Ruin & Rule (Pure Corruption MC #1)(44)
Author: Pepper Winters

The wind bit into my skin as we tore faster and faster over turquoise water. The sun beat down on scars and tattoos alike.

Kill seemed to fade, turning inward to his thoughts. His dark hair tangled around his forehead, obscuring his eyes.

He remembered.

He believed.

But why?

My gaze dropped to my hip—the same place where Kill had suddenly let go of his fierce conviction of my lies and let the truth awaken him. I searched for the key that had unnerved him so much.

There was nothing.

I saw nothing.

No matter how long I stared, I couldn’t see what he did.

I traced a strange equation hidden beneath smoke tendrils and forget-me-nots, but it didn’t mean anything to me—that part of my mind had yet to unlock.

The rage, confusion, and questions were swiftly becoming a pressure cooker inside. I knew I would explode if things didn’t start making sense soon.

The moment the speedboat docked, Arthur shrugged out of his leather jacket and threw it over my shoulders. The dense material weighed a ton. My eyes flared as he stole my hands, shoving them through the sleeves like I was a child.

Why had he given me his jacket now—why not at the start of the boat ride? Was he so far inside himself even basic things were taxing?

I wanted to ask him, but suddenly didn’t have the strength.

Neither of us said good-bye to the skipper, and Kill took my hand once we were on dry land, leading me quickly and firmly through the busy harbor and back to the parked SUV.

Opening my door, he didn’t say a word as he waited till I’d climbed in, then jumped into the driver’s seat.

This was the eye of the hurricane.

The unsustainable armistice that would tear us apart the minute we confronted all that we weren’t saying.

I just hoped we’d both be strong enough to survive the uprooting of our past, present, and future.

Turning the key, Kill coaxed the gas and shot into traffic.

He drove like a devil.

He drove as if he was terrified of anyone seeing me.

He drove as if he wanted to reenter the past.

Chapter Seventeen

Everything I believed had been a lie.

Not only had the people I loved stolen my life, but my ability to find goodness in others—including myself.

She was right in front of me all this time.

In my bed.

In my arms.

Yet my blind hatred and absolute conviction to never be hurt or deceived again had almost cost the girl I loved her life.

What did that make me?

And how could I ever fucking deserve her after what I’d done?

—Kill

Strangeness.

Strangers.

Strange happenings.

The past week of my life had just been strange. No explanations for behavior or hints at what was hidden. The moment we arrived back at Kill’s place, he left: squealed into the garage, shot from the SUV, and disappeared into the house.

A single sentence fell from his lips, garbled and nonsensical. “Give me… I need… I’ll come… Give me time.”

Without another word, he’d abandoned me. The gates were locked, the security system activated. He didn’t care about leaving me alone, standing gaping and wearing his jacket in the garage. He just took off, slamming a door in the depth of the house.

Give me time.

Where had he gone?

He’d run.

I’d sat there for a time, waiting. I’d been patient, giving him time to put his thoughts in order. After all, this wasn’t easy. The girl he’d loved, the girl he thought he’d murdered, the girl he’d gone to prison for, was back. Alive. Amnesiac, with no memory of how or where she’d been, but back and healthy and utterly ready to talk.

That was enough to make anyone run.

But love should be stronger than uncertainty of what it all meant. Shouldn’t it?

I waited for over an hour, but he never returned.

So I entered his home full of stealth and wariness, searching for the strangest man I’d ever known. For an hour I searched, but found nothing.

He’d gone.

The pain that caused me was tantamount to being worthless and sold. What had he seen that made him save me then disappear as if I were an infectious disease that needed quarantining?

Why had he kissed me and poured every inch of his heart into mine and then left?

It didn’t make sense.

It doesn’t need to make sense when someone’s breaking.

With a heavy heart, I tended to my other needs.

Preparing a dinner of salmon penne, courtesy of the gourmet meals Kill had had delivered, I ate alone, staring into space. My ears twitched for the barest of sounds, hoping he’d join me—drawn by pesto and cream. But he’d well and truly vanished.

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.