I remained alone in the walk-in closet with only my reflection for company. Kill never came to find me and no other flashbacks came to my aid.
I gave up.
Night had turned to a new dawn, and I refused to live another day not knowing. My unlocking rested with Kill.
It was time to find him.
Grabbing his leather jacket, I slipped into the comforting warmth and went in search. My nakedness beneath the supple cut teased my nipples. I inhaled deeply, drenching my lungs in his smell, invoking a twisting need that never extinguished.
My mind wanted to confront him for answers. My body wanted to confront him for a release. Yesterday was over, the future was as dark as the night-shrouded house, but here and now—it was full of possibilities and I wanted to take advantage.
The house was silent as I padded barefoot over luscious carpet and cold marble. There were no noises, no creaks or hints of life.
Peeking into his empty office, with its four computer monitors and never-turned-off analytic software, I followed the usual trail of sitting room, den, and kitchen.
Empty.
Empty.
Empty.
I moved to the huge sliding doors leading to the back garden, cupping my eyes to peer outside to the sweeping garden beyond.
The moon cast a silver glow, turning three-dimensional into two-dimensional, glittering with mystery.
Empty.
The alarm system flickered red, warning it was activated. He didn’t leave the house.
I kept drifting, following the layout of the dwelling, leading easily from one room to the next. Abstract art of black-and-white motorbikes loomed from corridor walls. Diplomas of mathematical excellence and philanthropic donations glinted smugly as I traversed the foyer and entered a wing of the house I explored the day before he took me to the compound.
Newspaper clippings were blown up and bordered in huge glossy frames showing stock market evaluations, graphs, and candlestick charts.
Kill’s house was sterile and remote, yet permitted a small glimpse into who he was beneath the violence, curses, and anger.
There was something insanely intelligent and… defenseless.
Coming to a large door at the end of the property, I pushed it open and entered a muggy, humidity-drenched world. Watery echos bounced off the glass roof above, showing nothing but velvet night sky and glittering condensation.
My skin prickled with damp heat and the sound of splashes came from around the corner. I hadn’t been in here before. The door had been locked.
I inched forward, moving past a changing room and a door to a sauna.
I stopped short.
Kill was doing laps in a large oblong pool. His powerful body sliced through the water, cutting hard and swift with the crawl. His eyes were closed, hair slicked to his skull, and the huge tattoo on his back rippled beneath the water.
I couldn’t move. He looked so sleek and predator-like in the water—so powerful. Water splashed the sides as he ducked and pushed off from the crimson-decorated wall. The mosaic tiles gave the impression the water was red—as if Kill swam in blood.
His arms never stopped their deadly assault, shoving liquid away as if he wanted to murder every droplet. He pushed himself to the point of exhaustion; God only knew how long he’d been in there.
Moving to the end of the pool, I stepped from the shadows and deliberately placed myself where he would see.
One stroke.
Two strokes.
Suddenly he stopped, standing up in a wash of chlorine. His chest rose and fell, his stitched wound looking better but still a little puffy. His eyes pinned me to the spot, narrowing in a mixture of disbelief and denial.
My knees locked as his heavy breathing intoxicated me, reminding me of other activities where panting was caused. Humid air clung to my skin, dousing me in perspiration and need.
Water streamed down his face, spilling into his lips as he said quietly, “What are you doing in here?” His voice licked through the space, sending delicious shock waves through my core. Just like the night when I’d awoken kidnapped, his earthquake voice split my world and fractured everything I knew. I was in tune with him—the perfect chalice for the power he conjured.
I swallowed, trying to get a grip on my thoughts. “You shouldn’t be swimming with your injury.”
His eyes flashed, wrenching back whatever he’d been thinking about while driving through the water. “The stitches need to come out.”
I nodded. “I’ll remove them for you, but they should probably stay in another few days.”
He didn’t say anything, merely cocked his head. His stare unnerved me—whatever he’d seen back on the yacht had given him answers and… hope.
Tearing his gaze from mine, he waded through the chest-deep water, moving toward the side of the pool. In a smooth, effortless move, he launched himself from water to tile. The way his muscles bunched and twisted as he stood from crouch to full height made my mouth water.
His back faced me, revealing the full impact of the tattooed cut—the scar tissue beneath the design raised so many questions. My eyes trailed down and down, ratcheting my heart rate until I felt it in every extremity.
Oh God.
He was slick with water.
He was beautifully built.
He was… naked.
My lips parted, tummy coiled with desire.
He turned to face me.
My cheeks heated as my eyes locked onto his cock. I couldn’t look away. I was entranced, bewitched, completely focused on the mermaid’s hair looping around his perfectly formed erection. It hung heavy and hard, dripping with pool water. His balls were tight and drawn close to his body, completely clean-shaven.
His quads twitched as his hands balled by his sides. The only noise was the gentle lapping of the water and the steady drip, drip, drip of his naked form as droplets rippled over his muscles.
“Like what you see?”
I jumped, tearing my eyes from him and cursing the flush heating my cheeks. I wanted to hide, or jump him. No, I would prefer to touch and kiss and suck.
Swallowing hard, I nodded. “Yes. I’ve enjoyed watching you since we met.”
His eyes narrowed, taking a step closer. “And when exactly was that?” His voice lashed with both violence and softness, his face not giving anything away. “When did we meet?”
“I don’t know what you want to hear,” I murmured. “That I have two answers? The one where you tore my blindfold and I found you again, or—”
“Give me the truth.” He prowled closer, his body taut. “Tell me what you’ve been trying to say. Give me that answer.”
I lowered my chin, hope fluttering with feathered wings inside. “Are you prepared to listen?”
Are you prepared to stop hurting me after everything you’ve done?
My breath disappeared as his wet hands captured my cheeks, tilting my head up, giving me no choice but to look directly at him. “Why did you come find me?”
His gaze fell to his leather jacket engulfing my small frame—my very naked frame. Hints of flesh were revealed thanks to the open zipper each time I breathed. The heavy density protected me from the unreadable gleam in his eyes.
“Because we need to talk,” I whispered. “Because you need to explain to me what you saw back there. Why you’re angry with me. Why you ran the moment we got back.”
He sucked in a breath, but kept all his emotions locked from view.
He took forever to reply. “I ran because I needed some time.”
“Time for what?”
“Time to figure this out. To come to terms with what a fucking asshole I’ve been. To figure out if there is any fucking way you can forgive me.”
My heart thundered in my ears. “We need to talk. About everything.”
I need answers before I can forgive you.
“And if I said I needed more time? What would you do?” His fingers tightened on my cheeks. “If I said I wasn’t ready to have my entir
e life be a lie, to have my world and everything I’ve been working toward for the last eight years be complete and utter bullshit, what would you say?” His blazing green gaze licked with rage and pain.
I second-guessed myself. I should’ve waited. Given him the space he needed. He’d been moody, violent, and up till a few hours ago, planned to sell me to the highest bidder. Why did I think miraculously he would be willing to talk?
Stupid. So stupid.
But I didn’t want to wait. I had to know.
In that moment, I saw a different side of him—a man who controlled his world with an unyielding iron fist, with no room for surprises. A man whose world had just been ripped apart.
I trembled in his hold. “Why did you stop the sale today?”
He twitched. “I—” He squeezed his eyes, his shoulders sagging. “You know why.”
“No. I don’t. I need to hear it from you.”
His eyes were tortured as they came up, slightly glassy, fully mistrustful. “How is this even possible—I thought—”
I begged, “Please, tell me what you know.”
Kill shook his head, sending droplets flying before looking straight into my soul. “I—I need—I’ve done so much—” He cut himself off, glancing at the floor. “I can’t do this.”
Sickness rolled at the thought of him pulling away. “You can do this. Trust in us.”
His fingers caressed my cheeks for an endless moment. “I don’t—” His chest rose and fell as he sucked in a heavy breath. “Okay.”
I shivered. Such a simple word but it held such a weighty promise.
“I’m ready to understand.”
My heart wedged itself in my throat.
Please, let everything become clear.
“What did you see to make you believe?”
A flash of agony filled his face then was gone. His jaw clenched. “I’ll give you the answers you need, but first, I need to hear it from you.” Bowing his head, so his forehead brushed against mine, he whispered, “How and when did we meet? Tell me.”
Ow. It hurt. So much.
My eyes filled with tears at the oozing blood and gravel on my kneecap. I couldn’t stop my wobbling lip as pain lanced. The bike rested beside me, the bright pink frame dusty and scratched. Daddy would be so mad at me.
“You okay?”
I looked up, clutching my kneecap with white fingers. A boy I’d seen living across the courtyard from me smiled, squatting in front of my bike.
“Who are you?” I asked, wincing from another heat-wash of pain.
“Art. And you?”
“Hurt.”
He laughed. “I saw you fall. You were going too fast.”
I pouted. “No, I wasn’t.”
Shuffling closer, his grubby hands reached for my wound. “Better get your mom to fix you. I see germs in there already.”
My mouth plopped open in horror. “Really?”
Standing, he awkwardly leaned down and grabbed my arm. Wrapping it around his bony shoulders, he smiled. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
I blinked. My knee still throbbed with the phantom pain of the past. “I don’t know how old I was, maybe four or five. You took me home after I scraped my knee—”
“From falling off your bike,” Kill finished. His face twisted with heartbreaking amazement. “How—how is this possible?”
I placed my hands over his, still cupping my cheeks. “I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me.”
His mouth remained parted, fear and shock blanching his skin. “I—the most—” He sighed and tried again. “I was told you were dead. I stood on your grave. I read your death certificate. I went to—”
Grasshopper’s voice popped into my head. I murmured, “You served time… for what happened to me?” My heart fisted not wanting to know. “Why? What… what happened? Why were you sentenced? Who—”
He moved his hand to press against my lips. His eyes were heavy and dark with sadness. “Don’t. Just—please, let me enjoy having you here. You’re reincarnated. Let me adjust to that… before we drag up the past.” His face implored. “Please… I can’t talk about it. Not yet.”
Impatience filled me like sticky syrup, but I nodded. “Okay.”
Dropping his hands, Kill said, “Come. Let’s go upstairs. Let’s talk.” Taking my fingers in his, he tugged me toward the exit and grabbed a neatly folded towel from a basket. Letting me go, he quickly wrapped it around his hips, hiding what I most wanted, and took my hand again.
We moved quickly but not too quickly. We stole glances but didn’t speak. We climbed the stairs together, never looking away.
Nervousness was thick and rampant; I worried my heart would never find a normal rhythm again.
The minute we entered his bedroom, he released my hand. Without a word, he disappeared into the bathroom.
I stood for a moment in rejection. Did he need more time? Space?
No. I wouldn’t let him run. Not this time.
Chasing him, I followed the trail of droplets on the carpet. The moment I entered the bathroom, the air instantly thickened with tension.
Kill’s tattooed back remained unyielding and knotted. He didn’t turn to face me. Instead, he kept his attention averted—deliberately cutting me off while he fumbled with whatever he dealt with.
Tearing the towel from his waist, he jumped into the shower and wrenched on the water. Forcing his head under the heavy stream, he sighed heavily. No sound escaped but I felt his confusion and anxiety right in my soul.
I stood there—a voyeur with no place. I couldn’t take my eyes from his naked form. All I wanted to do was hug him, to tell him it was okay to be overwhelmed—I was, too.
Join him.
I couldn’t deny I wanted to jump into the shower. I wanted to feel him close. I wanted to touch him, and find out once and for all why he lost it today.
But I couldn’t.
Something held me back.
Pumping spicy body wash into his hands from a bottle, he lathered his body with clinical cleanliness before rinsing completely and stalking from the shower.
His green eyes met mine briefly as he reached for a fresh towel, rubbing his hair until it stuck out in sexy strands, then wrapped a new towel around his perfectly cut and defined body.
Without a word, he stormed to the vanity, grabbed a pair of tiny silver scissors, and disappeared into the bedroom.
At a loss of what to do, I followed him only to find him laid on the bed with his damp hair on the pillow, eyes locked on the ceiling, and the silver scissors in his open palm.
“Do it. Don’t want these things in me anymore.” Raising his head, he added, “Once they’re out… we’ll talk.”
He’s stalling for time.
I didn’t know if I should be pleased I affected him so badly or worried.
Moving toward the bed, I climbed hesitatingly onto the mattress and shuffled closer. Kill didn’t look at me; his free hand fisted by his thigh.
Taking the offered scissors, I leaned over his wound. The skin had healed enough to stay knitted together. Touching his flesh, I checked there was no infection or temperature. Satisfied it wouldn’t be detrimental, I sat straight. “I need tweezers.”
“Top drawer in the bathroom.”
I scooted off the bed, retrieved the tweezers, and climbed back by his side. His skin was cool on the surface from his cold shower but beneath it raged a fire that burned all my thoughts to ash.
Being this close. Both of us mostly naked. In bed.
It was a dream. A nightmare. A fantasy all come true.
The jacket was cumbersome on my frame. The cuffs hanging over my hands. I wouldn’t be able to do something as delicate as remove stitches while fighting the dense material. It had to come off… only, I had nothing on underneath.
It doesn’t matter.
He’d seen me naked. He’d been inside me.
So why do I feel so shy and vulnerable?
Forcing myself to be brave, I shrugged out o
f his jacket, and placed it gently at the foot of the bed. “Thank you for letting me wear it.”
Kill’s nostrils flared as he forced himself to continue staring at the ceiling. I knew he’d be able to see I was naked but he nodded curtly. “Only old ladies and members ever get the privilege.”
“Then why did you let me wear it?”
His head turned to face me; his eyes stayed locked above my collarbone. “Take my stitches out.”
Pain lashed through my heart. The rage he constantly carried glittered in his eyes, dampening the small amount of trust we’d formed. The tiny edge of vulnerability was gone. Disappeared, or hidden.
“Kill… don’t. Please don’t shut me out.”
He clenched his jaw. “I’m—I’m not doing it intentionally. It’s just…” His gaze softened and he reached for me before dropping his hand deliberately to the covers. “Give me more time. It’s not easy. I’m so used to blocking people. So used to being a bastard to protect myself.” His lips twitched into an apologetic smirk. “It’s not easy to break a habit.” His voice trailed to a whisper. “I still can’t believe this is happening. That you’re—you. And here. Alive.”
My hands shook, holding the scissors and tweezers. Questions hurled themselves at my brain, bombarding me with eagerness.
Forcing the urgency away, I smiled softly and bent over his scar. “The minute these stitches are out, we’re talking. No more excuses.”
He nodded.
Praying my hands were steady enough, I carefully snipped at the twine holding his flesh together. Concentrating so hard on one thing gave me freedom from the chaos in my brain and I lost myself in the task, leaning lower, permitting myself to be quiet and not ask questions—to just… be.
It didn’t take long to remove. As I snipped the last stitch, Arthur tensed. His breathing changed and I looked up.
His eyes were riveted on my inked nipple. His bottom lip clamped between his teeth and his belly rippled with tension.
My heart instantly thundered in my ears. All excuses were gone. I wanted to dance with joy. I wanted to throw up with fear.
I’m afraid of him.
Afraid of what he could do to me—not physically but emotionally. If he was the boy from my past, he already owned my heart. What would happen when he owned my memories and mind, too? How safe would I be? What did it mean for my future?