Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 148238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Arthur Killian was the key to finding my memory. I didn’t know how I knew. I didn’t want to question it. But my heart was the leader while my mind took an unwanted sabbatical.
I sighed, moving back toward the Triumph.
I was staying.
For better or for worse.
Kill appeared like a black stain against the grey-washed building. Even with people milling, and the imposing presence of police, he stood out like a flare lighting up the dark.
I held my breath as he glared toward his bike. A shadow crossed his face; his hands balled by his sides.
His eyes darted around the parking lot, searching for something. Searching for me.
He stalked forward, no hint of injury or pain. He moved like a man barely controlling his fury, then reining in his feelings with a scary nonchalance. He was a master at discipline, beating away the unwanted emotions as easily as locking a drawer.
I didn’t move from my tiny sliver of shade granted by the white Land Rover I sat against. For an hour, I’d stood under the glare of the sun but as the seconds turned into minutes and the tightness of my nose told me I was burning, I had to move.
The panic bubbling in my blood almost drove me insane as I searched for some semblance of shade. I might not remember what burned me, or how I earned half a body of scars, but my instincts did and it hated the very idea of singeing intentionally.
Kill stalked to his bike, his lips sneering as he muttered a violent, “Fuck.”
Two hours I’d waited for him, and in that time I’d done nothing but let my mind free. I hadn’t thought or forced memories to come. I’d stared at the road and conjured stories for the men and women coming and going from the visitor’s entrance of the jail.
It’d been healing in a way—not to force myself. Just to be. To learn how I thought, how I reacted. And I liked what I’d learned. I cared. I didn’t roll my eyes at the scantily dressed women obviously going to see their lovers behind bars, or scowl at the sprinkling of young children who screamed and threw tantrums as their mothers dragged them back to the car.
I was glad I didn’t have a temper or lack of tolerance for others. I just had to hope I liked the rest of myself as I grew to remember.
Kill spun around, glowering around the parking lot. I wanted to wait to see how irate he’d get—how fast he’d lose his temper—but I didn’t want him angry with me. I needed him on my side.
Standing, I stepped from shadows and into sunlight. Immediately, his gaze latched onto mine. The same reaction he’d had when he saw me on the battlefield blazed bright and true. My heart leapt out of my chest, winging to him.
The starkness of truth was a beautiful thing, reinforcing my craziness to stay.
He couldn’t hide that fervor for long. It just wasn’t possible to swallow something so powerful and real.
His face rearranged into the hard rage I recognized, and he stormed forward. Crossing the small distance in a blink, he grabbed my elbow. “Where the hell have you been?”
I pointed at the Land Rover. “Making sure I didn’t turn into a charred piece of barbeque while you left me in the hottest time of the day with no sun protection.”
His eyes soared up to the sky, the briefest sign of guilt crossing his face. He locked his jaw, looking back down. “You would’ve seen me leave the prison, but you stayed hidden. Why? Having second thoughts?”
I squirmed in his hold. “I wouldn’t be here if I’d had second thoughts, now would I?” I scowled. “I would be long gone, so let me go.”
My eyes widened as he obeyed, releasing me with a small shove. He grunted, swiping a hand over his handsome face. “What the hell are you doing to me? First, you make me say two little words that I haven’t said to anyone in the last five years, then you make me fucking apologize.” His eyes narrowed. “Which, for the record, hasn’t happened for the last nine years of my life.”
I hid my triumphant smile. “You haven’t apologized—not yet.”
He growled under his breath. “Don’t push me, sweetheart.”
I nodded. “Okay. Well, do you mind if we get out of this sunshine?” I hugged myself uncomfortably, trying to shield my arms from the glare.
He frowned but nodded. Cocking his head at his bike, he ordered, “Get on. I’ll take you somewhere cool.”
Chapter Seven
Riding was precious to me. The wind, the open roads, the knowledge I could go where I wanted and never return. It was the exact opposite of the cage I’d lived in for the past few years of my life.
I’d had not only freedom stolen but hope, kindness, and decency.