed lovers, as well as the forbidden and taboo. She strives to write stories that make readers crave what they shouldn’t, and delivers complex plots and unforgettable characters that keep readers talking long after the last page is turned.
On a personal note, she loves to travel, has an addiction to crème brûlée, and is married to an incredible Canadian who puts up with her endless work hours and accompanies her on signings. She’s also a firm believer that the impossible can become possible.
Playlist
Hoobastank, “The Reason”
Pink, “Try”
Bush, “Glycerine”
Rihanna featuring Mikky Ekko, “Stay”
Christina Perri, “The Lonely”
Muse, “I Belong to You”
Clean Bandit, “Rather Be”
Evanescence, “Bring Me to Life”
Florence and the Machine, “Cosmic”
Cary Brothers, “Ride”
White Stripes, “Fight for My Love”
Meg Meyer, ??
?Adelaide”
Five Seconds of Summer, “Amnesia”
Anastasia, “Journey to the Past”
Borgeous, “Wildfire”
Pepper Winters, Ruin & Rule
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