I bounced the gun on my leg. “No. I understood that part. Where are we? What town? What country?”
The room went deathly silent. His head rose from the tiles, his skin white as a ghost. “What?”
I swallowed. I hadn’t realized that by asking such basic questions, it would show my weakness in return.
What can he do? So what you lost your memory? He doesn’t want to know about you anyway. It doesn’t make you any more vulnerable or easier prey.
I might even be stronger because my secrets were safe—no matter how much I wished to know them.
I leaned forward in the chair, letting my red hair cascade over my shoulder. The waves were thick—the ends a little straggly.
“Answer me. The longer this takes, the less your chances are of me actually being able to heal you without a doctor.”
Kill clenched his jaw. Finally, he said, “The Florida Keys.” Rolling his eyes, he added, “You know. America?”
I froze. America? So I’m an American? My accent didn’t sound like it. Maybe they’d stolen me from another country and brought me here?
“And where did your men kidnap me from?”
“No fucking clue. I don’t micromanage. They had orders for five girls—they came back with six.” He shrugged, flinching. “I don’t ask for a report. I trust my guys—even if they can’t count.”
“What will happen to the other girls?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t turn all tenderhearted on me. You’re in charge right now. The minute you start making demands of me to let them go or have fucking mercy, that’s where it all ends. Their fates were sealed months ago, before they even knew we were coming. Pretend you never saw them, because that’s the best you can do for your little conscience.”
I clasped the gun harder, my finger stroking the trigger. “Fine. We’ll come back to that. How long do I have before you find a buyer for me?”
His nostrils flared. “You ask the weirdest fucking questions. How about where’s your phone? What’s the number to dial the local police station?” He struggled to sit up, his legs splayed in front of him, blood blazing bright on the white floor from where he’d been lying. “Don’t you care you’re mine? Don’t you care that I’m about to sell you? What the fuck are you still doing here asking me questions that have no fucking point?”
He pointed behind him. “Stop waving a gun in my face, and leave. You’ll have a pretty good head start before I can get off my sorry ass and chase you.”
My eyes flew to the door. The temptation fired my blood, sending adrenaline into my legs. I stood up, pointing the muzzle at his chest.
He smiled coldly. “There you go—a normal reaction. Run from me, sweetheart. This is your one and only chance.”
I inched toward the door, my fear growing thick and fast the closer I got to the exit.
It wasn’t fear at leaving or running half-naked through streets, or even calling the police to come and find me, it was the thought of leaving with yet more mysteries strewn behind me.
Planting my feet on the tile, I gathered my scattered courage.
Ask him. The one question you want answering.
My heart tripped over itself. I desperately wanted to know but desperately didn’t at the same time. Either answer threatened to ruin me, just in different ways.
Kill glared. “What the hell are you still doing here?” He pointed at the door. “Go, goddammit.”
I stormed forward, lost in my need to know, consumed by the urge to look into his eyes when I asked him.
Standing over him, I snarled, “Tell me one thing, and then I’ll decide what to do with you. Save your life or kill you.”
He smirked. “Oh, better make it a good one, then, seeing as my life hangs in the balance.”
Leveling the gun at his forehead, I whispered, “I know you. I know it deeper and stronger than I know myself. Tell me the truth. How do we know each other?”
Something flickered in his emerald gaze. Something I would’ve given my life to decipher, then the ground swooped from beneath me and painful tile crashed against my spine.
The boom of the gun ricocheted around us as it spat its deadly bullet into the wall. The black weapon skittered away, hiding beneath the desk and out of reach.
Kill wedged me beneath his blood-soaked body, breathing hard and reeking of copper.
In my need to understand I’d gone too close.
Now I was trapped.
Now I was doomed.
Kill bared his teeth, looking wild, unpredictable, and almost insane. “I’ll tell you how we know each other.” His head bent, pressing his lips against my ear. “I’m your worst fucking nightmare and now I’ve got all the power.”
I gasped.
I knew it.
My nightmare.
He said it so himself.
Chapter Four
Who was this woman? This trickster and fraud? I wanted to wring her neck for making me hurt this way, but at the same time, I wanted to tear through her lies and see. See the impossible. Believe in the improbable.
She made me want things I’d sworn never to want.
She made me weak.
She made me hate.
—Kill
“Let me up.”
“What, so you can threaten me with the gun again? You almost spread my brains all over my home.” His grip moved from my hip to my throat. “No fucking chance.”
I glared into his eyes. There was no hint of whatever he’d thought before he tackled me to the ground.
His body was unmovable, his touch warming me as well as searing my skin with proximity.
My heart deflated. It wouldn’t be possible to keep such knowledge from his eyes. There was no way he could hide what he felt when we first met—not when we were glued together. Not when our hearts thundered against each other.
Sadness crippled me.
“You’re bleeding all over me,” I muttered, shoving unsuccessfully against his large, strong chest.
He chuckled. “Gonna do a lot more than that before this is over.”
My heart lodged itself in my throat. “Excuse me?”
He ducked his head, nuzzling into my neck. “I haven’t met anyone like you before. You had the chance to run, but you didn’t. You ask the weirdest fucking questions, and I can’t deny you turn me the hell on.”
Haven’t met anyone like you before…
He was either a brilliant con artist or a master at deception.
He reared back. “Why should I sell you when I want to sample you myself? After all, the order was for five girls, not six.” A cold grin spread his lips. “It’s almost like you were destined to be mine. It must be right—it’s my birthday in a few weeks—you’re my present for dealing with all the shit in my life.”
My world screeched to a stop.
“Your birthday?”
He smirked. “The first of October.”
The world began to spin—only this time in the wrong direction. “You’re a Libra?” I barely breathed.
He froze.
Every muscle in his body locked down. His eyes became weapons as he dove past my gaze and into my very soul. I felt him—deep inside—searching, tearing through my unremembered memories—laying havoc to my existence.
“You’re a Libra. I looked up what that means—it was rather interesting.” I smiled over at the boy who held my heart.
He grinned. “Let me guess. I’m a badass, have a raging temper, and intelligent as fuck.”
I giggled, my red hair glinting in the moonlight. “No, you’re diplomatic.”
“Yeah… sure.” He chuckled. “You sure about that with my track record?”
I rolled to face him, tracing his face with my fingers. “You’re graceful.”
He huffed. “On my bike, maybe, but nowhere else.”
“Peaceful.”
He laughed. “Um, biggest lie yet.”
I shook my head, seriousness layering my voice. “You are peaceful. You fight for what you believe in. You fight to protect what’s yours, but in your heart… you’re kind and gentle and not a part of this world.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “Same as me.”
He stiffened. The words “I love you” danced in his eyes. We hadn’t said it yet. But I wanted to. Shit, how I wanted to.
My lips twisted into a smile. “You’re also an idealist.”
He nodded, pulling himself back from love and unspoken truths. “Okay, kind of agree with that one.” He nuzzled my neck. “Those all sound pretty good. Any bad traits I should watch out for?”
I sighed, my eyes latching onto his lips. I wanted him to kiss me. So much. “Superficial and vain.”
He huffed dramatically. “Ah, so the perfection ends.” Pressing his body against mine, he murmured, “Pity I agree with them the most.”
The flashback ended, hurling me against the cold tile floor below and the furious man above. I couldn’t see the boy from my past. He’d been obscured—like a hazy lens or faulty photograph.
What was real? What could I believe?
“Why the fuck are you mentioning astrology?” Kill demanded. His fingers wrapped around my throat.
My skin prickled with heat. Every inch he touched set off a bonfire beneath my skin.
“You’re fucking with me. If you think I’ll let you play with my thoughts—” His anger welded with… Was that terror?