I spun in my chair. My heart erupted into sparks and comets.
Kill’s face was closed off and angry, his hands fisted by his sides. His eyes were bloodshot and fresh bruising marked his face. Gone was the collected angry president, replaced with an exposed man searching for violence. “I trust you to do one thing and this is what I fucking come back to?”
Everything about him seethed with rage, his hair was tussled, and the scent of winds, salt, and leather threaded with the sharpness of alcohol.
Where had he been? He’s been fighting.
Kill never looked at me. Instead, he directed his anger at Grasshopper. “I see you’re disobeying me again and feeding the damn girl?”
My back bristled. I wanted to yell at him to talk to me, but my lips stayed firmly glued.
Grasshopper stood, wiping his hands on his faded jeans. “Hey, Prez. My bad. She’s been cooped up in that room for a couple of days—felt it important to give her some fresh air, you know?”
Mo’s eyes bored into the back of my head, but I never took my attention off Kill. I drank him in from his bloody knuckles to the grass stain on his jeans. My mind raced with all sorts of fabrications of what he’d been doing the last two days.
I’d missed him.
I wanted to tend to his new injuries just like I’d done the first night I’d arrived. I wanted to heal him—fix whatever drove him to such destructive behavior.
Maybe he wasn’t fighting? Maybe it was self-defense?
My mind skipped into all new horrors thinking of him being hurt maliciously by others.
Unconsciously, I leaned forward, drawn to him as surely as a tide to the moon. “You’re hurt.”
His nostrils flared and the cognizant awareness between us sprang up as if we’d never touched or kissed or fucked. It was thick and rampant and bogged down with issues—but there. And strong. So damn strong.
My skin prickled with heat and my core melted beneath his scrutiny.
“Why the fuck did you call me, Hopper? You knew the plan. You knew why I wanted it this way.” Kill ran a hand through his tangled hair, still refusing to look at me.
“Got something to check. To make sure once and for all—before your chance is gone—that what you believe is true.”
“Fuck you, man. I told you.” Kill stepped forward, the room glittering with violence. The other men stood up, the soft scrape of chairs and rush of mixed breathing setting everyone on edge.
“You can curse at me all your want, Kill, but hear her out. Last time. I fucking swear it. And then she’s leaving. Gone.”
Kill blanched at the term “gone.” His knuckles whitened, clenching harder.
In the sudden cease-fire, Grasshopper pulled me from my chair. I stumbled upright, moving to stand before Kill. Grasshopper didn’t remove his hold, his fingers burning around my elbow.
His body locked in place, preparing himself. “She remembered her name.”
The wave of emotion from Kill almost drowned me. So much in one buffet of feeling—I’d never decipher it all.
Kill’s eyes fell to where Grasshopper touched me. Dark possession flashed across his face. My stomach fluttered with butterflies.
I want you to touch me.
I want you to remember me.
Then Kill crossed his arms, shutting me out, just like the damn wall living in my brain. “You brought me back for more lies?” His ire fell on me, his green eyes blazing like an emerald fire. “This will be fucking interesting.”
I swallowed. A whiff of alcohol once again crept over my senses. Was he drunk? Hungover?
“You’re so blind.”
His lips twisted into a sneer. “I’m blind because I won’t fall for a scam?”
“No. You’re blinded by grief and stubbornness.”
Kill flinched, shifting closer so his body heat tangled with mine. “You know nothing of stubbornness.”
God, he annoyed me. Without persistence I wouldn’t be standing here right now. I would’ve already been sold because I wouldn’t have offered to heal him and found a way into his life.
Words and anger frothed in my mouth, I wanted so much to let loose.
But the stiff way Kill held himself, the hunch of his shoulders and knotted muscles in his neck were signs of a man struggling—a man in bone-deep pain. I couldn’t kick him when he already curled around what was left of his tattered heart. To love a ghost so strongly that the man literally killed himself with heartbreak ought to be romantic.
It wasn’t.
It was just endlessly, terminally sad.
And nonsensical.
Especially because as I believed I had the power to relieve his suffering.
Grasshopper shoved me forward. “You wanted to see him. I got him here for you. Best tell him your name, girl, so we can all move on.”
Dread thickened my blood. Why did that sound so ominous? Shouldn’t he be happy that everything I’d said was real? Kill no longer had to live with the guilt of thinking he’d murdered me. He could be happy!
“Tell him,” Grasshopper prompted.
I couldn’t stop looking at Kill. His green eyes were icy and full of mistrust. “Well? I’m here against my fucking wishes. Tell me, so I can leave and put this nightmare behind me.”
Nightmares. Dreams. I’d found him in my dreams and awoken to him in my nightmares. Would there be a place for us in real life?
Stop stalling and tell him.
Balling my hands, I said, “I remember you from my past. I remember the fire and barbeques and Libra erasers. I remember homework and TV and stolen kisses. I remember you, Arthur Killian—I remember you when you were younger and not broken. My name is Sarah and I’m yours.” My voice broke but I battled through the sickness of laying my heart at his feet. “I remember you and I need you to stop pretending before it’s too late.”
The room disappeared.
I forgot about the other bikers.
I ignored the entire world as Kill ever so slowly uncrossed his arms and closed the small distance between us. His face was impenetrable, eyes blank, jaw clenched.
My skin sparked, begging for his touch. My mouth ached, pleading for his lips.
“You…” His voice was a deadly hiss.
My body stiffened, fighting the urge to flee.
Mo stood up, standing on my other side, flanking me like Grasshopper.
Ironically, they were protection against the man I loved. Ready to stop me being hurt by the monster rapidly slipping into simmering rage before us.
Kill’s frame trembled. He shook his head. “I have to stop pretending?” he whispered.
The pent-up anger in his tone terrified me.
I couldn’t help it; I took a step back. “Yes. My name is Sarah. You know me!”
He mimicked my step. “Let me get this straight. I’m the one who needs to stop pretending?” His eye flashed and I truly feared him as his soul disappeared. He was locked and barricaded and so wrapped up in grief he couldn’t see the truth.
Tears bruised my eyes. “I’m standing right in front of you. Why are you doing this?!”
Grasshopper said, “Kill, it’s not the girl’s fault—”
“Not her fault?” Kill roared. “Not her fucking fault that she’s torn my heart out all over again and has the nerve to tell me to stop pretending?” He pointed a finger in my face. “I’ve never met someone so despicable or so clever at manipulation, and I’ve met a lot of fucking traitors.”
Turning his full terror upon me, he snarled, “You’re worse than them. At least they stabbed me in the back and left me to rot. You—you just keep stabbing me. Over and over and fucking over until I’m bleeding from every slice.”
Tears welled, and, unwilling to break the seal of my eyelashes, they glassed my vision, making his anger swim and dance. “I don’t know what you want me to say! You have to believe—”
“I don’t have to believe a fucking word you say. You. Aren’t. Her! You will never be her. You will never convince me of your bull
shit.”
My body was too heavy. I wanted to collapse, but I had to keep fighting. I couldn’t give up.
“Yes. I am!” I screamed. “If you just listen to what I’m—”
“She. Is. Dead! Just like you’ll be if you don’t shut the fuck up!”
“Killian,” Grasshopper muttered. “Dude, it’s okay.”
Kill turned his arctic ferocity on his second in charge. “No, it’s not okay. I want her gone. Now. Immediately, before I do something stupid.”
“Stupid like believe me?!” My voice seemed to cower in the face of his wrath.
Kill towered taller and taller as if he sucked the life from the room. His voice dropped to the worst hiss imaginable. “I’ll never be that gullible, sweetheart. And just for fucking closure, you aren’t her. And now I know for sure.”
“How? How do you know?”
He smiled coldly, dragging out my worst fears. “You’re a liar, Sarah. Give it up. It’s done.”
Tears slicked down my cheeks. “I’m not. You’re just in denial. Complete and utter heartbreaking denial. Don’t do this! Don’t hurt me like this.”
He laughed.
It sent shivers down my spine.
Rolling his shoulders, he muttered, “Fine. I’ll give you one chance. One final chance. Tell me… are you certain your name is Sarah?”
I breathed hard, terrified of his question. Why did he want me to confirm it? It’d come to me. It fitted. I had memories of Corrine using it. It was mine.
Horror made me second-guess everything; terror made me realize how badly everything had gone so wrong.
Don’t give in.
Slowly, I nodded. “Yes. I’m sure.”
He grinned, eyes flat and face emotionless. “Thank you for digging your own grave and proving what a liar you are.”
I curled into myself, not wanting to hear any more. Not wanting to be subjected to his cruelty another second.
“You’re wrong, Sarah,” Kill breathed. Quickly, he grabbed my throat, holding me tight.
My body pressed against his and for a horrid second I thought he meant to strangle me. His eyes tore into my soul and ripped it into pieces. With more pain than I’d ever seen in a man’s face, he pressed his forehead bitterly against mine. “Her name wasn’t Sarah.” With confusing tender fingers, he cupped my chin, ensuring I never looked away as he delivered the crushing sentence.
“Her name was Cleo. And I killed her.”
Chapter Fifteen
Some said sinners go to hell and saints go to heaven.
If that was the truth, then I’d lived the past eight years in brimstone and fire.
My heart burned with lies and a need so fucking deep to believe every word Sarah said. I wanted to have the strength to let go of my hate and just… give in.
But everything I did, every path I followed, and every revenge-filled purpose I followed wasn’t for me but for her.
I owed her memory vengeance.
I owed her peace.
Because I saw how she died.
I’d witnessed the end.
And she would be screaming in purgatory until I gave her justice.
By taking the lives of those who took ours.
Everything else I wanted—it wasn’t enough to make me stop.
—Kill
Cleo.
Her name was Cleo.
My name is Sarah.
Cleo.
He killed her.
The pressuring headache of believing a fabricated lie of my own creation clouded my vision. How did I have memories that I couldn’t explain? How did I live a past that might not even be real?
Cleo.
It didn’t ring any hopeful bells inside. It didn’t tug on threads of a past I thought was true.
I retreated into myself, and didn’t raise my eyes as the dining room emptied like sands through splayed fingers, leaving just Kill, Grasshopper, and me.
“I’ll take her.” Grasshopper reached for me. I didn’t struggle as his hands landed on my shoulders, pulling me from Kill’s crushing tender hold.
Everything inside that’d been so passionate and raw had mysteriously disappeared. I’d been consumed by the black hole, fallen through the crater that my nightmare earthquake had created. I’d plummeted into the amnesiac darkness completely.
I was done.
“You okay, dude?” Grasshopper asked when Kill remained silent and frozen. He barely breathed, his boots glued to the floor.
It took a minute for him to reply. Clearing his throat, Kill said, “I will be once she’s gone.”
I flinched, wishing I could fall to the floor and nurse my bleeding heart.
“Well… I’ll get going, then. You just, um, rest up. I’ll be back soon enough.” Grasshopper guided me toward the door.
Back without me. Their lives would continue… without me.
I didn’t look back.
I couldn’t look back.
The door closed behind us and I hunched over my gnawing stomach. The pain deep inside devoured me.
“It’ll be okay,” Grasshopper whispered. “You’ll see. It’s for the best—for everyone.”
I had no reply. I doubted I’d speak again. Why bother when it only brought more disaster?
We kept walking.
Past the first magazine of Kill and his mug shot.
Past the next one of him looking part businessman, part biker lord.
With each step I left pieces of myself behind, leaving a trail of crumbs for no one to follow or seek the girl lost inside me. I would leave. And never come back. My one chance was over—the life I believed was a lie.
I no longer trusted myself. I didn’t trust a brain that was so adamant and fed such lifelike occurrences—staining my sanity until I knew I must be mad.
At least my imagination excelled. It would be the one place I could escape to when my future in slavery became too much.
“Wait.” Kill’s voice rang out.
Grasshopper stopped, his fingers tightening on my elbow to stop me, too.
I didn’t turn around but my back prickled as Kill moved toward us.
“Forget something?” Grasshopper asked.
My ears strained for Kill’s reply, even now wishing upon wishes that he had made a mistake and finally realized it.
“I’ll take her.”
What?
God, no. Please. I couldn’t have him take me away and deliver me to someone else. It would be the epitome of callousness. He’d already daggered my heart, he didn’t need to keep twisting it.
Grasshopper let me go, stepping aside as Kill took his place. “Are you sure? I mean—”
“I’m sure. I need to see with my own eyes that she’s gone.”
My nerve endings sprang to life the moment his fingers wrapped around my wrist.
Grasshopper huffed. “You don’t trust me to do it?”
Kill growled. “Yes, I trust you. But I need to do this. I need to know that I’ll never suffer again.”
Suffer?
What a heartless bitch he made me sound. I’d meant to heal his brokenness, not make it worse. I’d offered my love, my kindness and friendship—how did he think my goal was to make him hurt?
“I get that,” Grasshopper said. “I’ll call ahead and let the buyer know you’re the one coming.”
“Good. Thanks.”
Awkwardness settled and Kill’s fingers tightened around my wrist.
“Okay, Sarah. Guess this is good-bye.” Grasshopper’s voice reluctantly tugged me from my sad stupor.
I swallowed, keeping my head down and eyes averted. “Thanks. For trying, at least.”
Kill flinched. I hoped he heard the reprimand in my voice directed at him—for his lack of belief or decency of just listening to me.
Kill dragged me forward without another word.
Past the last magazine cover.
Past where I’d stood and stripped for him.
Through the compound and into the garage.
Cleo.
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Her name was Cleo. It sounded right… but wrong.
Could I have remembered the wrong name?
Could all of this be undone if I just had more time to untangle my memories?
“Please, Kill. Don’t do this,” I whispered as he dragged me toward a black SUV.
Kill gritted his jaw but didn’t reply. His hand stayed latched around my wrist, his legs chewing up the floor as if he wanted to break into a sprint and run far away from me.
My heart stuttered at the hate reverberating from him. I didn’t fight—there was no point. But I wished he would just stop for one moment. Just stop and…
What? Expose himself from years’ worth of denial and put himself in a place of agony to try and believe? Something like that would take more strength than anything, and as much as I hated it, I could understand his reluctance.
It was easier to continue living a lie than deal with the consequences of what it would mean if I were Cleo. So many questions would then exist… How were we separated? Why did he think he killed me? What really happened all those years ago?
I reached out, wrapping my fingers around his arm where he held me. He didn’t stop or look down.
“I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m sorry for the pain you’re going through. I’m sorry to make you confront things you obviously aren’t able to. But please don’t do this. Let me go. Release me. I’ll never come back and you’ll never have to see me again, but please. Please don’t sell me.”
“Don’t use my name.” He tugged me faster, reaching the black 4WD and opening the back door.
My heart winged frantically. “You have to know I didn’t mean to hurt you! It’s all true inside my mind. Everything I feel for you—everything that happened, it’s all real.”
How is it real?
Did my mind steal someone else’s memories or was everything a story—told to keep myself from going insane with no past?
Kill refused to make eye contact. Grabbing me around my bronze-encased waist, he threw me onto the backseat of the car.
My teeth rattled as he punched the door closed, shaking the entire vehicle.
Two seconds later, he climbed behind the steering wheel and pressed the garage door opener.
Twisting the key in the ignition, the engine started with a growl, then slid seamlessly into gear and exploded from standstill to motion.