Amnesia, a Psychological Thriller (Centrifuge Duet Book 1)

by Kylie Hillman

  “Hello Amber-Rose, Daddy’s missed you.”

  AMBER

  Fourteen Years Old

  My head hurts. So do both my arms. And, let’s not get started on the state of my dry mouth. I hope Shannon thinks her birthday party was fun, because I can hardly remember a thing that happened. All I know is that I’m never drinking again if this is what one bottle of alcohol does to me. It’s my own fault for letting her talk me into trying the wine she stole from her parent’s cellar.

  Rolling over in search of a glass of water—something, anything—to quench the thirst that has me on the verge of throwing up, I yank my hand back when I touch a warm body. Squinting with one eye open, I spy the shoulders and the dark, ruffled hair of the person in bed with me. The realisation that there is a boy—a boy I know and hate—in my bed has me scrambling out of it. I try to scream, but have to jam my hand over my mouth because my urgent movements have made the nausea that’s stalking me impossible to ignore any longer.

  Heedless of my unclothed state, I run for my ensuite with just enough time remaining to lift the lid of the toilet so I can throw up the contents of my stomach. Beads of sweat break out over my brow, the pounding in my head matching the quickening of my pulse. The more I think about who’s sleeping in my bed; the sicker I feel.

  I’m left dry-retching when I run out of stomach contents to vomit. Violent shaking takes hold of my body—reminding me that I’m naked and that I probably got that way with Jax. I don’t understand how it happened. He makes my skin crawl. The weird look he gets in his eyes whenever he sees me. The way he crowds into my personal space. The fact my father encourages it because the joining of our families “makes sense”. Nobody seems to care that there’s something really wrong with him. He was the boy who tortured my cat to death when we were eight. He’s now the teenager who “accidentally” hurts me every chance he gets. But, I’m supposed to forget that, because our families could increase their wealth if I’d just “get with the program” and see what a “lovely, young man” he is. Yeah, right. Thanks father, but I’ll pass. He’s a psychopath, and we all know it.

  “Amber.” Jax touches my shoulder. I scream, then slap my hand over my mouth. My mind races, trying to work out what’s worse. Having Jax in my bedroom? Or, my father finding out?

  “Amber,” Jax speaks to me again. I force myself to look at him, dropping my gaze to the tiled floor quickly, when I see that he’s as naked as I am. “What are you doing?”

  Reaching out, I slide my towel off the rail and wrap it around myself. I decide it’s time to take charge of this situation. He needs to get out of my room now. And, he needs to keep his mouth shut—at home and at school. God, this just keeps getting better and better. If he tells, I’m going to be branded “a slut” by the entire student body.

  “What does it look like?” I snap at him, regretting it straight away when his dark eyes get that freaky look in them that scares the crap out of me. Jax steps closer to me, not seeming to care that he’s naked. I stand—too quickly because it makes my head spin—then back away from him. He menaces me with his mean eyes, his tightly, pressed-together lips, and his vastly superior height, until my back is pressed against the cold glass of my shower door.

  “Do you remember what we did last night?” His question is the last thing I’m expecting. I thought he was going to hurt me. That’s the worst thing about Jax—you never know which way he’s going to go. A conversation held in an ordinary voice or a slap across the face. Some days, he’ll talk to me normally, then laugh as he trips me over when I walk off.

  Shaking my head, I make sure that none of my body touches his, because he’s standing so close that I can feel his thing pushing against my towel. “I can’t remember anything.”

  Jax’s eyes fill with smug contempt, his top lip curling, his gaze dropping to the top part of my boobs that are pushed up by my arms hugging my waist. My stomach drops to the floor. Puberty hasn’t exactly been kind to me; hitting me earlier and harder than all of the other girls in my level. They seem to hate me, while the boys keep trying to touch me when Jax isn’t around. If he’s there, they keep their distance—making him both my tormentor and my saving grace.

  “Well, I can remember what they felt like.” He flicks his eyes over my cleavage again. “I can also remember what it felt like to have you suck my dick.”

  Lifting a hand, I touch my lips. Shaking my head, tears start welling in my eyes. “I didn’t—”

  “Yeah, ya did.” He pushes against me again, and I realise that he’s hard. I feel faint, a horrible feeling flooding the pit of my stomach, and my tears begin to fall. “If I hadn’t already made the other guys stay away, I’d be hunting down whoever taught you how to do it so well. Turns out you’re just a natural.” Jax leans over me, wiping one of the tears from my cheek. “Amber, you know that you’re mine now that I’ve touched you?”

  Standing tall, trying not to cower beneath him, I narrow my eyes at him. “No, I’m not. You’re disgusting.”

  Shock makes his face flush red, then it turns even redder when he gets angry. I’m ready for Jax to lash out at me, so I sidestep the first slap. His hand glances off the glass of my shower, making a jarring sound when the door bounces from the impact. Breathing through his nose like a fire-breathing dragon, he turns to slap me again. He grabs my hair when I try to run from him.

  “I’m disgusting, am I?” Jax throws me onto the floor. He grabs one end of my towel and pulls it. I grab the other end. We end up having a tug-of-war with the fluffy length of material that seems to go on forever. My mind is screaming at me to yell for help; however, my common sense is telling me that I’m going to be the one who ends up in trouble if someone comes. I stay silent, except for the occasional grunt, as I use all of my strength to keep hold of the one thing that’s shielding my body from Jax.

  His grip on the towel slackens without warning. The lack of resistance causes me to fall back onto the chilly floor. Jax throws himself over me, ripping the towel out of my hands and tossing it behind him.

  “Let me show you how disgusting I can be.” Lowering his head, he kisses me, slobbering all over my chin and mouth in the process. I rake my fingernails over his shoulders, then scratch at his face to get him off me. It doesn’t work. Jax traps first my left hand, then my right hand underneath my back. I try to pull them free, but I can’t. He’s squashing me. Jax is a foot taller—he’s also a basketballer. He’s too big and too strong to fight off.

  When his erection prods at my private bits, I decide that I’d rather deal with my father’s wrath, than let Jax touch me down there. Opening my mouth, I drag in a big breath, and then let out an ear-splitting shriek. “HELP. Someone help me.”

  A big, sweaty hand comes down over my mouth, silencing me. I bite his palm, crying out again when he pulls it back. Jax cups my chin and forces my head back. I can’t open my mouth to scream anymore, so I try to fight my way out from underneath him. Nothing works, and I start to cry harder.

  My desperation is slowly replaced with a sense of futility when Jax bites my neck and then all the way down to my chest. I try my hardest to plead with him, but everything comes out as a mumble. He sucks my nipple into his mouth, then runs his tongue around it. I close my eyes and try to pretend that it’s not happening; even though, the sick feeling in my stomach refuses to let me forget.

  Holding my body down, he pushes my legs open, and presses himself against me. I keep my eyes screwed shut as tight as I can—reciting my favorite poem to distract from the searing pain Jax is making pulse through my body with his frantic movements above me.

  Out of the night that covers me,

  Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

  I thank whatever gods may be

  For my unconquerable soul.

  In the fell clutch of circumstance

  I have not winced nor cried aloud.

  Under the bludgeonings of chance

  My head is bloody, but unbowed.

  Beyond this place of wrath a
nd tears

  Looms but the Horror of the shade,

  And yet the menace of the years

  Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

  It matters not how strait the gate,

  How charged with punishments the scroll,

  I am the master of my fate:

  I am the captain of my soul.

  The William Ernest Henley poem is something that Uncle Charlie taught me. It’s one that I find myself delivering over and over in my head all the time—usually when my father is berating me for some misstep I’ve made that’s bringing shame on my family name. My uncle says the poem is meant to give you strength and help you through bad times.

  It usually works for me.

  Jax lets go of my chin, startling me out of the safe place I’ve withdrawn to in my head. I gulp in open-mouthed breaths trying to fill my straining lungs with as much oxygen as possible. He kisses me, forcing his tongue into my mouth. Because he’s moved his weight off me, I manage to wriggle my arm out from underneath my body and slap his face. Wrenching my lips away from his, I push against his shoulders, only to have him crush me again. “There’s no need to be a bitch about it. I know you enjoyed that as much as I did.”

  The sincerity in his voice strips the air I’ve just devoured from my lungs. Did I? I honestly don’t know. Maybe, I should have fought him harder. No. I attempt to talk some sense into myself. I did not enjoy it. I didn’t even want him to touch me—I fought him, no matter what he tries to say. “I’m going to tell my father what you just did to me. He’ll tell yours and you’re going to be in big trouble.”

  My tormentor laughs at my threats. He gets to his feet, standing over me with his hands on his hips. Leering down at me with humor in his eyes, he adds insult to injury with his next comment. “Baby, they’re not going to care. They want us together.”

  Jax bends over to pick up my towel. Tossing it at me, he shakes his head and smirks, when I sit up and wrap it around myself. “Amber, I’ve seen everything you have to offer. You don’t need to be shy around me.”

  He winks. “I’ll be back for more, don’t you worry.”

  It’s with that promise hanging in the air, that Jax walks out of my bathroom. I put a hand between my legs, bursting into tears when everything down there stings. Twisting onto my knees, I push to my feet, and with one hand on the wall, stumble into the shower.

  Sitting on the floor under the heavy spray, with a million muddled thoughts vying to be heard, the only thing that I can concentrate on is what Jax said about our fathers. As much as I’d like to deny it, I’m afraid to find out if he’s right.

  On shaking legs, I make my way down the ornate staircase. Ever since I woke up in Jax’s bedroom, my mind has been racing a million miles an hour.

  What am I doing here?

  In Hell.

  A hell that I swore I’d never return to.

  I press my palm against my forehead and squint my eyes, trying to get some answers out of my almost empty head. I know enough to recognise who I am and my current location. Apart from that, my mind feels like a dense cloud of nothingness.

  As I descend further, voices become clearer and I discover that I know more than first thought. I can identify my father, my mother, Jax, his father, and Sebastian. Oh my God, Seb is here. Without thought or care for my protesting body, I run down the remainder of the steps and straight into Seb’s arms. His familiar embrace engulfs me, my entire weight falling against him as relief that I have one ally in this room hits me.

  “Amby Pamby,” Seb rests his chin on the top of my head as he addresses me by the ridiculous nickname he gave me when we were kids. “It’s damn good to see you again.”

  “Same.” The word leaves me in a rush, confusion wrapping around my answer with an urgent intensity.

  Seb grabs me by the top of my arms and pulls me from his chest. He looks down at me with serious eyes that reside in a face that’s almost identical to his big brother’s, except for one glaring difference. His face is full of warmth and kindness, something that can never be said for Jax.

  “What’s wrong?” He lets go of me with one hand and gestures around the room. “Apart from the obvious. What the hell are you doing here? You made your feelings about my brother very clear the day you disappeared from our lives like you’d never existed.”

  My shoulders nearly touch my ear lobes when I shrug. “I don’t know. My memory’s gone.”

  Jax clears his throat, stepping into my space and laying an arm across my shoulders. With obvious intent, he steers me away from Seb until I standing between him and my father. I send a searching look in Dad’s direction. He surprises me by meeting my silent questioning with a smile and an approving nod. I might not be able to remember much, but I know that this isn’t usual—same as I know that the security I feel with Jax’s arm around me isn’t normal.

  As I open my mouth to greet my parents, the last sentence that Seb said sinks in. I whirl around to face him. “What do you mean I disappeared from your lives?”

  Jax cuts in before his brother can speak. “He’s talking out of his ass, like usual.”

  He takes hold of my upper arms with a gentleness that isn’t mirrored in his tense expression. “Baby, you know what Seb’s like. He’s been enjoying himself immensely, using your amnesia to take liberties with our history.”

  His fingers tighten around my biceps and he pulls me into his chest, tucking me under his chin and wrapping strong arms around my back. “Why, just yesterday, he had you believing that you had run away from me to study abroad.”

  The chuckle that rumbles in his chest sounds sincere and nobody in the foyer speaks up to deny what Jax has said. However, I can feel increased tension pervading the atmosphere when he addresses his brother. “Isn’t that right, Seb? You’re toying with my poor fiancée.”

  I attempt to turn in Jax’s arms so I can see Seb’s face. The arms that hold me turn from strong and comforting to constricting in an instant. I’m effectively pinned against my fiancé’s chest and left to rely on my hearing to determine the sincerity in his brother’s answer.

  “Yeah.” A dry laugh fills the foyer. “I’m just messing with you.”

  Warm air blows over the top of my head as Jax lets out the breath that I now realise he was holding. He releases his hold of me, just before Seb pats my shoulder. I turn to my childhood friend—and apparent brother-in-law-to-be—and poke him in the stomach.

  “You’re so mean.” My tone is deliberately light, although my gaze is serious when I meet his eyes. “Maybe you can tell me the truth, instead? Help fill in the blanks.”

  Seb’s eyes widen. He looks at the floor and shuffles his feet. “I don’t know if that’s possible. Memories are subjective, ya know? Depends who’s telling the story, doesn’t it?”

  He doesn’t wait for my answer to his cryptic response. Pushing past Jax, he throws an arm over my shoulder and strokes my hair before laying a kiss on the top of my head. Then, he glares at his big brother and strides toward the front door. As the butler closes it behind his retreating figure, a sense of familiarity tugs at the edges of my mind and a recollection breaks free.

  I’m sitting on the floor of my shower, naked and crying under a never-ending stream of water, when a teenage Seb pushes the door open and rushes into the vast, tiled room. He drops to his knees next to me, pulling an extra towel from the rail above us, and draping it over my shoulders. With a strength that he shouldn’t possess at his young age, he picks me up and sits me in his lap so I’m out of the icy-cold, cascading water.

  “I hate him.”

  A shaky hand strokes the back of my head, fingers tangling lightly in my knotted hair, and he whispers, “I know, Amby Pamby. He’s evil. But, I don’t know how to stop him. Maybe if you try to forget what he’s done, you won’t feel so bad. Grandpa always says that memories are subjective because it depends on who’s telling the story. I guess that means that we can get rid of the bad ones if we try hard enough to forget. After all, our life is our story.
No one else’s.”

  The words from my memory are so similar to the one’s that Seb just said, that a sense of déjà vu grips me, and I slap my hand over my mouth. Jax returns his attention to me. I stare at him through disbelieving eyes and try to really take him in.

  On the surface, he looks stressed and concerned. Like a worried fiancé should. Except, dig a little deeper, and it’s easy to see that the anxiety doesn’t seem to come from true concern—it’s an act. As if, he knows it’s expected of him, so he’s providing it.

  Seb’s strange departure—and the memory it shook free—has a dozen questions running around my head, rattling against my skull, demanding answers. Self-preservation screams louder than my confusion. It drowns out my need for an explanation; instead, cautioning me that the people in this room aren’t trustworthy.

  With this warning at the forefront of my thoughts, I let Jax take my arm in his, and lead me toward the formal lounge. My acquiescence has the tension in his athletic frame lessening further with each step until the shy smile that I send his way has it disappearing completely. We settle next to each other on one of the ornate love seats. My parents sit directly across from us, and Henry, Jax and Seb’s dad, sits on the single seat next to me. A hushed reverence fills the room, making me forget my immediate problems.

  It feels like someone has died.

  “Amber-Rose,” my father addresses me by my full name. It sends shivers down my spine, the prickling sensation growing into apprehension. Jax takes my closest hand and places it in his lap. He runs warm fingers across the pulse point on my wrist. It calms me; removing my doubts about him, and replacing them with a sensual lick of desire that has me trying my hardest not to press my thighs together and squirm in front of my parents. If it didn’t feel so delicious, it would be humiliating in its intensity.

  A smirk lifts the corner of Jax’s full lips, signalling that he knows what he’s doing to me. I try to tug my hand from his grip, stopping when his tightened hold tells me that he’s not going to let me go. A devious glint can be seen in his expression moments before he increases the pace of his soft ministrations. The answering ripple of desire that runs through my body nearly drowns out the words that leave my father’s mouth next.