Afterward, I drifted to his office, where I sat in his chair staring at the equation artwork, begging my mind to be kind and show me what Kill had seen.

It had everything to do with math. Everything to do with homework lessons and stolen touches. But my brain ignored my prompts, refusing flashbacks and snippets of my previous world.

It wasn’t until fatigue dragged me to bed that I sat on the edge of the mattress—the same mattress where Kill had taken me for the third time—and my listlessness turned to anger.

I balled my hands.

No.

I wouldn’t let him play me like this. I wouldn’t let him scramble my brain anymore. I was done being kept in the dark.

After the way he’d treated me. The way he was going to sell me?

He didn’t deserve to run off. He had an obligation to face me. He had the job of listening to me while I cursed him and his broken mind—while I shouted everything that I’d kept bottled up.

It’s time for the truth.

Time for him to grow some balls and talk to me instead of running. Time for me to figure out the mess inside my mind.

Wrapping my tattered courage and strength around me, I stood and beelined for the full-length mirror in his walk-in closet.

Shrugging from his jacket, I let it thud softly against the carpet. Instantly, I missed the smell of him—the soft musk of rebel winds and salt.

With my lips pressed together and my green eyes fierce in the reflection, I undid the loops on my hips and let the remainder of the gold bikini fall to the floor.

Naked.

My heart skipped a beat as I inspected every inch of my flesh. From the top of my head, to the tips of my toes, I forced myself to recognize the outlander in the mirror. Starting with my scars, I traced the puckered skin, tickling sensitive smoothness, pining for the lack of sensation in certain areas. My skin didn’t tingle or react—the nerve endings burned beyond working. The blankness was eerie, and I fluttered my fingers quicker, wanting to ignore the disfigurement and touch my tattoo.

He didn’t focus on my scars.

Leaning closer to the mirror, I arched my back so my inked hipbone reflected center place. I bent forward, squinting at the black symbols forming a diamond shape.

“Not like that. God, what’s in that brain of yours?”

I giggled. “Poems are in there. Words and words and words.”

“Words won’t get you wealth.” His voice was firm but laced with a smile. I wanted to look up and see the boy I loved, but my attention remained locked on the lined graph paper of my homework.

“Words are valuable. They’re the wealth of a soul.”

The boy jolted beside me. He uncrossed his legs uncomfortably. “That’s mighty thoughtful for a thirteen-year-old.”

I shrugged. I’d been told that many times. “Age doesn’t mean a thing when you just know.”

I looked up into his bright green eyes. The eyes of my nightmare lover and dream stealer.

I looked up, fell in love, and knew without a doubt he was mine. I swallowed as sexual tension sprang between us. “Age doesn’t mean a thing when two people want each other.”

Art looked down, fumbling with the Libra eraser. “Buttercup… don’t.”

“Don’t what? Admit that I want you or remind you that you want me, too?”

His eyes were tortured as he looked up. “Of course, I want you. So damn much. But I’m not going near you until you’re at least fifteen.”

That was years away. I would self-combust before then.

“I’ll make you break that promise,” I murmured, already swimming with ideas on how to seduce him.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I know you have the power to make me break it, but if you care about me at all, you’ll let me wait.”

“That was underhanded.”

He laughed. “It’s the only weapon I have against you.” Tugging me close, he wrapped his arms around me and whispered, “As you wish, Buttercup.”

My tummy fluttered.

As you wish. The epic line from The Princess Bride. Farm Boy would say it to Buttercup—a secret message.

As you wish.

I love you.

I stumbled as the flashback ended as quickly as it began.

He’d loved me so much. So deeply. Despite my frustration and hurt of his treatment recently, I couldn’t hate him. After all, I was the one who left him. I’d lived a new life without remembering him, while he suffered believing he killed me. Not only did he have to consolidate a broken heart, but he also had to come to terms with murder.

Damn, we needed to talk.

Returning my attention to the equation on my skin, my eyes strained as I tried to unlock what it could mean. It looked like a pyramid of algorithms, hiding the treasure map I needed.

“Come on. Remember!” I hissed at the mirror. The rest of my tattoo came to life, showing hidden designs that didn’t offer any help. A small unicorn. A fairy hidden by petals. The star sign for Sagittarius, and filigree words wrapped around intricate colors. They were beautiful but meaningless.

I hypnotized myself as I stared harder, forcing past the sluggish forming headache and hammering at the wall in my mind.

But nothing worked.

Time lost all meaning as I dove deeper into the ink. I forgot about Kill and the buyer and the mad rush to return. I forgot about finding him and screaming at him to tell me what I needed to know.

I remained alone in the walk-in closet with only my reflection for company. Kill never came to find me and no other flashbacks came to my aid.