My eyes bug when he adds on, “You’re also in Vegas. Trey meant Interstate 95 on the California border, not the one in Florida.”
“That can’t be true,” I murmur, stunned. “You don’t just lose three days of your life. Where’s Nikolai? He’ll prove we were with Rico and Blaire last night.”
I scan the room, praying Nikolai will miraculously appear. He is nowhere to be found.
“That. . .” my watering eyes lower to the bucket of vomit, “. . .is the rosemary chicken Blaire prepared for us. She used herbs that would help my queasy stomach.”
I suck in an exhausted breath when my hand cups my tiny stomach. I’m barely touching myself, but my stomach feels as if I’m pounding it with my fists as hard as my heart is hammering my ribs.
Sickened with worry, I raise the hem of my shirt. Tears burn my eyes when I spot how battered my stomach is. There are dark bruises mottled through skin that appears as if I trekked through a desert in the peak of summer. Come to think of it, the portions of my legs not covered by the ruined hem of my skirt also appear sunburned.
Jumping to my feet, I race into the bathroom. The confusion fogging my mind thickens when I enter the opulent space I’ve shared with Nikolai the past year. With my memories still hazy, I expected the small, cramped bathroom my family of six shared after Maddox’s arrest.
It takes me a few seconds to gain the courage needed to peer at my reflection in the mirror. When I do, I take a step back. My cheeks are as red as my wild, unbrushed hair. My lips are cracked and bleeding, and I have a large abrasion under my chin. With my pupils as dilated as a drug addict’s, I appear more like a homeless beggar than the ruthless defense attorney I’ve falsely portrayed the past year and a half.
Stepping back, I lower my eyes. The portions of my body exposed through my ripped shirt and shredded skirt are dirty, bruised, and blistered. I have a large gash down my right thigh littered with wood splinters, and my stomach has a circular bruise just beneath the right side of my ribcage.
The only good aspect of my disheveled appearance is the brightness of my tan distracting from the redness of my scars. They’re barely visible beneath layers of dirt and battered skin.
I yank down my shirt with aggression when I sense I’m being watched. Trey is peering at me in the mirror, cautiously watching me. His blond brows are pinched together, and his fists are clenched.
“You truly don’t remember, do you?”
I shake my head. “All I remember is having dinner. The rest is blank.”
When Maddox joins Trey in the doorway, he gives him a pleading look. He’s not impressed when Trey shakes his head, denying his silent demand, but he does a good job hiding his annoyance. He became a master of his emotions when he was arrested for murder at his girlfriend’s place of employment.
Acting like Trey isn’t in the room, Maddox turns on the shower faucet before spinning to face me. “Why don’t you shower while I get you something to eat? Once you’ve filled your belly and taken a nap, your confusion may lift.”
I cowardly nod, bowing out of the fight as quickly as I did when I was released from the hospital years ago. There’s just one difference this time around: I don’t want to bury my head in my mother’s chest and hide from the world. I want Nikolai.
I don’t understand what’s happening. Why isn’t Nikolai here? How did I lose three days of my life in the blink of an eye? And why is Maddox treating me like he did the days before his arrest?
My thoughts return to the present when Maddox rubs my arm in a soothing manner. “We’ll be just outside.”
He barely makes it halfway out the door before Trey bombards him with questions. I hear my name numerous times through the partially closed door, but I’m too stunned to string his words into sentences. I feel like I’m dreaming, trapped in a nightmare too debilitating to be real.
After fixing the bathroom door latch, I remove my clothes. I honestly feel like I’ve stepped back five years, back to the time where I hated my body so much I covered every mirror in my house with sheets. Back to the shy, scared girl who woke up screaming in the middle of the night, convinced a dog was chasing her through a pitch-black field.
Back to the woman I was before I met Nikolai.
Breathing out my nerves, I straighten my spine before removing my clothes with more force than is necessary. Even with my clothes covered with sweat and mud, they peel off my body within seconds.
By the time I step into the shower, steam is covering every inch of the glass on one wall. I’m grateful it hides my battered body from my reflection in the large vanity mirror, but it’s a painful reminder of the truth I’m hiding from.
There is a heart etched in the righthand corner of the shower door. Nikolai drew it there after I blew him a kiss from the bath he ran for me the night before we left for Florida. He wouldn’t join me because he didn’t want “smelly girly shit” coating his skin, so he showered instead.
He voiced a similar complaint when Blaire set a generous serving of “floral-scented chicken” in front of him last night.
I freeze as reality dawns. According to Trey and Maddox, that wasn’t last night. It was three nights ago. If that’s true, why can’t I remember anything? I remember Blaire’s scrumptious food, and the way she glanced at Rico to gauge his response to every mouthful he ate. I even remember that a lack of blood ties won’t stop Nikolai and Rico from being brothers.
Nikolai admires Rico so much, he didn’t hesitate placing his life on the line to drag Blaire out of harm’s way when we were attacked.
I stop lathering my skin when a generous pump of my heart revitalizes my brain with oxygen. With a towel barely covering me, I dash into the main section of the bedroom I share with Nikolai.
“We were attacked, bombarded without warning. Men came from all angles. They were wearing balaclavas and knew things about Nikolai not many know.”
“What type of stuff?” Maddox asks at the same time Trey prompts, “Then what?”
