Page 33 of Fractured Memories

That puts me on the defense.

I drop my fork, leaning back in my chair as I glare at him. It’s the most eye contact we’ve had since he came back out here. “How am I supposed to know? I don’t know you, Kieran, and no one will tell me anything⁠—”

“Would you believe me if I did?” His voice is low and raspy, almost like the words are ripping free without his permission. “If I told you that we got married four months ago and then those bastards took you, would you believe me? If I told you that you lived here willingly, that you weren’t forced, coerced, or obligated to be here, that you chose me…would you believe me?”

I stare at him stunned, not sure what to say.

He scoffs. “That’s what I thought.” He pushes back from the table, a look of utter disgust on his face as he shakes his head. “I haven’t offered you an explanation because you are unwilling to hear the truth. Well, I’m sorry, wife, that I am not the man you dreamed of or the husband you wanted to rescue you. But I’m the one who sees you, who knows you, who showed you that our souls are the same and offered you a life that you wanted.” His voice drops, and that same hidden devastation that he’s tried so hard to hide laces his next words. “I guess you don’t anymore.”

And then he stalks off, leaving me alone.

Instead of feeling like I can finally breathe, my chest squeezes harder, and something that feels oddly like guilt trickles through me. I shove it down, refusing to acknowledge the feeling as I remind myself that he’s corrupt. That I shouldn’t trust the leader of the fucking mafia.

Even if I don’t feel as resolute in that as I did before.

CHAPTER 11

KIERAN

Fifteen months before Eden went missing…

Idon’t flinch at the cold barrel that presses into my skin. Instead, I hold Rohan’s dark eyes as he glares down at me.

There’s no tremor in his hand, but I know that he’d never pull that trigger. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s pissed enough to pull his gun on me, though.

“If you are so damn eager to get a bullet through your fucking skull, I’ll save us all the trouble and do it myself,” he seethes, his accent thick. It tends to overtake his words when he’s frustrated.

“I am allowed to take challenges,” I remind him.

“It’s the third time in a month.” The metal digs in a little harder. “You are being reckless.”

“Ro…” Lochlan shifts behind him, looking mildly uncomfortable. It’s almost laughable that he would be uneasy when it comes to a death threat. “Take the gun off of him.”

“No. If he’s so eager to pick a fight with someone, then I’m here and willing.”

I sigh, slamming my palm into his wrist and twisting the weapon out of his grip with the other hand. Rohan could easily counter, but he doesn’t as I toss the gun onto the table, sending it sliding away. Lochlan swipes it.

“I’m reminding everyone that we hold the power for a reason. If we stay out of sight, stay complacent for too long, then they will start to test that power.”

“You are riling them up!” Rohan drops into the chair next to me, tipping his head back with a groan. “Since that first challenge you took a month ago, there’s been an uptick in attacks from the classless. Even some from the rebels.”

“So?” I turn to snag an empty glass from the bar behind me. It was why I came into my sitting room in the first place—before I found out Rohan and Lochlan were waiting for me. “Let them kill each other. It would solve my issues.”

“They aren’t attacking each other, Kieran. The classless attack the lower class, given that they are stuck at the base of the mountain, too.”

“In buildings.” Though I know that they provide little protection. It’s why we have the cage fights. Anyone can try for a better life on the mat, or pay for someone to take their place if they can afford it. Someone like Eden.

It gives the illusion of hope. Desperation is no good bleeding through the people. It’s better bleeding out on the mat as we weed out the weak.

“You know damn well that those buildings don’t really protect them.”

“Are you suddenly gaining a conscience? Is this some kind of moral concern?”

Rohan snorts. “You’re more likely to hear me announce I’m getting sober.” That makes my lips twitch. He loves whiskey more than I do. “I’m reminding you how easy it is for the classless to attack the lower class. Our working class. If they are all dead, then we have no workers, and I don’t think even the finest drugs can distract the upper class from that fact.”

I shrug a shoulder. “That’s Miles’s problem, isn’t it?”

“He’s not cut out to handle shite,” Lochlan argues from across the table. Probably because he has to handle Miles the most.