He scowled.
“Got shit to do, sweetheart, and I’m not leaving you here on your own. I don’t fucking trust you. So you’re coming with me.”
“I saved your life last night, yet you don’t trust me?” I wrapped my arms around my legs, hugging the warmth from the blankets.
What happened to the connection we formed last night? The truce?
He smirked. “It’s the reasons why you saved my life last night that I don’t trust you.” Moving toward the black-lacquered dresser by the door to the bathroom, he jerked open a drawer and yanked out some clothes. Board shorts and another black T-shirt stating AND REVENGE SHALL BE SWEET.
I eyed him. He looked angry and bitter—no trace of the man I’d glimpsed no matter how briefly last night. There was no denying he had a vendetta against someone.
“Put these on. We’ll get some clothes for you this afternoon.”
“You’re dressing me now?”
“You want to walk around naked?”
“No.”
He stormed to the door. “Good, put the fucking clothes on.”
He suddenly changed course, stomping back to the bed. He’d already dressed in black trousers, T-shirt, and big biker boots. Grabbing the end of the covers, he tore them off me, leaving me exposed and chilled.
“Hey!” I cried out as he shoved me onto my back, and yanked up the hem of my T-shirt, exposing my nakedness below. His eyes didn’t latch onto my pussy or breasts but the tattoo decorating my entire left side. His nostrils flared as he followed the colors down to my hip and the perimeter of my leg.
His face darkened, gaze churning with questions. “Do you really not remember anything about this?” He poked my hipbone where a spray of cobalt blue forget-me-nots danced merrily amongst the black shadow of smoke beneath.
“No.”
He poked my ugly, shiny burns. “And this. Tell me you remember something as fucking traumatic as being burned this bad. Who did it? What happened?”
“I don’t know how it happened.”
Burn, baby girl. Burn.
I shivered. Wrestling the hem out of his large grip, I covered myself. Had he spent the night thinking about her? This mysterious girl I seemed to remind him of?
“Are you sure about that?” He stood tall, towering over me. “What if someone tried to kill you all those years ago? Would that be traumatic enough to block it out?” His jaw chewed the words, yet again saying one thing while holding so much back.
Yes. No. I don’t know.
Green eyes.
Green eyes held the answers to everything.
“The trauma I experienced was blocked out by being taken by your men.” I held up my arm, showing him the minor burn on the underneath of my forearm. “Something happened last night. I was burned again. Maybe it triggered something in my brain, giving me amnesia.”
“So you claim. Your last chance to tell the truth.” He leaned over me, searching my gaze. “Your last chance to admit you’re just faking it. I’ve agreed not to sell you… for now. I’ll honor that for you helping me last night. Tell me the damn truth.” His posture hinted that he fully believed this was all an elaborate act. His strong features were fierce—determined to make me trip.
I shook my head. “I am telling the truth. I truly don’t remember anything. Don’t you think I would prefer to know who the hell I am? To be able to remember my family, my name—my purpose in this life?”
He backed away, smirking coldly, no trace of understanding on his face. “So I guess the nickname Forgetful Girl is staying.” He raised a hand, pointing at me. “I’ll know when you remember, sweetheart. I’ll see it in your eyes and when I do, then we’ll discuss your future.”
I gritted my teeth, hating his smugness, the cold aloofness that had replaced the small connection we’d been able to build last night. I had no reply.
“Get dressed. We’re late.”
Without another word, he stalked from the room, leaving me to slip into the board shorts and T-shirt he’d left at the end of the bed.
Prison.
I didn’t know what I expected when Kill dragged me from his home, plonked me on the back of his bike, and drove along busy roads beneath hot sunshine. Ideas of returning to the compound, or going to see a doctor—which would probably be advised—even the concept of a restaurant to eat at wasn’t far-fetched.
But jail?
That never crossed my mind.
Kill parked the bike in a designated parking spot and took back the helmet he’d graciously given me.
He had the manners of a gentlemen all wrapped up in the cutthroat harshness of a criminal.
His brown leather jacket hid the well-tailored black blazer he’d slipped over the requisite black T-shirt and trousers. He looked like a bad businessman who’d escaped from the office to play gangster.
But I knew the truth. There was nothing playacting about him.
He smoothed his hands through his long hair, jerking it back so it looked effortlessly styled and sleek with just one motion.
I hated how capable he looked. His skin was a healthy tan, his green eyes bright with intelligene, and his five-o’clock shadow trimmed but not shorn. Until I witnessed the painful way he moved, I would never have guessed he’d almost died from blood loss last night.
“Why are we stopping here?” I tried to shield my eyes from the sunshine.
“I have to go in there.”
“Why?”
He scowled. “You really think I have to answer your questions?”