Ruin & Rule (Pure Corruption MC #1)

“How many do you have?”

His eyebrow quirked. “What?”

“How many enemies?”

He let me go, stepping away and withdrawing completely. “Too many for you to understand.” Pointing at his bike, he snapped, “Stay. I’m giving you one chance. You run and I promise I will find you. And if you make me find you, I won’t go through the trouble of selling you; I’ll be the one to make your life a living hell instead.”

Without another word, he spun and stormed toward the jail.

I reclined against the bike, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into. He disappeared through the visitor’s entrance, leaving me free, unhindered, and fully dressed in baggy men’s clothes in the noonday Florida sun.

Run.

The urge to leave was strong. My legs shuffled on their own accord, drifting away from his bike.

Wait.

I stopped.

Looking left and right, I brought my hands up to tangle in my red hair. I hadn’t tended to my hair in the shower last night, so it needed a wash, my teeth needed a brush, and I needed to remember. A headache pricked against my temples as I strained to recall who I was and where I’d come from.

The sun glowed from above, searing the painful skin from whatever burned me last night.

I groaned slightly with exhaustion. I didn’t know what I was doing—the risks and dangers I faced. But I couldn’t ignore the one thing I was certain about. The one thing I had to explore, regardless of my safety.

Arthur Killian was the key to finding my memory. I didn’t know how I knew. I didn’t want to question it. But my heart was the leader while my mind took an unwanted sabbatical.

I sighed, moving back toward the Triumph.

I was staying.

For better or for worse.

Kill appeared like a black stain against the grey-washed building. Even with people milling, and the imposing presence of police, he stood out like a flare lighting up the dark.

I held my breath as he glared toward his bike. A shadow crossed his face; his hands balled by his sides.

His eyes darted around the parking lot, searching for something. Searching for me.

He stalked forward, no hint of injury or pain. He moved like a man barely controlling his fury, then reining in his feelings with a scary nonchalance. He was a master at discipline, beating away the unwanted emotions as easily as locking a drawer.

I didn’t move from my tiny sliver of shade granted by the white Land Rover I sat against. For an hour, I’d stood under the glare of the sun but as the seconds turned into minutes and the tightness of my nose told me I was burning, I had to move.

The panic bubbling in my blood almost drove me insane as I searched for some semblance of shade. I might not remember what burned me, or how I earned half a body of scars, but my instincts did and it hated the very idea of singeing intentionally.

Kill stalked to his bike, his lips sneering as he muttered a violent, “Fuck.”

Two hours I’d waited for him, and in that time I’d done nothing but let my mind free. I hadn’t thought or forced memories to come. I’d stared at the road and conjured stories for the men and women coming and going from the visitor’s entrance of the jail.

It’d been healing in a way—not to force myself. Just to be. To learn how I thought, how I reacted. And I liked what I’d learned. I cared. I didn’t roll my eyes at the scantily dressed women obviously going to see their lovers behind bars, or scowl at the sprinkling of young children who screamed and threw tantrums as their mothers dragged them back to the car.

I was glad I didn’t have a temper or lack of tolerance for others. I just had to hope I liked the rest of myself as I grew to remember.

Kill spun around, glowering around the parking lot. I wanted to wait to see how irate he’d get—how fast he’d lose his temper—but I didn’t want him angry with me. I needed him on my side.

Standing, I stepped from shadows and into sunlight. Immediately, his gaze latched onto mine. The same reaction he’d had when he saw me on the battlefield blazed bright and true. My heart leapt out of my chest, winging to him.

The starkness of truth was a beautiful thing, reinforcing my craziness to stay.

He couldn’t hide that fervor for long. It just wasn’t possible to swallow something so powerful and real.

His face rearranged into the hard rage I recognized, and he stormed forward. Crossing the small distance in a blink, he grabbed my elbow. “Where the hell have you been?”

I pointed at the Land Rover. “Making sure I didn’t turn into a charred piece of barbeque while you left me in the hottest time of the day with no sun protection.”

His eyes soared up to the sky, the briefest sign of guilt crossing his face. He locked his jaw, looking back down. “You would’ve seen me leave the prison, but you stayed hidden. Why? Having second thoughts?”

I squirmed in his hold. “I wouldn’t be here if I’d had second thoughts, now would I?” I scowled. “I would be long gone, so let me go.”

My eyes widened as he obeyed, releasing me with a small shove. He grunted, swiping a hand over his handsome face. “What the hell are you doing to me? First, you make me say two little words that I haven’t said to anyone in the last five years, then you make me fucking apologize.” His eyes narrowed. “Which, for the record, hasn’t happened for the last nine years of my life.”

I hid my triumphant smile. “You haven’t apologized—not yet.”

He growled under his breath. “Don’t push me, sweetheart.”