A horrible memory of him kicking me like that came and went, tangling with my joy of his remembering. How would I consolidate his stubbornness and the pain he’d caused with the happiness I felt that he’d finally listened? He’d treated me terribly. Did I have enough forgiveness inside to forget?

Two stewards appeared, one holding a shotgun. “Stop!”

Killian backed away, his fists covered in Mr. Steel’s blood. “Let us leave, and we’ll cause no more harm.”

Mr. Steel coughed, sitting up gingerly. “You think this is over? That you can come onto my boat, renege on a business arrangement, and then fucking hit me?”

“No. I realize what I’ve done. But I’ve already given her up once. I won’t do it again.” Kill’s eyes landed on mine, shooting fire into my heart.

“This isn’t over, Killian,” Mr. Steel hissed.

Kill nodded. “I know.”

A never-ending second ticked past. Mr. Steel stayed on the floor, his temper howling around us. Suddenly, he slouched. “Wallstreet owes me fucking huge for this.” Looking at his stewards, he ordered, “Don’t fire. Let them leave. I’ll deal with him later.”

Kill nodded in acknowledgement of whatever deal they’d just struck and stalked toward me. Effortlessly, he lifted me into his arms and, with a quick shift, threw me over his shoulder.

“Hey!” I clutched his jacket, blood rushing instantly to my head.

“You can shout at me all you want when we get out of here. For now, shut up,” he snapped, slapping me on my butt and aiming his pistol at Mr. Steel again. “Don’t move.”

Mr. Steel nodded, eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’ll make my move. When you least expect it.” Speaking to the stewards, he snarled, “Escort Mr. Killian and his whore off my yacht. Immediately.”

Kill walked backward, his arm never dropping or finger relaxing on the trigger.

Mr. Steel climbed painfully to his feet, spitting a wad of blood onto the carpet. I craned my neck, catching glimpses of his rage while hanging upside down. Kill had just made a powerful enemy—all because of me.

All because Lighter Boy burned and kidnapped me when he wasn’t supposed to. I needed to know what the hell was going on.

Kill never stopped inching backward. His muscles tight and bunched, his leather jacket a warm comfort beneath me. “I’ll make this right. There’s no reason to have bad blood between us.”

Mr. Steel laughed. “Get off my fucking boat. I’ll show you how much bad blood I can cause.”

Kill flinched.

What did this mean for him? How would the mysterious Wallstreet take the news that Kill couldn’t sell me?

It’s not my problem.

I had too many of those to think about more.

Kill continued to walk backward, training his weapon on the stewards who matched us step for step. He tripped a little as the edge of his shoe caught the lip of the inner door. I grabbed hold of the door frame, steadying both of us.

Without a word, he kept moving, backing into sunshine and past the spa and bar on the Seahorse’s gilded deck. Each footfall took us closer to the back of the yacht and awaiting speedboat.

“The driver works for Mr. Steel,” I said, pinching Kill’s black denim–covered butt.

“I know. But he won’t refuse to take us back. Not now. He’ll mean to teach me a lesson, and that will only be possible if Wallstreet approves it.”

“And will he?”

Kill shrugged, jostling me over his shoulder. “Possibly. Depends how pissed off he is.” Twisting his torso, he gently placed me upright. His emerald eyes were incandescent with feeling. The tips of his fingers kissed my cheek, nudging me gently in the direction of freedom. “Get in the boat.”

My mouth dried up, tongue twisting with everything I needed to say. “Just because you saved me in the end doesn’t mean I forgive you. We need to talk.”

He scowled. “Not here and definitely not now.” Spinning around, he focused on the stewards who waited for us to leave. “Get in the fucking boat. Now.”

I didn’t hesitate again.

Without looking back, I climbed down the staircase at the back of the yacht and onto the landing pad, where waves lapped and drenched my flip-flops. The sunshine kissed my skin, bringing my attention to my half-nakedness.

Oh my God. I’d completely forgotten. So consumed with the standoff of trafficker and buyer and numb to anything but the confusion glowing in my heart. Slapping an arm over my chest, I awkwardly climbed into the boat. The skipper gave me a smirk, then looked away the moment Kill jumped into the vessel.

Mr. Steel appeared at the top of the yacht, looking down on us with evil stewing in his gaze. “This isn’t over, Killian.”

“I never expected it would be,” Kill replied.

With a slight nod from Mr. Steel, the skipper teased the engine and we shot away into whitecaps and wind. I welcomed the whoosh of air as we sped away, leaving madness behind.

Narrowing my eyes, I took one last look at Mr. Steel and the life I’d narrowly missed. Then I looked at Arthur Killian, and the questions began to build. Wave after wave of them slowly rose inside my mind, damming in one churning mass thanks to the great wall protecting my memories.

One thing was for sure.

This had to end.

Tonight.

Tonight I would know who I truly was.

And Arthur would help me remember.

Chapter Sixteen

Fuck.

It was real.