“Then I guess I’ll stay in your clothes until you get rid of me.”
Just let me go home.
I needed peace and quiet and a mirror. I craved a reflection to look into my eyes and see what was so lacking for him to despise me.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Kill stole my wrist and hauled me past racks and hangers, straight toward the changing rooms.
What the hell—?
People looked up from browsing, their mouths popping wide. But no one stopped us. No one intervened. Kill was right about people staying away—even if they knew something bad was going on beneath their noses.
The second we entered a changing room, he slammed the door, locked it, then shoved me against the wall. His fingers dug into my throat. “Let’s get a few things straight, shall we?” His scent of ocean winds and leather drugged me. “Never stand up to me in public. Never think you can order me around. Never think I will give a shit about you.”
He breathed hard, sweat beading on his brow. “And never pretend I’m anything more than what I am. A man who had every inch of softness inside gutted the day they threw me in prison. The day she died. I’m not the man you think I am, sweetheart. Don’t ever forget it.”
Prison?
My legs gave out; my hands gripped around Kill’s wrist. “Please let me go,” I gasped. “I can’t breathe.”
His eyes narrowed, his fingers squeezing tighter. “Oh, and one other thing, never ask me about her again. I won’t be so nice next time you meddle in my past.”
He let go.
I bent over, sucking in huge lungfuls of air.
He backed up, pressing himself against the wall of the changing room. The small box was claustrophobic, with a bench, a chair, and a full-length mirror on the back of the door.
A mirror!
I latched onto the reflection like it would dispel all my problems.
I couldn’t move as I drank in the features of the woman my soul dwelled within.
My eyes: they were green and large and luminous.
My cheekbones: they were apple-shaped and flushed.
My lips: they were full and wet and naturally pink.
My figure: feminine with muscle definition and strength.
My hair: cascaded over my shoulders in a riot of cherry and burned orange.
I was pretty…
I leaned forward, touching the delicate skin beneath my eyes. No wrinkles apart from a few signs of maturity. I’d say I was midtwenties.
“Recognize yourself?” Arthur never took his eyes off me, his leather jacket creaking softly as he crossed his arms.
I shook my head, my red hair rippling over my shoulders—the stranger in the mirror copied me move for move. “No,” I whispered. “No, I don’t.”
And it hurt so damn much to see myself but feel no love, no history—nothing but smoldering anger for a brain so damaged it blocked everything out. Who was the girl in the mirror and why did I hate her?
Because she’s lacking.
A knock on the door startled both of us. “Um, excuse me. Only one person at a time in the changing room, please,” the voice of a prissy attendant sailed through the cheap veneer.
Kill snapped into action. Shoving me to one side, he wrenched open the door, and tossed a hundred-dollar bill at the woman with oversprayed blonde hair. “Forget the rules. Go and get whatever is the latest style for a girl her size.” He opened the door wider, pointing at me as if I were fungus growing on the wall.
Bastard.
Arrogant, egotistical bastard.
I should’ve run when I had the chance. I should’ve run from the parking lot at Florida State. Next time, I would run and never look back.
But I didn’t and I won’t. Because I’m an idiot who craves answers over life span.
The girl narrowed her gaze at my figure. “What cup size are you?” she asked, eyeing my chest.
I slapped an arm over myself.
“Full C,” Kill replied. “Least that’s my guess.” He winked cruelly. “I did get to see them in their glory last night, after all.”
Tears speared my eyes, but I balled my hands.
The attendant scowled.
Not caring that the girl hadn’t left, Kill slammed the door in her face.
He cracked his knuckles and slipped his jacket off his shoulders. If the action hurt his stitches, he didn’t show it—back to being the hard-ass president who treated everyone else like dirt.
Sitting in the velour-covered chair, he spread his legs so I would have to step over him if I wanted to move.
I perched on the bench, crossing my arms.
Ten minutes later, the woman returned, passing me skirts, jeans, T-shirts, and dresses, along with a few gorgeously feminine lingerie sets.
I hung the hangers haphazardly on the hooks.
Kill once again shoved the door rudely in her face with a sharp kick from his chair. Looking at me, he snapped, “Try them on. Then we’re getting out of here. I’m done being around society that doesn’t have a clue about the real world.”
“The real world being the ones with guns and jail sentences and death?” I spun away, not wanting to see a response. Gathering a pretty silver maxi dress off its hanger, I kept my chest to the wall and away from Kill’s prying eyes.
Pulling his T-shirt over my head, I quickly shimmied into the dress. Once the dress was on, I bent and pulled off the ridiculously large board shorts, hiding my modesty.
Kill growled under his breath. “Clever.”
I faced him, hiding my victorious smirk. He might’ve seen me naked once, but I had no intention of letting him see me again. He was still in love with her. He didn’t need to see other women who lacked.