Ruin & Rule

  I squirmed.

  He only held me tighter. “You do realize that every move you make flashes me. Seeing glimpses of your body, of places that should be hidden, is driving me fucking insane.” He cupped the nape of my neck, bringing me closer. “You’re not wearing underwear beneath my T-shirt, I’m concussed and blood-deprived, but it doesn’t stop my thoughts from thinking things I shouldn’t.”

  Wait, his T-shirt?

  I stopped moving. “You’re blaming me for making you uncomfortable? You made me strip. Remember?”

  He smiled coldly. “I didn’t say anything about being uncomfortable.” His face hardened. “Having you stand in front of me naked was one thing—having it teased while you care for me is entirely another.”

  My lungs stuck together.

  His arm lashed from my waist to my hips, pressing me firmly against him.

  I gasped at the hardness of his erection, digging into my belly. “It seems as though my body is making up lost blood rather rapidly.”

  I couldn’t speak.

  “Was this your plan all along? Make me think you cared about me, so I would let you go? Out of what… decency?” He cupped my chin, his eyes boring into mine. “Because if that’s your plan, Forgetful Girl, then you don’t know me at all.” His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “I don’t know the word ‘decent.’ Life beat that godforsaken word out of me, along with the knowledge of forgiveness, gentleness, and right and wrong.”

  I shivered at the promise in his tone—it dripped with raw emotion… of truth.

  Whatever happened in his past had scarred him as surely as my burns.

  “I had no plan,” I whispered.

  He thrust against me, bruising my clit with the rigidness of his cock. “You’ve won, though, haven’t you, Forgetful? I’m almost naked and in a makeshift bed of towels. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  My breath caught in my lungs. “My intention was never to sleep with you.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You want me. I saw it in your eyes the moment we met.”

  Anger siphoned through my veins. “The moment we met, you pulled a blindfold off me in the middle of death and battle. Sex was far from my mind.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

  Despite myself, the memory of his hands on my hips and the intensity between us as he stripped me at the compound came back.

  Heat flooded my core.

  Fear came thick and fast.

  What if I’m married? Or already spoken for? Who would I betray if I allowed this… this angry, damaged stranger to twist my intentions?

  I didn’t know if I was on protection or my sexual experience.

  I know nothing.

  Tears prickled again and for some inexplicable reason Kill let me go.

  I scurried away, climbing to my feet. I couldn’t stop my eyes from locking onto the erection between his thighs.

  He smirked but it was sad, hiding something I couldn’t understand. “You won’t ever hear me say this again, so listen closely.”

  I paused.

  He swallowed as if it physically pained him to voice the two words that should be second nature. “Thank you,” he snapped. “Thank you for not killing me and running. Thank you for stitching me up.” Taking a deep breath, he pushed upright and climbed unsteadily to his feet. He swayed, grabbing hold of the office chair as he lurched forward.

  I moved to catch him. “You shouldn’t be standing. Not yet.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not going to spend the night on the floor of my fucking office.”

  “I brought you a blanket. I can make you comfortable.”

  He shook his head, his forehead furrowed. “No chance.”

  Grabbing me, he draped an arm round my shoulders, using me as a crutch. “Take me to bed, Forgetful Girl. I’m ready to pass out and put this day to fucking rest.”

  Chapter Six

  I’d been spoon-fed lies all my life. I’d become a master at smelling untruths. And the woman currently residing in my home—the woman who’d healed me—smelled terrifyingly toxic. A scent that made me want to run with one heartbeat and then fuck her with the next.

  She made me face things I was no longer strong enough to face.

  She made me look past her scam and crave.

  —Kill

  “No. Don’t!”

  “ ‘No’ isn’t a word in my vocabulary, little one.”

  “But you’re supposed to be—”

  “I’m not supposed to be anything. Especially a fucking babysitter to a traitor.”

  The smell of smoke crept over my senses like a drug—a horrible, debilitating drug that doused me in white-hot terror. Fear I’d never comprehended squeezed my heart until I couldn’t breathe. It clogged my lungs until I gasped for help.

  Then the crackle and singe of burning furniture roared into being so loud—so scarily loud.

  “Help!”

  A cold cackle of laughter was the only help I received. “Burn, baby girl. Burn.”

  I was wrenched awake by large hands tearing me from sleep, dumping me into a reality I’d rather not face. A reality that I had no tether to.

  “Christ’s sake, woman.” Kill bowed over me, his green eyes diving into mine. “Stop screaming.”

  Him.

  Green eyes of my lover.

  Green eyes of my murderer.

  The past clawed at me, dragging me back into smoke and flames and pain.

  I screamed. The floodgates of my tears and fears and strain of the past hours faltered, spewing forth everything in a loud wail.

  I sobbed.

  I cried.

  I came utterly apart.

  And I did it alone.

  I was an oasis of grief as Arthur Killian stood livid beside my bed. Flickers of yesterday came back, fluttering around me like memory snowflakes.

  Kidnapped.

  The threat of being sold.

  Stitching him up.

  The relief of finally having a shower and sinking into a soft, warm bed.

  “For God’s sake, stop.” Kill shook his head. “Quit it, or I’ll have to fucking gag you.”

  I stopped instantly. My tears dried up as if they never existed, and the raggedness of my breathing receded.

  He sighed heavily. “Much better.” His beautiful green eyes were bloodshot and tired but his face had a healthy glow and his jaw-length hair was swept back off his face. His black T-shirt hid my handiwork, but he kept his right arm protectively shielded by his body.

  I glanced behind him, taking in the room I’d slept in. The white walls, sheer drapes, and nondescript decorating could’ve been any hotel in any city around the world.

  He locked me in here.

  After a torturous climb up the stairs, he’d left me alone in this room, and turned the key. He’d let me care for him then locked me up like a prisoner.

  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 s
aved 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.”

  My stomach somersaulted with the fierceness of his stare. My skin prickled and my fingers itched to touch him—just to find proof that I knew him in some small, teeny tiny way.

  He raised his hand, cupping my cheek. The roughness of his thumb caressed my bottom lip. My skin tingled and begged for more, but his touch wasn’t sweet. It was almost vicious with intensity. “Two choices. Number one—you continue to be the odd girl you are and stay right here, don’t move a fucking inch, and wait patiently till I come back.”

  Oxygen played hard to get as his thumb trailed down my throat, pressing on the very delicate and extremely vulnerable spot at the base of my neck. “And option two?” I whispered.

  His voice lowered, rasping over my flesh. “Option two only comes into effect if you lose your mind and decide to tell the police what’s going on here.” He cocked his head. “Are you leaning toward that particular option?”

  My eyes refused to move from his lips. Full, curved, way too sensual for a man who still reeked of blood and death. “Not really,” I breathed.

  And if I was, I wouldn’t tell you.

  My heart twisted at how blank and scary my future was. How unknown. Each decision came with consequences that I wouldn’t know the outcome, or even how I would react, until it came to pass. I strained for another unlocking—begging my mind to be kind. But only empty blackness returned.

  The world around us paused, slowing until nothing else mattered but heartbeats and breath. Arthur moved his fingers, stroking my collarbone. “In that case, option two isn’t required.” He bowed into me, whispering against my ear. “I don’t relish the thought of hogtying you, gagging those beautiful lips of yours, and throwing you into a Dumpster to wait for me. Chances are you’d die from either the trash fumes or the heat.”

  My heart raced. “You wouldn’t.”

  He chuckled. “I admit from the brief interaction we’ve had, I’ve given you the wrong impression of me. You’ve seen me weak.” He prodded the tip of his forefinger against my temple. “Made you believe that I’m… what was the word… decent.”