Needed.
I need to know who he is.
Wet mud sucked loudly against boots as they came closer.
The woman whimpered, but I angled my chin toward the sound, wishing my eyes were uncovered.
I wanted to see. I wanted to witness the carnage before me. Because it was carnage. The stench of death confirmed it. It was morbid to want to see such destruction, but without my sight all of this seemed like a terrible nightmare. Nothing was grounded—completely nonsensical and far too strange.
I needed proof that this was real.
I needed concrete evidence that I wasn’t mad. That my body was intact, even if my mind was not.
I sucked in a breath as warm fingers touched my cheek, angling my face upward and out of the mud. Strong hands caressed the back of my skull, fumbling with my blindfold.
The anticipation of finally getting my wish to see made me stay still and cooperative in his hold.
I didn’t say a word or move. I just waited. And breathed. And listened.
The man’s breath was heavy and low, interspersed with a quick catch of pain. His fingers were swift and sure, but unable to hide the small fumble of agony.
He’s hurt.
The pressure of the blindfold suddenly released, trading opaque darkness for a new kind of gloom.
Night sky. Moonshine. Stars above.
Anchors of a world I knew, but no recognition of the dark-shrouded industrial estate where blood gleamed silver-black and corpses dotted the field.
I’m alive.
I can see.
The joy at having my eyes freed came and went as blazing as a comet.
Then my life ended as our gazes connected.
Green to green.
I have green eyes.
Down and down I spiraled, deeper and deeper into his clutches.
My life—past, present, and future—lost all purpose the second I stared into his soul.
The fear I’d been missing slammed into my heart.
I quivered. I quaked.
Something howled deep inside with age-old knowledge.
Every part of me arched toward him, then shied away in terror.
Him.
A nightmare come to life.
A nightmare I wanted to live.
If life was a tapestry, already threaded and steadfast, then he was the scissors that cut me free. He tore me out, stole me away, changed the whole prophecy of who I was meant to be.
Jaw-length dark hair, tangled and sweaty, framed a square jaw, straight nose, and full lips. His five-o’clock stubble held remnants of war, streaked with dirt and blood. But it was his eyes that shot a quivering arrow into my heart, spreading his emerald anger.
He froze, his body curving toward mine. Blistering hope flickered across his features. His mouth fell open and love so achingly deep glowed in his gaze. “What—” A leg gave out, making him kneel beside me. His hands shook as he cupped my face, his fingers digging painfully into my cheekbones. “It’s not—”
My heart raced. Yes.
“You know me,” I breathed.
The moment my voice webbed around us, storm clouds rolled over the sunshine in his face, blackening the hope and replacing it with pure hatred.
He changed from watching me like I was his angel to glowering as if I were a despicable devil.
I shivered at the change—at the iciness and hardness. He breathed hard, his chest rising and falling. His lips parted, a rumbling command falling from his mouth to my ears. “Stand up. You’re mine now.”
When I didn’t move, his hand landed on my side. His touch was blocked by clothing but I felt it everywhere. He stroked my soul, tickled my heart, and caressed every cell with fingers that despised me.
I couldn’t suck in a proper breath.
With a vicious push, he rolled me over, and with a sharp blade sliced my bindings. With effortless power, so thrilling and terrifying, he hauled me to my feet.
I didn’t sway. I didn’t cry. Only pulled the disgusting gag from my mouth and stared in silence.
I stared up, up, up into his bright green eyes, understanding something I shouldn’t understand.
This was him.
My nightmare.
Chapter Two
I couldn’t fucking believe it. I wouldn’t fucking believe it. It was a lie. A horrible, terrible lie to undermine everything I’d done since they’d ruined me. The moment she’d looked into my eyes, I’d wanted so much to give in. To believe in the impossible.
But that naïveté had been beaten out of me.
I wouldn’t fall for it again.
—Kill
“Get them in here. Don’t have all night.”
The roller door on the back of the truck opened again. I blinked, thankful my eyes weren’t covered this time and everything was visible.
With steadfast determination, I focused on the next stage of my unknown life. The new destination wasn’t a field or grotty industrial estate. It was a large parking garage with low-hanging halogens and rows of motorcycles. A few muscle cars rested toward the back of the cavernous room, but there were more bikes than I could count.
My mind skipped back to the ride here. It hadn’t taken long.
After the green-eyed man who’d devoured my soul had unleashed my wrists, he’d picked me up and placed me back on the platform of the truck. He’d grunted in pain, his black shirt torn and soaking with copper, glistening in the night. The scent of blood hovered around him, pumping warm and sickly from whatever wound he tried to hide. He did well keeping his agony hidden. I’d tried to find where the wound originated, but it was impossible in the gloom of the truck’s interior.
He also hid his previous reaction to me. His eyes were shuttered, watching me like a perfect stranger. Whatever had happened between us was gone.
But it had happened. I wasn’t sure of anything else, but that one glimpse between us was deeper, truer, more real than anything I’d experienced.
The knowledge was a constant drumbeat in my bones, a never-ceasing rhythm demanding I found out more.
He knew me.
I knew him.
Of that I was absolute.
I need him alone. I need to know.
The moment I was reloaded into the van, the other women who’d been tossed to the ground were ferried on board, too—their blindfolds off, wrists freed.
I didn’t bother looking at or assessing my companions. Everything inside me turned inward—focusing on my own predicament, my lack of memory, and my unswerving knowledge that I had something to do with the ringleader of this mess. As selfish as it was, I had no time for others.
Not yet.
The man with green eyes didn’t join us. Instead, he’d growled orders at the three men hovering around us like dogs with a herd of sheep, and threw down the door with an almighty clang.
Darkness.
My heart wedged itself in my throat at once again losing my sight.
No light, or seats, or in-travel refreshments. The women were quiet, even though we had the power to talk once again. Clusters formed, shuffling closer in the blackness. One tried to take my hand, offering consolation in numbers.
I shook her off, preferring to stand alone, holding on to the side of the vehicle and paying attention to the sway of the cumbersome truck. I counted the corners we took. I drew a map inside my head. Not that it made any difference. I would never find my way home.
Where is home?
Exactly.
Even if I did get free, I had no idea where to run to, who to turn to for help. I was a damn mystery, and for now, I was in a place where none of that mattered.
Blinking, I forced myself back to the present and the garage full of motorbikes and muscle cars.
“Move, bitches.” A new man with a goatee appeared, chewing a piece of gum loudly.
The women shuffled forward into the light, cringing away from the offered hand of the man in the brown leather jacket.
Five.
Five women I counte
d as they all descended from the vehicle and into the new world of whatever existence we were in.
“You.” The man pointed in my direction. “You deaf?” He held out his hand, raising an eyebrow. “Come here.”
I narrowed my eyes, moving forward and placing my hand resolutely in his. “No, I’m not deaf.” Jumping down the small distance, I untangled my fingers from his the moment I touched the concrete.
The sound of my voice startled me. I have an accent. I hadn’t noticed before in the field.
The men around me spoke with an American looseness. Short, to the point, with a slight drawl. I spoke with a subtle difference… sounding vaguely posh with clipped consonants and drawn-out vowels.
“Get them inside. We’ve got a shitload of work still to do. This damn shipment wasn’t due until tomorrow, and I want them locked up tight before other shit hits the fucking fan.”
The voice came from another man in an identical brown leather jacket. He had black hair, cut short into a slight mohawk. The large emblem stitched onto the back of his jacket depicted an old-fashioned abacus with a skull burning with fire and a waterfall of coins spewing from its mouth. The motto PURE IN THOUGHTS AND VENGEANCE. CORRUPT IN ALL THINGS THAT MATTER. encircled the image.
A motorcycle club.
Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades, slipping down my spine like a glacial melt. The fear I’d been missing sprang into being like wintery needles. A headache pressed on my temples as I tried to understand my sudden horror. Why did terror affect me now, but not when I’d woken to being kidnapped?
What could be worse than being stolen and trafficked?
They can.
I waited for a memory—for another snippet of truth. But nothing came.
I shivered, wrapping my arms around my waist. I scanned the garage, searching for him—the green-eyed earthquake who sent my blood rushing and heart to flush.
Something inside me recognized him. He recognized me. Either fiction or reality, I needed to see him again. I needed to question him while staring into his eyes, searching for the truth.
But he was nowhere to be seen.
Three men surrounded us, penning the other women closer together. “Move, bitches. Time for your welcome party.” With narrowed gazes, they herded us forward.
Questions ran through my head.
Who were they?
What were we doing here?
What did they plan to do?
Curiosity burned, but I didn’t voice my questions. I remained silent.
“Silence is ammunition, darlin’. Don’t give it up before you’re sure of the facts and know you can win.”
The fleeting memory gave no hint as to who told me that, who they were, and where I’d come from. I felt as if I were still blindfolded—lost to everything, even though my eyes were unhindered.
Leaving the parking garage, I followed the trail of girls through a thick door and down a narrow grey corridor. The men didn’t touch us; they didn’t draw weapons or raise their fists.
There was a calmness about them that transferred to us as their victims. The women trembled, an occasional hitch in their breath as they cried quietly, but no one screamed or did anything to shatter the brittle truce.
The corridor twisted, leading into a large room with a few scattered couches, a large red rug, huge pictures showing an eclectic mix of enlarged magazine covers, and shelving ringing the walls with every liquor and spirit bottle imaginable. The bare floor was worn, satiny wood, with the occasional pockmark from… bullets?
The stylish room was nothing like I envisioned. I thought an MC Club would be strewn with litter, discarded reading material, and other gang-related messiness.
The hygiene of the place was impeccable.
Who are these people?
Two of the men turned to face us, cocking their heads. “Stand in a line.”
The women shuffled, standing behind one another quickly.
“Not like that. Goddammit, a line!” The older of the two with sandy-blond hair grabbed the second woman, hauling her level with the first. Repeating the same with the third and fourth, he arranged the five women until they all stood shoulder to shoulder.
I didn’t wait to be manhandled; I moved to position without being told. But instead of heading to the bottom of the sad little lineup, I squeezed myself into the center.
Straightening my spine, I kept my face blank as the black-haired man raised an eyebrow. “Fine. Good enough, I suppose.”
A chill darted down my spine. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I just knew.
He’s here.
Awareness was a woodpecker knocking tiny holes into my soul as I tilted my head, looking over my shoulder.
Walking tall—taller than most of his entourage—he moved with dangerous grace. A mesmerizing war between a fighter’s bulk and a dancer’s elegance.
His black jeans and T-shirt hid the puddle of blood well. He’d zipped up his dark brown jacket, further hiding whatever injury he’d sustained in battle.
Planting himself in front of us, he glowered at each woman. The other men faded behind him, his army of leather-jacketed warriors all beaten up, bruised, bloodied, and war-weary.
What had they been fighting over? What was this place?
The man never looked at me, skipping my awareness as if I were invisible.
My mind was more intrigued by my predicament than the most important question I continued to ignore. I didn’t want it to form because the moment it did, it would itch my brain until it drove me mad.
Why can’t I remember anything?
The question blurted loud and fierce—cutting through my wavering ignorance.
What happened to make me like this?
Or maybe not what but who?
My left hand cupped the singed skin of my right forearm. I winced in pain from the moderate burn.
What happened to me?
Green-eyed man froze as his gaze landed unwillingly on mine. His attention dropped to where I cupped my arm. His feral energy seemed to reach between us, drawing me deeper into his spell.
I tingled with a desire so powerful, it overrode my current situation and the fear dancing on the outskirts of my brain.
Who are you?
Almost as if he heard my question, his eyes locked onto my mine once again, glowing with pent-up emotion. Recognition flickered, love smoldered, and a heartbreaking sorrow only those who have loved and lost can know etched his eyes.
He clenched his jaw, shoulders seizing with tension the longer we stared. Regardless of what happened, or what would become of me, I knew he was a clue.
A vital clue.
The linchpin that would be the catalyst to my undoing.
My heart pumped and tricked beneath his careful scrutiny. My lips parted as fingers of magnetic awareness drew us tighter and tighter and tighter together.
His nostrils flared as if he tasted the air—unraveling my secrets by scent alone.
I waited for him to speak. I willed him to touch me again—to hold my face and dive into my locked thoughts. But he stayed frozen, bristling with rage and hate.
Please, let him have answers.
Even if he did, he’d probably never tell me. I might not suffer a debilitating level of terror, but I wasn’t an idiot. I didn’t need to know my history to guess the likely scenario of my new future wouldn’t end well.
I’ll find a way to run before that happens.
My mind raced, eyes locked with his. A silent duel ensued, each wielding sharp-edged questions, trying to decipher the other without a spoken word. He was as remote as the peak of Everest with his height and unreadable icy gaze.
The shock and passion he’d shown when we first met was absent. Gone. Never existed.
The longer I stared, the more the sense of familiarity stuttered, pushed further inside as the green fire in his eyes scorched my thoughts. There was no denying he was handsome, scary, and throbbing with power—despite his injury—but there was something else t
here… something he hid so well… too well.
The way he so effortlessly cut me out, left me floundering with fear worse than any I’d felt up till now. The severance of any connection made me throb as if he’d cut out a piece of me.
My hands fisted.
To be denied the tiny piece of home I’d found in him reinforced my conviction that I would do anything—absolutely anything—to get the answers I desired.
I didn’t care what I had to do.
I didn’t care who I had to tolerate.
I would find out the truth.
I will.
The men behind him shuffled uncomfortably. Black Mohawk cleared his throat. “Eh, Prez?”
Earthquake Man stiffened, balling his hands. Instead of looking away, our connection lashed tighter—tentacles crisscrossing the space until we’d somehow knitted an intense cognizance.
It grew deeper, firmer—more demanding than ever.
The chill down my back evolved to a tremor, an aftershock rippling down my spine to my legs.
Something threaded blistering hot between us. A dangerous combination of competition, attraction, and threats.
You know me.
He gritted his jaw, almost as if he’d heard my thought.
I didn’t know if I should be overjoyed at the unswerving intuition that we were linked, or petrified that someone from my past could treat me like this.
Tell me.
Are you my lover?
My brother?
My nemesis or friend?
I hated wallowing in nothingness, where even reality wasn’t believable without the documentation of a past I could no longer recall.
The connection reached a fever pitch, turning the burn on my arm into an inferno.
Then… he blinked.
Smashing the awareness into smithereens and tearing his gaze from mine, he broke the web. Whatever I thought I felt or knew disappeared in a flash. The tremor left, dissolving into the ground, leaving me empty and more alone than before.
Any remembrance or realization in his gaze vanished, replaced with livid anger.
He was no longer intrigued or enticed by me but furious and hate-filled.