I knew that. Completely. He had the answers—I just didn’t know if he’d share them with me.
The last few stitches, Kill sucked in a harsh breath, his eyes flaring wide.
“Ah, fuck me, that hurts.” He coughed, trying to move away from the inserted needle in his muscle.
I gritted my teeth, keeping a firm pressure on his shoulder. “I’m not done. I have a few more to do. Stay still.”
He glowered. “It feels like you’re butchering me.”
I tugged on the needle, threading it through the second part of his wound. “I’m fixing you. Don’t moan.”
He chuckled darkly. “Moan? Lady, you’re lucky I’m not howling.”
I kept sewing as he chewed the inside of his cheek and permitted me to finish. With each puncture he twitched, his muscles tightening and breath catching.
“Do you hurt anywhere else?”
He laughed, then coughed again. “You’re joking, right?”
We made eye contact. A small smile graced my lips. “I meant—is there anything broken or other serious cuts that I should know about?”
He paused, staring silently as if he couldn’t understand me at all. The softness in his gaze sent a fluttering of butterflies through my belly. “No,” he murmured. “Nothing that you can fix.”
I sucked in a breath, dying to ask what troubled him. He carried something deep—something that tarnished him, hanging over his head like a thunder cloud.
Dropping my gaze, I tied off the final stitch and sat back on my heels.
His brow dotted with sweat even though his body was ice-cold and too white. He shouldn’t be on the cool tile, but I wouldn’t be capable of moving him. He would have to stay there until he could move himself.
“Stay here,” I ordered, climbing stiffly to my feet.
He closed his eyes, a smile tugging his mouth. “Where the fuck am I gonna go? I can barely see straight.”
“I just came to the same conclusion.” I dashed from the room and back to the bathroom. Grabbing the face towels from a shell-shaped bowl on the vanity, I filled the bowl with warm water, grabbed all the bath towels from the heated towel rack, and made my way back to the office.
At the last second, I dumped the towels and placed the warm water at the entrance of the room, and tore upstairs.
Was I prying by jogging down the corridor and peering into the multiple bedrooms? Perhaps, but I had one goal, and no ulterior motives.
Coming to the room at the end of the corridor, I paused and entered. It was the only one that looked lived-in. The king-size bed wasn’t made, the black-and-white abstract covers bunched to one side. The scent of masculine soap and aftershave mixed with more leather and the salt spray of ocean.
Tiptoeing into Kill’s bedroom, I glanced to see if there were photos or personal items. The house was too stark—missing a soul. Grabbing the thick black blanket from the end of the bed, I made my way to leave but something caught my eye on a table where coins and a lighter rested. Tucked against the wall, looking as if it’d been handled many, many times, sat an eraser.
My heart clenched as pain leeched through my blood.
“I don’t care what the traits are. You could be any star sign and I’d love you.”
He sighed deeply, nuzzling into my neck. “I’ll be anyone you want me to be as long as you continue to give me your heart.”
I pulled back, drowning in the adoration in his gaze. “Forever.”
“For always.”
The eraser.
It… hurt.
It drove a spike deep into my heart, making me cry in impatience. Unsolved mysteries—I wanted with my every breath to know now. That very instant.
With shaking fingers, I picked up the eraser, smoothing the faded shape of the scales of a Libra star sign.
Chapter Five
I drifted in agony, my mind touching memories too swollen with hate and disgust to linger long.
Everything inside me reeked with the need to reap vengeance. It was all I lived, all I ate, all I breathed.
Until her.
Until the imposter with green eyes.
—Kill
Kill’s gaze opened at the sound of the large bowl clinking onto the tile. A small wave of warm water splashed onto the floor. Placing the towels beside his head, I kept the blanket away for now so it didn’t get wet.
He raised an eyebrow. “What exactly are you doing?”
My heart still hurt, my mind desperately trying to unlock the meaning of the eraser. It meant something. The connection—the flashback.
I refused to meet his eyes. “Cleaning you. You’re covered in blood. It’s unhygienic. Then, if you can move, you need to get into bed to rest; if not, I’ll make you a bed here and I’ll get you something to eat.”
He stared for a long moment, his eyes warring with astonishment and disbelief. “You’re going to clean me?” He swallowed. “You’re going to bathe me, feed me, and stay… even though only hours ago my brothers kidnapped you and you woke in the compound of the Pures?”
Ignoring most of that, I asked, “The Pures?”
He frowned, still unable to figure out if I was insane or just incredibly stupid. “Pure Corruption. My MC. You do understand I’m the president?” His hand swept up, heavy and slightly shaky to press against my temple. “I’m seriously fearing for your mental capacity.”
Ignoring that, too, I asked, “How did you become president?”
Keep him talking. Every word from his lips was like a bread crumb leading to a meal I desperately wanted to devour.
He breathed out hard. “None of your damn business.”
“Why do you live alone and not with your brothers? Isn’t it a requirement to live as one happy family?”
He growled, “Again, none of your damn business. And I’m the fucking president. I can do what I want, so stop asking questions.”
I nodded, eyeing his belt buckle. “Okay. Take your trousers off if you don’t want to talk.”
He half laughed, half groaned. “You are the strangest woman I’ve ever met.” He looked down his shirtless front. Instead of the wry smiles he’d been giving, seriousness glowed in his eyes. He looked younger and older all at the same time—giving me a glimpse of genuineness below the rough exterior. “You want to get me into bed and out of my pants?” The words pretended to be jovial, but the tone… It wasn’t.
Something tugged in my stomach, stronger than the tug in my heart. My scalp prickled with intensity and the high ceiling room with its quiet humming computers filled with stagnant awareness.
I swallowed, cursing the skip in my racing heart.
“Would you let me?” I whispered.
Kill sucked in a breath, his stomach rippling. The red, raw stitches on his pectoral looked angry against the whiteness of his flesh. The edge of a tattoo peeked from the sides of his ribs, hinting at a full back piece.
“I’ll find out who you are, Forgetful Girl. And when I do, you won’t be safe from me.” His voice whispered around me—a trap that I doubted I’d get free from.
“I’m counting on it. And when you find out who I am—tell me.” I looked into his gaze, transmitting my wish. Unravel my life. Then I wouldn’t be locked in the dark with an unfathomable connection.
My hand went tentatively for his buckle. Without a word, he pushed me away, reaching for the belt. He winced, letting his right arm fall to his side. “On second thought, I can’t do it one-handed. You’ll have to help.”
Taking a deep breath, I helped him undo the heavy silver buckle, then locked eyes with him as he popped the top button and moved his hand away from the zipper.
We didn’t speak, but something so sharp and in tune hung between us. It spoke in whispered verse, in barely acknowledged lyrics.
Kill cleared his throat.
I didn’t move.
Then my fingers fluttered over the most private part of him, grasping his zipper and tugging slowly, oh so slowly down.
He gritted his teeth. His je
ans gaped open, showing dark grey boxer-briefs. He arched his hips, giving me space to yank them down.
My eyes flew briefly to the gun resting beneath the desk. I could crawl to it within seconds. I could hold it to his head while I stood and walked away. He wouldn’t die—not now that I’d stemmed the bleeding.
I didn’t need to ask questions. I’d been given all I needed to know.
But I couldn’t.
I just couldn’t.
The only sound was the clunk of his heavy jeans as they slipped off his large legs. His hips fell back onto the cold tiles and my eyes latched onto a huge art piece encapsulating his entire left leg. The design was of crashing waves with hidden symbols, equations, and promises hidden in the froth. A girl, whose red hair flowed up with the tide and disappeared into his boxers, smiled sexily, while her green mermaid’s tail kissed his knee. The damn Libra sign was in there, too—repeated over and over—yet another reminder of something I’d forgotten.
“You aren’t anything like I expected a biker lord to be like.”
“You had expectations? That’s dangerous.”
I tensed, wanting to trace the beautiful colors on his leg. “Regardless, it seems we have something in common,” I whispered.
He breathed hard, kicking away the material by his feet. His eyes fell to my T-shirt-covered side, almost as if he could see my tattoo beneath the cloth. “Seems so.”
His cryptic reply sent my nipples stiffening. Something undeniable drew me to him. Something I doubted I would ever be able to understand.
I jerked into action.
Grabbing the first fluffy white towel, I tapped his hip. “Up. I’ll put this beneath you.”
He smirked. “If you’re worried about getting the tiles wet, don’t bother.”
I scowled. “It’s for you. You’re freezing. Your body has been through enough.”
He froze; his eyes searched mine, deeper, harder than anyone before. “Who are you?” he breathed again. “Why the fuck do you care if I’m uncomfortable or bleeding to death?”
“Did you have someone to take care of you?” I hated the thought that another woman had been close to him.
I’m jealous.
He never stopped staring. “What does it matter?”
“Why is it such a mystery to be cared for? I can’t let you die.”
“Any other girl would’ve pulled that trigger the moment she got her hands on the gun.”
I asked, “If I hadn’t helped you, who would? You live alone. Those men at the compound seemed like half were on your side and half weren’t. You have a first aid kit stocked with things I doubt are legal, yet you’re amazed that I’m willing to stop you dying. I think the main question is—who are you?”
Tell me.
He didn’t respond for a minute, raising his hips again for me to spread the towel beneath him. His boxer-briefs were so tight they didn’t hide the very obvious outline of his large but flaccid cock.
His tone dropped to a curse. “No one.”
“No one?”
“I’m no one. And no one would’ve helped me. In my world—you survive or you die. You don’t rely on others to make sure you do either one. It’s the very first fucking lesson you learn.” The pain in his voice notched around my heart, squeezing.
“It doesn’t sound like a fun lesson. Who taught you that?” I whispered, crawling to his shoulders and tapping his side to sit up, so I could place another towel below his torso.
He obeyed, never taking his eyes off mine. “I don’t know why I’m indulging you, but if you must know, my father.”
Father.
“Buttercup, don’t go far. I’ll only be a second.”
I smiled at my dad. My big, strong teddy bear of a dad, who succumbed to my wish and had nicknamed me Buttercup after my favorite movie of all time: The Princess Bride.
The sun was setting, silhouetting his large body with a red-orange hue.
The brief memory faded. My father’s voice was loud in my ears as if he’d literally just spoken, but I couldn’t remember what he looked like, smelled like, or even if he was still alive.
Homesickness and despair lodged a ball of tears in my throat.
Kill hadn’t noticed my trip to the past; his eyes squeezed as a fresh wave of pain cut through him.
Busying my hands, I murmured, “What happened? Why did your father teach you such a brutal lesson?”
His face shut down; any warmth he’d shown disappeared as he growled, “Nothing fucking happened. None of your goddamn business.” He lashed out, wrapping his fingers around my wrist.
I froze.
“I never should’ve fucking mentioned him. Don’t ask me any more questions—especially about him. Got it?”
My heart lodged in my throat; I nodded. His fingers squeezed, cutting off my circulation until little heartbeats thrummed in my fingertips, then he let go.
Sighing heavily, he stared broodingly at the ceiling.
I kneeled beside him, afraid, anxious, and most of all, burning with curiosity. It wasn’t just me blanking out the past. Kill had done the same thing.
Slowly, I placed my hands into the bowl of warm water, squeezing the flannel free of excess water. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” I shook the cloth out and placed it over the dried blood on his stomach.
His eyes flared at the warmth. He looked up, locking gazes. “You’re the strangest girl.”
Girl.
Not woman.
Why in that moment did I really want him to think of me as a woman?
He’d seen me naked. He’d been affected. Hadn’t he?
His attention flickered between my legs, where the T-shirt did little to hide the nakedness beneath. He groaned quietly, masking it as pain, but something inside reacted. Something primal.
My eyes shot to his groin. The flaccidness had given way to something firmer, his poor blood-deprived body making an attempt to send supplies south.
I shouldn’t be so pleased, but a small smile tugged my mouth. “At least we know you’ll probably survive.”
He looked down, anger in his eyes, then wry amusement replaced it. He half smiled. “Guess it’s good news for everyone.”
Shyness crept over me, and I bent my head, rubbing the damp cloth over his bruised and dirty torso, slowly cleaning him.
Silence fell between us, but it wasn’t awkward. More like restful… peaceful.
Minutes passed as I transformed his dirty flesh to pink cleanliness.
Swirling the cloth in the bowl, I wrung it out and washed his left leg, studying his tattoo closely.
Arthur cleared his throat. “You’ve asked your fair share of questions of me. It’s my turn. What’s your name?”
My hands stilled on his kneecap.
Name?
I closed my eyes, searching deep within for something. A headache bloomed, shoving me backward, slamming a locked door in my face.
Returning to cleaning, I whispered, “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
I shrugged. “I don’t remember anything apart from waking up in the van before you tore my blindfold off.”
“Nothing?” His voice was part amazement, part incredulousness. “I thought you were making that shit up.”
I shook my head, once again cleaning out the cloth. The water was now grey and stained with crimson. “I wish, then I might have the answers I need and understand what I’m still doing here.”
Kill clenched his jaw. “Guess I have your crap memory to thank for being alive, then.”
Shifting to the other side of his body, I ran the material over his right leg, my eyes never leaving his tattoo. It looked old. Slightly faded in color but the lines were sharp and well drawn.
“What does it mean?”
He sucked in a breath, immediately going on the defensive. “What does yours mean?”
I sat back on my heels. “I just told you, I can’t remember anything.”
“Well
, the price of knowing my ink is telling me the story of yours. And since that seems like a price you can’t pay…”
“You’re that protective of your design?”
“Aren’t you?”
We seethed.
My chest rose and fell beneath the T-shirt. Arthur’s muscles stood out, while blood blazed around his wound.
Finally, I bowed my head, resuming my cleaning. “Fine.”
“You have an accent. Do you remember if you lived overseas?” he pried, dispelling the animosity between us. It was odd to think that only an hour ago we’d threatened to kill each other. Now he was mostly naked and permitting me to wash him. In some ways, even though he would deny it, he trusted me. And in a way I couldn’t deny or explain, I trusted him.
“No,” I murmured, cleaning the last of the dirt from his chest. Rinsing the cloth, I hovered over his face. “May I?”
He tensed, then slowly nodded.
With infinitesimal gentleness, I pressed the cloth against his cheek, cleaning away the mud and blood and hints of battle. Small scratches were visible, now the grime had been removed. His cheek was split slightly from a punch to his face, and a small tear in his ear would heal. Apart from the stab wound in his shoulder, he looked surprisingly untouched.
I bit my lip, concentrating as I wiped carefully below his eyes and up to his forehead. His long hair stained the tiles and towel below.
“I need to be able to call you something,” he murmured as I ran the cloth ever so delicately along his jaw.
I looked up, entrapped by his grassy gaze. “Give me something. Something you want me to call you.”
Buttercup.
I instantly dismissed the idea. That was treasured with my father. If I couldn’t remember him, it was the only thing I had. I didn’t want a man who seemed caring and normal one minute, then tyrannical and monstrous the next to own it.
I shook my head. “I don’t have a suggestion. You choose.”
He chuckled. “I’m not exactly imaginative.”
I looked away, dropping the dirty face cloth into the water and moving to grab another towel. Arthur suddenly moved, grabbing my waist and pulling me on top of him.
He winced as my body sprawled on his, chest to chest, hips to hips. I felt so delicate and unsubstantial lying over his bulk. His muscles were hard, his skin warming up beneath me.