The police will help. You’ve done nothing wrong.
I would flee if there wasn’t some horrible niggle poking my brain every time I thought of screaming for help and running. There was no doubt in my mind I could run fast enough to make my capturer chase me, cause his heart to pump harder, and for him to pass out. His eyes were hazy and pain-filled already. It wouldn’t take much to make him topple.
Then why didn’t I do it?
Because the thought of entering a world where I have no idea where I belong scares the bejesus out of me.
Baby steps. My world had shrunk to this man, his house, and fixing an injury I had the skills—hopefully—to heal. Everything else… It held no allure. A kindly spoken police officer couldn’t help me. A shrink couldn’t help me.
But this man could.
Kill waved his gun. “Stop talking and get in the house.”
I didn’t back down. I didn’t flinch from his anger or smug power.
When I didn’t move, he muttered, “The police are just as corrupt as us. The minute they caught you, you’d be living an entirely different nightmare.”
Shoving the gun back into his waistband, he suddenly shoved me forward into his house. “You’re like a one-woman comedy show. Just shut up and do as you’re told.”
I didn’t retaliate. Instead, I let him push me down the corridor that spilled us out into a rotund two-story entrance hall. The architecture of curved wall, domed glass roof, and wooden circular stairs would’ve been spectacular if it wasn’t for the dangerous man hissing in pain behind me.
I whispered, “You need to sit down. I’d guess you only have a few more minutes before you pass out.”
“Shut up.”
My heart did a weird skip-shuffle. Part of me willed him to fall unconscious. Escape and freedom would come gift-wrapped and easy if he was no longer an issue. But it went back to the one thing I desperately craved.
Answers to my voidless world.
The stronger part of me had no intention of letting this man pass out and leaving me with nothing.
He stalked to the stairs, breathing harder with every movement. He paused with a foot on the bottom rung. He looked up to the landing, a flicker of rage shadowed his features.
“You can’t climb up there. You’ll pass out. Who knows if you’ll break a bone or two when you fall.”
He shot me a hate-filled glare, gripping the banister. His entire body looked as if he wanted to dismantle his house and burn the staircase.
He took another step, hauling himself up with the aid of the curved handrail. His leather jacket creaked as he breathed hard.
I prepared for him to pass out. I didn’t know if I should stand close by to try and catch him, or avoid him to let him crash on his own.
I couldn’t decide, so I just watched. And waited.
He paused, then sighed angrily. Throwing a quick glance at me, he stomped back in his large boots and grabbed my wrist. “Don’t think you’re smarter than me,” he grunted.
Dragging me silently to another door, he kicked it open to reveal a huge sterile room with soft pewter on the walls and massive frames hanging in perfect symmetry.
The lights in the house were hidden, so it seemed to light up as if by magic with no discernable lightbulb. Kill didn’t give me time to study the picture frames, dragging me over the bare, white-tiled floor to the huge kidney-shaped desk with four large computer screens all linked together with two keyboards in front of them.
The soft hum of machinery and glare of the screens were the only liveliness in the entire mansion.
“Where is everybody?” I asked as he threw me into an office chair, sending the coaster wheels sliding a little with my weight.
There was an emptiness about the house—a silence that wasn’t possible if there were other people dwelling within.
Kill grabbed the only other chair, sitting heavily. His jaw was tight, eyes narrowed against the immense pain he must be feeling.
“I live alone.” Grabbing his gun, he placed it loudly and pointedly on the desk. “Doesn’t mean you’re not in danger. Believe me when I say that makes it more dangerous than ever for you.”
I nodded, looking briefly at the picture frame towering over him. Equations. Billons of mathematical equations, all scribbled and transcribed in a mismatch of cursive, print, and handwriting. No color. Just black and white.
At first glance, it looked like an image might exist in the bold equations but it was only an optical illusion.
Kill grunted, “Stop looking over my shoulder and pay attention.”
I obeyed, looking into his vibrant green eyes, feeling once again that link of remembrance… connection… love.
Love?
I slapped away the thought. I didn’t know the meaning of it. I’d forgotten people I once loved. I’d forgotten my parents, any lovers, or siblings, or friends. How could I forget them, yet feel as if I loved this horrible, bleeding man who’d kidnapped and meant to sell me?
I am broken.
I wanted to rattle myself and see if the shards of my soul tinkled like chipped china. I needed to find a way to put myself back together again, and fast.
Kill sucked in a deep breath as a fresh wave of pain made his fists clench. “You said you can help. Why?”
I rested my hands on my naked thighs, wishing the T-shirt covered me more. “I’m a vet. Or at least I was a vet, or training to be one… Regardless, I know how to stem bleeding.”
I hope.
No, I knew. Something inside throbbed with the knowledge of how to heal, how to stitch and tend.
He raised an eyebrow. “How old are you? You look too young to have that qualification.” His head cocked, belying the eagerness behind his innocent question. Was that to figure out how he knew me or purely disbelieving about my skills?
I don’t know.
I waved my hand. “Do you really need to know? I thought you said you didn’t care who we were or what our names are. Tell me where your first aid kit is, and I’ll help you.”
I wanted answers but I didn’t want to show my weakness by asking. If I didn’t prompt, how much extra could I learn by his error and slipups?
He locked his jaw, deliberation glowing in his eyes. Finally, he sat up and with a pained groan slipped his bloodstained jacket off his shoulders.
I gasped, rolling forward on my chair. “Oh my God.” The sight of blood didn’t faze me but the knowledge that he hurt cut me in a way I couldn’t describe.
He gritted his teeth, looking down at his shredded T-shirt. “Aw, shit. Hoped it wouldn’t be that bad.”
So much blood.
He swayed a little, his head bowing, before he muttered, “Bathroom to the right. Under the sink.”
“I—I think… you need to go to the hospital.” The amount of blood made the wound look unsurvivable. Stomping around, driving motorbikes in the dead of morning, and keeping me hostage certainly hadn’t helped the situation.
He looked up, gaze blazing green. “No fucking doctors. Go get the—”
His eyes rolled back, his jaw went slack, and he slumped forward.
I shot to my feet as he tumbled from the chair, face-planting to the white tile below. I rushed forward, grabbing his cold bicep, hoping I could stop him from damaging himself further. But it didn’t do any good. He collapsed into a pile of black clothing and blood, his jaw-length hair sticking to his five-o’clock shadow.
Those beautiful eyes that lived in my soul—those eyes that haunted me—closed.
The hum of the computers carried on but the rest of the world went silent. Without his green eyes teasing my heart, I breathed hard, trying to unscramble everything inside. Was this a cruel joke? Being held hostage by a man who held the eyes of someone who possessed my love and soul?
Why couldn’t I remember?
My stomach ached with pain… with grief—to have lost something I couldn’t recall. It hurt worse than anything that’d happened since I woke.
Kill’s breathing was
shallow but he was alive. His arm lay outstretched, cheek pressed against the hard floor, body twisted at a painful angle.
My heart lurched, staring at his unconscious form.
I live alone.
My head snapped up, gaze locking onto the exit. Here was my chance. The only one I would get before my life turned from nightmare to horror show.
Run.
I stood there, locked in place as scenarios and horrible conclusions filled my brain.
If I ran, I would be at the mercy of doctors, tests, and interviews. If I ran I would be running from one unknown to so many others.
If I didn’t run, I would be destined to a world where I wouldn’t be human but a toy. I’d be abused and raped and treated like dirt.
Sold.
I couldn’t let that happen.
Biting my lip, I prodded Kill with my foot. I needed to make sure he was out cold before I made my escape. He didn’t groan or twitch. Completely unconscious.
The sinister gun glinted beneath the glare of the computer screens. I picked it off the desk, shocked and slightly horrified at the weight. I didn’t know what model it was, how many rounds it held, or even how to shoot the damn thing, but I cupped the handle, resting my finger on the oh so dangerous trigger.
Arthur Killian didn’t move.
I should’ve felt powerful—safer with the loaded weapon in my hands, but I didn’t. I felt exposed and a fake.
Just go.
I tiptoed toward the exit, looking over my shoulder, fearing he’d wake up. I stopped at the door frame, breathing hard.
He still hadn’t moved.
My heart thundered in my ears. This was my chance to bolt—to be free. But the thought of leaving him to bleed out on his floor—to die all alone—I…
The connection I suffered fisted my heart. What if you let the only person who might be able to grant you answers die?
I swiped a hand through my hair, hating the confusion inside.
I couldn’t let him die.
I stiffened.
But he wasn’t a nice man—by his own admission.
Spinning to face him, I leveled the gun at his head. Could I heal him, then walk away? I was the one with the gun—he would do what I demanded.
But where would I go?
I still had the impossibility of being homeless, clothesless, and nameless.
Perhaps, I should take myself to the hospital?
But if I did that, then I would only come back—driven by the itch to know—and be in the same predicament I was currently in with no bargaining power. Kill groaned, struggling to wake up. His outstretched arm tensed to push himself upright. He cried out, throwing himself onto his back.
My heart beat harder.
His eyes opened, confusion bright, even from the distance between us. Then recollection slammed into him, and he angled his head toward the door.
He froze when our eyes connected, the muzzle of the gun aimed at his skull.
It felt like an eternity that we stared. The challenge in his eyes. The threat. It danced between us, lacing with my rebellion and need for freedom—not just from him but this blank reality I’d awoken in.
I wanted to remember.
Ask him. Demand.
Kill laughed, his mirth echoing with pain. “You’re a good little liar, I’ll give you that.”
“Excuse me?”
“All that talk of healing me? What were you going to do? Grab the medical kit and find a way to stick a needle in my eye?” He writhed on the floor, slapping a hand over the injury in his pectoral. “I’m such a fucking idiot. Should’ve kept you at the compound. Let them deal with you.”
I inched forward, despite myself. “Why didn’t you?”
He glowered. “Why didn’t I what?”
“Why didn’t you leave me there? You left all the other girls there.”
Was it because you’re as intrigued with me as I am with you?
He growled, “You think you’re in a position to ask questions?”
The gun was warm and friendly in my hands, rather than an enemy. I dashed forward, standing just outside of grabbing distance but definitely in range to shoot, even as inexperienced as I was. “I think I’m in a perfect position to ask questions.”
Kill smirked. “Only until you screw up. Then I’ll take back my fucking gun and you’ll wish you’d squeezed the trigger when you had the chance.”
I ignored that.
Leveling the weapon at his forehead, I said, “A new deal. I’ll help heal you if you answer some of my questions. If I like your answers, I’ll stay. I won’t put up a fight, and I’ll give you back your gun.”
He frowned. “Why would you stay? You know what will happen to you.”
Because I prefer to deal with the devil I know rather than the one I don’t.
“I don’t have to answer that. It’s not me with a gun pointed at their head.”
“No, but it soon will be,” he muttered under his breath.
I skirted around him, careful to stay out of reaching distance. His green eyes followed me, never letting go. My skin prickled; my heart raced. When he looked at me like that—as if I were the only thing of importance in this world—the bond inside stretched and strengthened.
Who was he?
He played havoc with my willpower—my common sense. Everything I knew I should do seemed out of the question until I found out if we knew each other.
It couldn’t all be in my mind. Could it?
You’re willing to give up freedom—a long and happy life—all because you need reassuring that you somehow know him?
I shook my head. The questions were drowning me. I couldn’t focus on what I was giving up, only on what I hoped to gain.
“Will you take my deal or not?”
He scowled. “Doesn’t look like I have a fucking choice, does it?”
I shook my head again, my arm starting to ache with the weight of the pistol, revolver, whatever I held. “No. Not unless you want to bleed out all over your office floor.”
He chuckled breathlessly. “That would give the cleaning lady something to talk about.”
“I thought you said you live alone?” Nervousness attacked my legs, making me inch toward the door again.
He rolled his eyes, wincing. “I do. She comes twice a week.”
“And there’s no one else who might interrupt us?”
“Unless you mean the business meeting I have in a few days, then no. Nothing. You’re safe to fucking murder me and make your getaway before the sun’s up.”
I ignored that and moved to sit in one of the office chairs. Resting the gun on my knee, I said, “Okay, first question. Where are we?”
He groaned. “Seriously? What do you want? A map? Coordinates? We’re at my home. I told you.”
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 ord
ers 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.