Kill blanched at the term “gone.” His knuckles whitened, clenching harder.
In the sudden cease-fire, Grasshopper pulled me from my chair. I stumbled upright, moving to stand before Kill. Grasshopper didn’t remove his hold, his fingers burning around my elbow.
His body locked in place, preparing himself. “She remembered her name.”
The wave of emotion from Kill almost drowned me. So much in one buffet of feeling—I’d never decipher it all.
Kill’s eyes fell to where Grasshopper touched me. Dark possession flashed across his face. My stomach fluttered with butterflies.
I want you to touch me.
I want you to remember me.
Then Kill crossed his arms, shutting me out, just like the damn wall living in my brain. “You brought me back for more lies?” His ire fell on me, his green eyes blazing like an emerald fire. “This will be fucking interesting.”
I swallowed. A whiff of alcohol once again crept over my senses. Was he drunk? Hungover?
“You’re so blind.”
His lips twisted into a sneer. “I’m blind because I won’t fall for a scam?”
“No. You’re blinded by grief and stubbornness.”
Kill flinched, shifting closer so his body heat tangled with mine. “You know nothing of stubbornness.”
God, he annoyed me. Without persistence I wouldn’t be standing here right now. I would’ve already been sold because I wouldn’t have offered to heal him and found a way into his life.
Words and anger frothed in my mouth, I wanted so much to let loose.
But the stiff way Kill held himself, the hunch of his shoulders and knotted muscles in his neck were signs of a man struggling—a man in bone-deep pain. I couldn’t kick him when he already curled around what was left of his tattered heart. To love a ghost so strongly that the man literally killed himself with heartbreak ought to be romantic.
It wasn’t.
It was just endlessly, terminally sad.
And nonsensical.
Especially because as I believed I had the power to relieve his suffering.
Grasshopper shoved me forward. “You wanted to see him. I got him here for you. Best tell him your name, girl, so we can all move on.”
Dread thickened my blood. Why did that sound so ominous? Shouldn’t he be happy that everything I’d said was real? Kill no longer had to live with the guilt of thinking he’d murdered me. He could be happy!
“Tell him,” Grasshopper prompted.
I couldn’t stop looking at Kill. His green eyes were icy and full of mistrust. “Well? I’m here against my fucking wishes. Tell me, so I can leave and put this nightmare behind me.”
Nightmares. Dreams. I’d found him in my dreams and awoken to him in my nightmares. Would there be a place for us in real life?
Stop stalling and tell him.
Balling my hands, I said, “I remember you from my past. I remember the fire and barbeques and Libra erasers. I remember homework and TV and stolen kisses. I remember you, Arthur Killian—I remember you when you were younger and not broken. My name is Sarah and I’m yours.” My voice broke but I battled through the sickness of laying my heart at his feet. “I remember you and I need you to stop pretending before it’s too late.”
The room disappeared.
I forgot about the other bikers.
I ignored the entire world as Kill ever so slowly uncrossed his arms and closed the small distance between us. His face was impenetrable, eyes blank, jaw clenched.
My skin sparked, begging for his touch. My mouth ached, pleading for his lips.
“You…” His voice was a deadly hiss.
My body stiffened, fighting the urge to flee.
Mo stood up, standing on my other side, flanking me like Grasshopper.
Ironically, they were protection against the man I loved. Ready to stop me being hurt by the monster rapidly slipping into simmering rage before us.
Kill’s frame trembled. He shook his head. “I have to stop pretending?” he whispered.
The pent-up anger in his tone terrified me.
I couldn’t help it; I took a step back. “Yes. My name is Sarah. You know me!”
He mimicked my step. “Let me get this straight. I’m the one who needs to stop pretending?” His eye flashed and I truly feared him as his soul disappeared. He was locked and barricaded and so wrapped up in grief he couldn’t see the truth.
Tears bruised my eyes. “I’m standing right in front of you. Why are you doing this?!”
Grasshopper said, “Kill, it’s not the girl’s fault—”
“Not her fault?” Kill roared. “Not her fucking fault that she’s torn my heart out all over again and has the nerve to tell me to stop pretending?” He pointed a finger in my face. “I’ve never met someone so despicable or so clever at manipulation, and I’ve met a lot of fucking traitors.”
Turning his full terror upon me, he snarled, “You’re worse than them. At least they stabbed me in the back and left me to rot. You—you just keep stabbing me. Over and over and fucking over until I’m bleeding from every slice.”
Tears welled, and, unwilling to break the seal of my eyelashes, they glassed my vision, making his anger swim and dance. “I don’t know what you want me to say! You have to believe—”
“I don’t have to believe a fucking word you say. You. Aren’t. Her! You will never be her. You will never convince me of your bullshit.”
My body was too heavy. I wanted to collapse, but I had to keep fighting. I couldn’t give up.