The lost look in his eyes came and went, like a dying firefly.
“You’re nothing to me—got it? You don’t know me. You don’t have any power over me. And you certainly can’t mind-fuck me with whatever bullshit you’re trying to pull.” He lowered his lips to my ear, breathing harsh. “Why the fuck would you say that?”
I couldn’t answer. My racing heart stole all capability of speech.
“Answer me, goddammit,” he roared. “Now!”
Everything he said—it was a lie. He felt something when I mentioned his birthday. He reacted to something hidden in his past. His anger was a front—a terrible wall around the intense historic pain blazing in his eyes.
“I’m not playing you,” I whispered. “Please, tell me what you know.”
He reared back, his face bloodless and savage. “I’ll never tell you anything, because you aren’t her, goddammit. It’s a fucking trick. A cruel, vicious trick.”
My heart cracked open, spilling its life force. I would’ve given up ten years of my life just to see what he hid from me.
Suddenly, his fire burned out and he slouched on top of me. His fingers unraveled from around my throat, and I sucked in a greedy breath.
He passed out, the barest whisper on his lips. “You’re not her. You’re not my Sagittarius.”
I froze, willing his breathless confession to awake something inside me. I squeezed my eyes, letting his unconscious bulk press me harder against the tiles.
Please, remember.
My brain ached; my eyes bruised.
Sagittarius and Libra.
Nothing.
Pain leeched through me. The fireflies of truth I’d seen in his eyes fluttered around us, dispersing faster and faster with every uneven breath.
Kill’s hips pressed against mine—a large belt buckle digging against my tender flesh. Despite being almost unconscious and full of pain, his masculine form woke the dormant femininity inside me.
I couldn’t ignore the maleness between my legs. Or the scent of him—of midnight winds and ocean—beneath the leather and blood. My senses were alive and sparking—drinking him in.
I twisted and wriggled, trying to get free. I had to heal, had to fix, before he disappeared forever. Because one thing was for sure, I wasn’t going anywhere. The flashback had cemented my decision. Regardless of my future.
His love for someone—for her—only strengthened my resolve to hammer him with questions until I got answers.
Kill’s eyes popped open, glassy and heavy. His hips spasmed, rubbing against mine.
I bit my lip, hating how the small action sent electricity lighting up my bloodstream.
He raised his head slowly, blinking and looking drugged. The haze of his injury was thick; I worried the next time he passed out, he wouldn’t wake.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I whispered. Hating how my voice had become soft and malleable. Every inch of him turned me from victim to seductress against my will. My fingers ached to run through his thick, long hair. My nipples tightened to feel his chest pressed firmly against mine.
I shouldn’t be thinking of sex. But it was all I could focus on with how close we were.
His eyes tore wide, drenching me in green moss. “You’re not in a position to—to bargain.” He winced, his teeth snapping together in agony.
Keeping my voice low, I murmured, “I’m in a perfect position to bargain. If you don’t let me stitch you up and get you into bed, you’ll pass out again, and I’ll be long gone by the time you wake up.”
I’m not leaving until I understand.
His eyebrow quirked, even as pain laced his features. “You should leave. It’s obvious I won’t be able to stop you.” He sighed, dropping the pretense of angry biker. “Why are you still here?”
“You know why,” I breathed. Please, tell me why.
He shook his head. “You…” He stopped, changing his mind and muttering, “Hang on, you said you want to get me into bed?” His hips flexed, testing me.
I knew I should act repulsed, horrified, and rage against him taking advantage of me—but I… couldn’t.
I wouldn’t play games. I had too much to lose and everything to gain by being everything that I was. I wouldn’t hide the fact I found him intensely attractive. I wouldn’t try and pretend that I didn’t want him—all of him—including every memory he kept hidden.
My world had shrunk from family and friends and a career I didn’t recall, to him. Just him and me. Here and now.
Truth was the only way forward.
I never took my eyes from his. “You’re focusing on the wrong part of that conversation. If you don’t let me help you, you’ll die.”
“And that would work in your favor, so why do you care?”
“I told you. I care because I have questions, so many questions, and you’re the only one around to answer them.”
He grinned, but his face lost its energy, going slack once again. “I don’t have the answers you need.”
“I think you do.”
“And if I do, but choose never to tell you—what then?”
I paused, confidence settling into my bones. “I’ll make you.” I smiled softly. “I can be very persuasive.”
I think.
A heartbreaking shadow of despair filled his eyes, only to fade a second later. “Someone once told me I was extremely stubborn.”
“Obviously. Otherwise you would’ve let me up by now and I’d be healing you.”
He didn’t smile, tension knotting his muscles. “Who are you?”
Sadness crept from nowhere. “I’m hoping you’ll tell me.”
He looked away, anger granting him energy. He rolled off me as if he couldn’t stand to be close anymore. Staring at the ceiling, he growled, “Fine, fix me.”
I sat up, pressing a palm against my aching back.
Kill added, “I give you my word that I’ll lie here and let you poke me with a goddamn needle. I’ll even permit you to wave the gun in my face if it makes you feel safer, but I want something in return.”
My eyebrows rose. “You want more than your life? That’s a bit greedy, don’t you think?”
His head turned, his green eyes latching onto mine. “I want to know everything about you. The scars. The tattoos. All of it. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care what I have to do to make you remember.” The air shimmered as his temper grew. “But I’ll tell you this—if you lie to me, I’ll kill you. Fair and fucking simple. I don’t know if you’re bullshitting me or if this is real, but regardless—one lie, and you’re done.”
He held up a finger, pointing rudely in my face. “You never lie to me. The moment you do, your life is over and this”—he waved between us—“whatever is going on with us—this ridiculous cease-fire—it’s over. I’ll sell you and never think of you again. I’m through being manipulated, sweetheart, and you do not want to make me your enemy.”
He slapped a hand over his wound, his body bowing off the tiles. “You agree to those terms?”
I trembled with hope. The connection—the inexplicable bond throbbed. “I do. But only if you promise never to lie to me in return.”
He closed his eyes, his forehead furrowing with grief. “Sometimes lies are the only thing keeping us sane. I won’t give you that promise.” His words were final. Absolute.
I hated that he asked so much from me, but I might never get what I needed in return. “And if I can’t tell you the story. If I never remember?”
He shrugged awkwardly, his jaw clenching. “Then you’ll just have to stay in the dark and I’ll get rid of you. Don’t make me regret every fucking thing I’ve ever done.”
My hands clenched. “What do you regret?” Was it something to do with… us? “Please… do you know me or not?” Anxiousness made my heart thrum with pain. “Please…”
He coughed. “Go get the medical kit. I’m not feeling—” His face went slack.
Dammit.
Scuttling to my feet, I left the office and its multitude of computer screens, and dashed into the foyer. I tried two doors—one to a sitting room and another to a TV den, before finding the bathroom.
It felt strange to be running around barefoot and without underwear in the home of a man who’d stolen me from my life and who ran a motorcycle gang.
All thoughts of leaving were gone.
The front door didn’t tease, nor did the phone on the cradle by the staircase.
Nothing could give me what I needed.
Only the surly man bleeding on the floor.
What if he refuses to tell you?
What if he gets tired and sells you?
My thoughts demanded some rational reasoning, but I couldn’t give them any. I just knew I couldn’t leave. Not yet.
This might be your only chance. You can’t trust him.
Trusting him was the price I had to pay. He said he’d keep me until I could tell him the story of my tattoo and scars. It might take me a day to remember, or a year.
He’d keep me.
You hope.
Turning my thoughts off, I entered the bathroom where a glassed shower, toilet, and single vanity welcomed me with white sparkling mosaic tiles. There was no mirror, leaving me to wonder what I looked like.