by Gemma James
“This hurts me as much as you.” The muscles in his left arm tensed, fist tightening around the switch, readying for another swing.
Nothing on Earth prepared me for strike after strike on my breasts and stomach. “Stop!” Fire danced across my flesh, and I howled at the excruciating sting. I resisted glancing down, scared to see the blood smearing my skin, the ugly red welts he must have left behind. Instead, I focused on him, on the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the rigid set of his jaw. The regret in his eyes that made me want to gouge them out. He had no right to feel regret or pity. If either of those elusive emotions existed inside his cold heart, they were fleeting—like dust obliterated by an unstoppable storm.
The stick struck the floor an instant before he gingerly probed my pussy. His frustrated gaze clashed with mine, and I knew I was in deep shit.
“Zach,” I whispered. “Please…”
“Please what? What do I need to do to make you wet? What did he do?”
I shook my head. No, I couldn’t talk about Rafe. A sob broke free, then another. Tears slid down my cheeks, and each one amplified the grief simmering in my soul until all I felt was denial. Anger.
Rage.
“You killed him! I hate you.” I lifted a knee and struck his erection. “I fucking hate you! Do you hear me?”
Zach stumbled back, out of striking distance. While he doubled over, wheezing between lips tightened in pain, I unraveled, my gut-wrenching sobs tearing through the air, my feet uselessly kicking as acceptance finally penetrated.
Rafe was really gone.
I wailed, aching to clutch my breasts and contain the agony pouring from me. Zach might as well cut my chest open and carve my heart out with his teeth. It wouldn’t devastate any less. Nothing mattered anymore. He could beat me, cut me, kill me…I felt nothing beyond hatred and the remnants of despair.
I lifted my head, peering through tears and the messy curls clinging to my face, and caught his gaze, blasted all my hatred in that stare. He turned away, as if he couldn’t stand to look at me. But was it the sight of me that bothered him, or the truth that stared him in the face?
“You have a condition called dissociative amnesia.”
Before I could ask what the heck that meant, my brother beat me to it. Typical Adam behavior. He’d just arrived, but he was already taking over. Clearing his throat, he leaned forward, dark hair brushing his brows as he cast a glance in my direction. “What does that mean, exactly?” His get-to-the-point tone commanded Dr. Brady’s attention.
“Dissociative amnesia usually occurs due to a psychological trauma, rather than a physiological one.” The doctor gestured toward me. “In the case of your brother, it’s unusual, as it’s neither generalized nor selective. He hasn’t forgotten his entire life, or bits and pieces, he’s lost a large segment of it instead.”
“And you’re positive this isn’t from physical trauma?” Adam asked.
“Going by the MRI results, no. Everything looks good.”
I shifted carefully so the hole in my shoulder wouldn’t throb too much. “Then why the fuck can’t I remember the last eight years?” The doc’s brows furrowed, and I winced. “Sorry, I’m just…” Pissed that you guys are talking like I’m not here. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
His ruddy face hardened. “This type of disorder doesn’t always make sense.”
“Now you’re calling it a disorder? Am I crazy? Is that it?”
“No, Mr. Mason.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, and I was certain he meant to intimidate with the firm set of his mouth. He didn’t approve of me, that much was obvious. Maybe he took issue with my career as an MMA fighter. Or the tats. Possibly, he detested foul language and the pricks who spewed it. “For whatever reason, your brain is burying part of your life.”
“What can I do about it? Is there some sort of treatment or medication? When will I get my memory back?”
“There isn’t a specific treatment for amnesia. Surrounding yourself with familiar people and places, getting back to your normal routine, those things might help your memory return. I recommend consulting with a psychologist. I believe working with a professional will help you get to the root of the cause.”
So he was saying I was crazy. Fucking wonderful.
Adam stepped forward and shook Dr. Brady’s hand. “Thank you.”
The doctor nodded, his stony expression unchanging. “I’ll be back soon with those referrals.” He directed his cool blue eyes on me. “Tell the nurses if you change your mind about the pain meds.”
“Sure.” The psychoanalysis wasn’t happening, and neither were the drugs. I couldn’t stand the drowsy, looped, out-of-control state they put me in.
Dr. Brady left and shut the door upon his exit. The dead silence that engulfed the room weighed on my nerves. I didn’t know how much longer I could take in this place, gunshot wound or not. I’d regained consciousness a few hours ago to find a stranger at my bedside who claimed it was 2014. Imagine my shock when I learned it was true. He’d informed me I’d been out for three days, spouted a bunch of other stuff, things that didn’t make much sense, and then the doctor had come in, followed by the nurses, who all poked and prodded. Tests were ordered, more words said, and it all hazed in my mind like smoke.
“You’re refusing medication for pain?” Adam frowned as he took a seat. “You’ve got nothing to prove. No one’s going to care if the big, bad Rafe The Choker Mason takes a pain pill. There’s no reason for you to suffer.”
If I listened beyond the condescending tone, he almost sounded like he gave a shit. I met his tired green eyes, noting the pronounced wrinkles surrounding them. He’d certainly aged since the last time I remembered seeing him.
Which was eight years ago…wait, longer.
“I’m fine, Adam.” At least I knew his name. Fuck, at least I knew my own. My memory had a warped sense of humor. How could eight years just disappear? It pissed me off that everyone seemed to know more about those missing years than I did, including a guy I knew nothing about. Jax wanted to talk. I felt it in my marrow, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear what he had to say. The doctors, the nurses—they all treated me with a professional air, but underneath, I sensed an undercurrent of hostility. Disgust even.
Who had I become? And what was up with the way my brother was looking at me? Like he fucking cared. Most of all, the absence of one person ate at me like a maggot.
“Where’s Dad?”
Adam perched his elbows on his knees. “Dad is…he’s…busy.”
I pushed myself up despite the pain, needing to be on equal ground. “Don’t feed me that bullshit.” Jax had been dodging the question since I’d first opened my eyes in this place. Now Adam was doing the same.
He dropped his head into his hands then dragged his fingers through his hair. When he looked up, stress etched across his features, tightening his mouth and jaw. “We’re on much better terms than we used to be, so you can cut the attitude.”
“Since when?”
“Since you got out—” He cursed under his breath.
“Got out of what?”
“I think Jax should be the one to tell you about that. He should be back soon.”
“I don’t even know the guy.”
“You know him better than you think. He was your cellmate.” Adam closed his eyes. “Shit.”
A heavy glob of dread pressed on my chest. “Cellmate?”
He rose from the chair. “I realize this is horrible timing, but I have a meeting I need to get to. I just stopped in to check on you. I heard you were awake.”
“Some things never change,” I muttered. “Whatever you’re keeping from me, just tell me. It couldn’t get any worse than this.”
“I’m not sure how much you should know. We don’t know what caused the amnesia. Maybe you should take the doc’s advice and talk to someone who specializes in this stuff.”
“You mean a shrink?”
“Yes, I’m talking about a shrink.” Sarcasm
dripped from the last word. “Excuse me for worrying about my little brother.” He wandered around the room, and each second of disquiet niggled at my irritation. I didn’t like being left in the dark.
“The sheriff’s waiting to talk to you,” he said, clearly changing the subject. “And speaking of, so is Nik. Are you up to seeing her yet?”
I shook my head. The last memory I had of Nikki involved a night of the wildest, roughest sex of my life—the kind that marred skin with bruises.
Eight. Fucking. Years. Ago.
I was scared shitless to find out what had happened since that night.
Had I made it to the UFC?
Were Nikki and I a…thing? A thing didn’t encompass how I felt about her. I was far from ready to settle down, but if that day ever came, it was too easy to see her filling that role. Easier to think of her than the brunette who tested my sanity and willpower every time I saw her. I wasn’t about to touch jailbait.
Except she wasn’t jailbait anymore.
My head spun, though whether from the puzzle pieces of my own mind, or the constant ache in my shoulder, I didn’t know.
The door suddenly opened, and Jax stepped inside. “How’re you feeling?”
I glanced down at the bandage covering the area where a bullet had passed clean through. “Good as can be expected.” My gaze veered to my brother. “Adam won’t tell me shit.”
They exchanged a look, and I gritted my teeth.
“This is getting old. Spill, or I’ll find out on my own.”
Adam looked at his watch, and the shuffle of his feet told me he was itching to ditch. “I think you should fill him in, Jax. You know him best anyway.”
What the hell? How could this stranger know me better than my own brother? Okay, so we weren’t exactly close, but still. We were family.
“I’ll call you after my meeting ends.” He reached for the door.
“Adam,” I said, sitting up straighter. “Where the fuck is Dad?”
“I don’t think now is the time…” He swallowed hard.
“Just tell me. Is he sick? Out of state on business? What the fuck is going on?”
“Dad passed a year ago.” His voice was so soft and low, it took a few seconds for those words to penetrate. Strength fled my body, and I sank into the pillows. A lump formed in my throat, preventing me from speaking. Something foreign burned behind my eyes. Tears. Grief. I never cried. Crying was a weakness. Crying was for pansies.
Adam dropped his head, one hand on the open door. “Rafe? Did you hear what I said?”
Through my blurry vision, I saw a nurse move past in the hall. “How did it happen?” I didn’t recognize the thick quality of my voice.
“Cancer.”
I thought back to all the years I’d seen a cigarette dangling from Dad’s mouth, all the times Adam and I tried to convince him to give up the habit. “He never quit, did he?”
“He was the definition of stubborn,” Adam said, shaking his head.
“Did he suffer?” I knew it was a ridiculous question, but I had to hear it.
My brother lifted his eyes, so like my own, and the weight of his sorrow crushed me. “You know Dad. He fought with everything he had.”
“Did we get to say goodbye?” The thought of him passing alone was too much, and I swallowed hard before clearing my throat. “Was he at peace with it?”
Again, Adam and Jax traded a glance. My brother nodded. “Yeah.”
Jax scowled. “Don’t lie to him. Not about this.”
“Jax,” he warned.
“No. He deserves the truth, no matter how much it sucks.” Settling into the chair Adam had vacated only moments ago, Jax rubbed a hand down his face. “You weren’t there when your old man died. They denied your request for furlough.”
As I tried to process what he’d said, what they’d both said, my gaze swerved between them.
Furlough.
Cellmate.
Eight years gone.
I wasn’t there for Dad.
Wasn’t there for Dad…
“Somebody start talking.”
The slam of a door sent a shot of adrenaline through my veins, and my heart galloped in time to his steps coming closer in the hall. Rope pulled at my sore wrists, rubbed raw from hours of trying to get free. We’d spent the last three…maybe four days in this room, fucking, fighting, and fucking some more, barely taking time to fuel our bodies with what little canned goods Zach found in the cabin. It was like a nymphomaniac had taken over his being. Now that he had me here to himself, he couldn’t stop thrusting his cock into me.
Or beating me when my body wouldn’t turn to liquid for him.
The bedroom door opened and banged against the wall, and Zach set two paper bags on the dresser. He’d tied me to the bed before leaving to “get supplies.” My stomach grumbled, and I hoped he bought something other than soup, chili, or SpaghettiOs.
As he stumbled toward me, a sheen of sweat broke out on my skin. I recognized that glazed-over expression, the off-kilter sway of his body as he moved. “You’ve been drinking and driving?” As the hours passed, I’d started to wonder if he’d ever return. “What would happen to me if you never came back?”
The mattress depressed under his weight, and the stench of whiskey drifted to my nose as he fumbled with the complex knots keeping me prisoner on the bed. “I can drive just fine.” He cursed under his breath. “The reason it took me so long was because Dad’s being Dad.” His lips tightened as he pulled the rope from my wrists.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s about to put an APB out on my ass if I don’t go home. I told him I needed some time to deal with everything, but he isn’t letting this go.”
As soon as my wrists were free, I massaged some circulation into them. But my attention veered to Zach’s hands, the pockets of his jeans, even the dresser. A sense of defeat threatened to strangle me. No phone, no keys. After my last attempt to get away, he wouldn’t be so careless, even while intoxicated.
He grabbed my chin. “Are you listening to me? My fucking career means more to him than it ever did to me. He’s furious that I disappeared.”
“What are you gonna do?”
His mouth curved into a smirk. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m not letting you go, if that’s what you’re hoping for. I held him off for a while longer.” He planted a kiss on my mouth before backing away. “Get up.”
“Dad won’t stay silent forever. He’ll find you,” I said, sliding off the bed to stand on weak legs. I folded my arms. “When he does he’ll see I’m still alive.”
“Don’t worry about Dad. I can handle him.” The nasty smirk never left his face. “And I can handle you too.” He wrapped his hands around my hips and pushed forward. I shot my arms behind me, palms pressing into the mattress to keep from sprawling onto the bed. Not an inch of space separated our bodies, and I was grateful for the T-shirt he’d allowed me before he left.
“I’m gonna make you love me again, Lex.” He dipped his head, gaze zeroing in on my mouth. “We’ll be together, just like we were always meant to be.”
“You’re delusional.”
“I’m pragmatic. If pain doesn’t do it for you anymore, we’ll try pleasure.”
“Stop.” As his lips neared, my hands left the mattress and pressed against his chest. “I can barely stomach the sight of you after what you’ve done.” I choked on the last word, the thought of Rafe trying to creep in again, and cleared my throat. “You forced me, Zach. For years.”
He jerked his head back and forth. “You can’t fake this kind of connection.” His palms slid along my cheeks, his fingers tangling in my hair as he tilted my head back. The intensity of his stare pummeled me. “You’re the only one who’s ever cared about me. Dad sure as hell doesn’t.”
“That’s not true. You’re his whole world.”
“I’m fucking tired of being his world. I’m tired of it all. You don’t know him like I do.” He swallowed hard, and his eyes glistened with a l
ifetime of resentment. If I thought Dad had been tough on me, he’d been harder on Zach. Pushing him to be the best, to fight rougher, meaner. Never back down, son! Don’t be an embarrassment. Losing isn’t an option.
He rested his forehead against mine. “Quitting is a relief. I don’t want to fight. The belts, the championships, none of it matters. I just want you. Everything is so easy with you, second nature, like breathing. Remember when we were kids and we’d hide under the covers every time they’d get into another fight? You made me feel needed. Wanted. Let’s just hide here forever, Lex.”
Damn him. I blinked, suppressing the burning tears in my eyes. How could one person pull me in so many directions? He repulsed me, made me furious, made me feel the most intense hatred a person could harbor…yet he still made me care. What would it take before I forgot the good times, the years when he was there for me as a brother should be? While our parents had waged war in the house, he’d been my safe place, the one who held me and told me to hang on a little longer because it would be over soon. If I’d known back then how dark he’d turn, if I’d been capable of understanding what that darkness meant, I wouldn’t have gone to him for comfort. I wouldn’t have looked at him as a brother, because that connection made hating him messy and complicated.
Zach was a minefield of which I was stuck in the middle. It didn’t matter which way I stepped, an explosion strong enough to dismember was bound to happen.
“I have to pee,” I said, needing the distraction, needing distance. I squirmed, and my bladder begged for release.
He pulled away and gestured toward the bathroom. “Come back naked. I have a surprise for you.”
“I don’t want your surprises. I want you to let me go.”
Thick brows furrowed over intense eyes filled with determination. “That’s not gonna happen.”
I turned my back to him, thinking how the eyes of someone so rotten to the soul shouldn’t hold so much beauty. The weight of his scrutiny followed me into the bathroom. After I took care of business, I deliberated removing my clothing, but self-preservation won the battle. The thought of igniting his wrath made the decision for me. I took my time undressing, then glanced down at my breasts with a cringe. Fading bruises and crisscrossed welts covered my skin in a grotesque mural of purple and yellow. I feathered my fingers over the marks of his rage, and my feet refused to move, as if they sensed the pain waiting for me. But stalling would only delay the inescapable. I had no way out.
