His leather jacket creaked softly as the muscles in his back tensed. “Mind your own business.”

Our connection is my business.

Grabbing the handlebars, he pressed a button that opened a small section of the large garage roller door. Freshness from the night outside flurried in, obscuring the scent of leather and gasoline.

“If you want to stay on, you better grab hold.”

The metaphor of his words didn’t escape me.

If I wanted to move forward in this strange, scary existence, I had to put my faith in the man who held my life in his roguish hands. And if I didn’t, I’d fall.

I have nothing left to lose.

With a sure heart, I wrapped my arms around his considerable bulk.

His muscles bunched beneath my hold and once again awareness and twisted desire sprang into perception.

We didn’t say a word.

We didn’t have to.

Our bodies hummed with more depth than words ever could.

With a shiver and wrench of his wrist, my nightmare and kidnapper fed fuel to his mechanical beast, and we shot forward into the crisp silence of early morning.

Chapter Three

Pain.

I’d known all facets. Endured physical, emotional, and spiritual agony. The wound in my shoulder throbbed like hellfire, but it was nothing to the confusion inside. What the fuck was I doing bringing this liar back to my home?

And why did my heart ache in the worst pain imaginable?

—Kill

The third journey in just a few hours stopped abruptly as Arthur Killian eased on the throttle, coming to a rest in front of huge black gates. Straddling the bike, his large legs kept us from tipping over as he reached into a fake rock and punched in a code.

Instantly the gate split in two, rolling into the thick undergrowth ringing the large stone wall. To have a property like this right on the coastline must cost a fortune.

Gripping his leather cut, I asked, “Where are we?”

“My home.”

Not quite the detailed answer I was hoping for.

Where are we in the world?

Why couldn’t I remember my nationality or where I lived until a few hours ago?

Why did I know that the flowers in my tattoo were forget-me-nots, but not my name? I wasn’t completely clueless—I knew how to talk and interact—I remembered the basics of human life, but my brain was selective, hiding everything that I wanted to know.

Kill teased the acceleration, gliding us from street to stone driveway. He drove to the right of the whitewashed and pillared mansion.

Uplights cast the property in a warm glow, masking the sterile white and making it seem like a cozy cream. There were immaculate flower beds set like regimented soldiers beneath the many windowsills, and the front portico soared upward, keeping the double front door dry from temperamental weather.

Another garage door rolled up. Automatic lighting switched on as we drove with a loud rumble into the large space. Scanning the area, I quickly noted it didn’t look lived-in. There were no overflowing cupboards of personal belongings or Ping-Pong tables or even old exercise equipment. The only thing that the garage housed was a black sports car and now the black Triumph we’d arrived on.

My ears rang as Kill cut the thundering engine and kicked down the stand. He looked over his shoulder. “Get off.”

I tugged his jacket harder. “I don’t want to. Tell me why you brought me here.”

Tell me how I know you.

“I’m not telling you jack shit unless you obey. What part of what I said at the compound didn’t you understand?”

“Most of it.”

He sucked in a breath, an arm lassoing around his bleeding chest. “You’re either the stupidest person I’ve ever met, or you’re broken in some way.”

I gasped. “Broken? What makes you say that?”

I thought the same thing. Where was the fear? The shock? The horror?

“You’re looking right into my eyes. You’re refusing to get off my bike, and you don’t seem to understand what’s going on here.”

I no longer wanted to be washed away by circumstances I didn’t understand. It was time to push—to dig for clues.

“What is going on? Why did you seem to know me… back there?”

His body went rock hard with rage. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” I knew what he meant, but something inside made me rebel. I couldn’t get a grip on how drastically my life had changed—or at least I thought it’d changed…

I hated being in the dark. I hated having memories taunting me while staring into the eyes of a killer. I wanted to know.

He growled under his breath, swiping his free hand over his face. The sheen of pain hadn’t diminished; if anything it’d become worse.

“Get. Off. My. Bike,” he whispered. The sharp control in his tone sent a smattering of warning down my back.

Carefully, I obeyed. Swinging my leg over, I hated how naked I was beneath the black T-shirt, and backed away the moment my feet touched concrete. At least it wasn’t cold tonight. The mugginess of humidity lived in the porous floor, warming my toes.

Kill climbed off his motorcycle, grunting in pain. He stood up, his features blanching in agony. Spinning to face me, he growled, “Get inside. I don’t have patience for nonsense.”

I eyed him, then glanced at the already closed garage door.

He chuckled. “You run and I’ll put a bullet in your head so fast, you’ll wake up in heaven without ever remembering what happened.”