“Only me.”
There’s a hard, possessive quality to his voice, and I am suddenly, intensely aware of how close we are. How close our mouths are, and I’m now officially thinking about our kiss. I decide I need a change of topic. “How long was I asleep?”
“Twelve hours,” he says.
“And it’s still raining?”
“It’s not supposed to stop until tomorrow.”
I decide the rain is as never-ending as my memory loss. “And we’re at your hacker friend’s house?”
“Matteo’s house. That’s right.”
“He’s the one trying to find out who I am using my first name?”
“Yes, and he’s still working on it.” He pauses. “We need to talk, Ella.”
My eyes go wide. “Oh no. He found something bad.”
“I’m not interested in what Matteo has, or has not, found right now. Who is he?”
“What?”
“Right
before you passed out last night, you looked at me and said, ‘Please don’t be him.’ Who is he and what did he do to you?”
The memory of that man rushes back to me with an image of me tied to that bed, and I try to roll to my back. Kayden’s leg latches on to my legs, holding me in place. “Who is he?”
“I was drugged, Kayden.”
“So you don’t remember saying that to me? And before you answer, be clear. I don’t like secrets.”
“I know you have secrets, so don’t reprimand me. I’m not a child. I’m not your property. This is my life.”
“That has become mine.”
“It’s the past.”
“It’s impacting the present,” he counters. “Who is he?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You remember something or you wouldn’t have said that to me.”
“I told you, it was the drugs talking.”
“It was your memory talking.”
“Fine,” I say. “I had a flashback in the car.”
“And he was in it?”
“Yes.”
“So we’re back to the original question. Who is he?”
“I really don’t know.”