Page 14 of Fractured Memories

“I caught up with her again, but this time, she was ready. She fought me, even as I told her it was me. She wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t stop trying to get away from me. I had to pick her up and carry her back to the vehicle. In the car, she tried to escape, threatened to kill me if I touched her, and when I tried again to tell her that it was me, it was Kieran, she snarled that she didn’t know me and wanted to be let go.”

Normally, Rohan’s face is better than mine at staying expressionless—the only person who rivals me besides maybe Jude. But right now, he is as wide-eyed and open-mouthed as Lochlan.

Which I understand. It makes no sense to me either. Everyone in this city knows who I am. It is hard to not know what I look like. My face is everywhere, serving as a reminder to the city that despite what anyone says, I’m the one that everyone answers to. Even if the person had never met me before, they’d know who I was.

But this is my wife.

The very woman that my friends gave me shite for pursuing. That they founded a friendship with, too. That they watched me stand outside as the snow fell four months ago and made mine—a moment she was a very active participant in.

It was as if she had her memory completely wiped, and without it, even her personality has shifted.

Rohan recovers first. “So you brought her here.”

“What else was I supposed to do?” I stand and snatch the bottle finally, and Lochlan doesn’t even fight me. “Leave her in the woods? Of course, I brought her home.” Even though she snapped at me and told me this wasn’t her home when I tried to coax her out of the car.

“Then why are you in here?” Lochlan looks around like he’s suddenly going to spot her. “Why aren’t you with Eden, finding out what happened to her and helping her understand what’s going on? If she doesn’t recognize you, she’s probably confused, right?”

I take a drink instead of answering. It should be obvious to them. I don’t do long conversations. I don’t spill my feelings or patiently help others process theirs. Eden and I have always been the same in that aspect. Not to say we didn’t know each other inside and out. We just paid attention, learned what the other person was thinking without having to say it.

Now, I’m the only one who speaks that language.

How am I supposed to sit in a room and get her to hear me when I don’t know what to say? I won’t force her into my company—I never have—so when she told me to leave, I did. After I carried her inside despite her protests.

“Kieran.” Rohan’s eyes are boring into me, and it annoys me that he can read me nearly as well as Eden can.

Or could.

Fuck, it’s like our relationship died, and I’m the only one standing around the pyre, mourning it.

I quirk a brow at him, not sure I’ll answer his question, either.

“Where is Eden?”

I grit my teeth, knowing that it was stupid. But I was out of options. She wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t stop fighting me, and I wasn’t letting her go. I’ve always given Eden her freedom—she isn’t one to be contained—but right now, I’d rather have her safe than happy. Fucking fight me.

Still, I know it’s a shite answer as I say, “I locked her in a guest room.”

CHAPTER 5

EDEN

I’m going to kill him.

The second that bastard shows his face again, I have every intention of finding some way to bash his damn head in. He fucking kidnapped me, dragged me up the mountain, and locked me in what appears to be a guest room.

I’m still reeling with all that’s happening. The asshole—Kieran—acted as if he knew me, but I have no recollection of him. The only reason I’ve even been able to piece together what is happening is because of what Parker told me.

Kieran is the leader of the mafia. The source of all the evil in the city.

Do I believe Parker blindly? No. But there was something vaguely familiar about him, and I know from everything I was told in the rebel camp that no one comes up the mountain—except for the Elites themselves. Which makes me very uneasy about being here.

I fought as hard as I could to get free. I don’t know what they want with me, how they even know who I am, but I don’t want to find out. I refuse to be at the mercy of them.

I still didn’t feel settled at the camp, either. There was no intrinsic part of me that said I could trust anyone there. But they gave me more freedom than this. Not that I’d rush back there once I did get out of here.

But I’ll figure out where I’m going once I have a better escape plan.

I pace from one wall to another, adrenaline and anger roiling through me. I’ve already stripped the bed, inspected the bathroom and closet, and tested the window—with the annoyingly beautiful view that pulled at something in my chest. I’ve found no weapons, no cameras, and no escape route.