Demand (27 page)

By nine o'clock, football, Italian lessons, and food have all filled the hours, but news from Kayden has not. “I'm going to nap,” Adriel says, lying down on the living room couch.

“Then I'm going to take a shower,” I say, but his arm is already over his face, and he's tuned me out.

Retreating to the bedroom, I shower, dry my hair, and, still feeling that I need to be prepared for anything, I dress in pink sweatpants, a black T-shirt, and tennis shoes. The clock now reads nine thirty, and I'm going crazy. Surely Kayden will call on his way home? Or will he still be concerned about an ambush? Not sure what to do with myself, I grab my journal and phone from the nightstand and check my call log, but there is nothing. I sit down on the big brown chair between the security room and the bed, and set the journal down next to me. What's the point in tormenting myself to remember my past, if Niccolo is sharing that with Kayden? And oh God. What if Kayden learned something about me that wasn't good, and that's why he hasn't returned? I lean forward and press my hands to my face. What if we are enemies? What if—

That same low electric hum that sealed the castle begins again, and I drop my hands. Sure enough, the lights flicker and brighten. We're out of lockdown, which means Kayden must be here! I rise and enter the security room, sitting at the built-in desk and keying the computer in the center to life. Tabbing through several screens, I all but shout for joy when I see Kayden entering the main castle foyer, with no one by his side. A good sign, at least for now, that trouble has passed.

“Yes, yes, yes!” I stand up and enter the bedroom, tossing my phone on the chair and rushing out of the room into the hallway just in time to find Adriel disappearing down the stairs. Fully intending to follow him, I move down the hallway, and as soon as I reach the top step, the sweet relief of hearing Kayden's voice lifts in the air, followed by Adriel's. Almost instantly, footsteps sound, traveling in my direction, and my gut knots in fear that somehow, some way, whatever he has learned about me has changed us. I've barely had the thought when Kayden appears, looking ruggedly sexy in his black-and-gray leather biker jacket, his hair a light brown rumpled mess, his expression weary.

I forget dread and worry, launching myself in his direction. The few steps between us feel like an eternity before I am finally in his arms, wrapped in the warm cocoon of his embrace, his powerful body absorbing mine. The hours of worry fade and I melt into the hard lines of him, sliding my hands beneath his jacket and inhaling the deliciously spicy scent that is so wonderfully Kayden.

My gaze goes to his, and I feel the punch of our connection. “I was so worried about you,” I whisper.

His mouth closes over mine and I can taste his urgency, the fear that he's not dared speak to me, but which I recognize as my own. A fear that he'd go to this meeting and something would go horribly, terribly wrong, and we'd never be here, like this, again. I arch into him, drinking in his passion, instantly, willingly consumed by all that he is. I shove my hands under his shirt, absorbing the hot feel of taut skin over hard muscle, pressing closer to him. A rough sound of desire rumbles from Kayden's chest, and I gasp as he tears his mouth from mine, staring down at me, his hand cupping my face, his gaze meeting mine.

“We're fine,” he says, speaking what our bodies have already tried to answer. “I told you. No one is going to take you from me, no matter what that means. And that hasn't changed. Everything went as planned.”

“ ‘No matter what that means'?” I repeat. “What does
that
mean? What did he tell you about me and us?”

“Nothing we can't deal with,” he promises, lacing his fingers with mine and leading me down the hallway.

I let him, asking nothing else, dread becoming a living, breathing monster I cannot escape. I'm not going to like what he tells me.

We enter the bedroom and he shuts the door, releasing my hand. I walk to the chair by the bed and sit down. I can't explain why, but my heartbeat is now slow and steady. I am calm, icy even, like I've shut down my mind and emotions. No doubt it's an extension of my amnesia. Kayden shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it on the arm of the chair, settling on a knee in front of me, his hands resting on my legs.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he says, catching my legs, which seem to be trembling. Okay, maybe I'm not so calm. “I told you everything is fine.”

“What did he tell you about me?”

“He knew your name and how you connected with him, and not much more.”

“My first and last names?”

“No. He just knows you as Ella.”

“That's all? Just . . . Ella?”

“That's not all. You went to him for help.”

“What does that mean?”

“You were trying to escape the other man. You met Niccolo and knew he was very powerful. You wanted escape and safe passage, but Niccolo does nothing without a price.”

“He wanted the necklace and knew I had it.”

“He didn't know you had it. You somehow figured out that he, like the man you were living with, wanted it.”

“So this other man was using me for the necklace.”

“Niccolo says he believes that was how it started, but that you became property.”

A dark sensation claws at my chest. “Yes. I was his property, and he doesn't let his property be taken from him.”

“Do you know who he is, Ella?”

I wet my dry lips. “No. I still don't.”

“The head of the French mafia.”

Ice fills my veins. “Sasha said the French mafia is run by Niccolo's stepbrother.”

“That is correct.”

“That's how I know French. I came here to escape Paris.”

“That's correct, too, and where my mind went last night when you started speaking French.”

“Sasha told me the two stepbrothers killed their parents.”

“It's widely believed that they did, though they deny it. The murders divided the mafias again, and the reluctant brothers became enemies, each looking for a way to destroy the other. In the position you were in, you were smart enough to know that Niccolo was one of your only ways out.”

“Going from one mobster to another was smart? That doesn't even compute.”

“The good news is that he is motivated to deny his brother anything he wants, including you.”

“And the necklace I still can't remember. You aren't saying his name. You can say his name. Please say it and make me remember it.”

His lips thin, but he doesn't deny me my request. “Garner Neuville.”

“Garner Neuville,” I repeat, drawing a hard breath and then letting it out. “I know his name, but nothing else comes to me. I still can't remember. I need a picture.” I grab my phone to Google him.

He takes my phone. “I have photos, but do you really want to see him right now? Are you ready to remember? Because I've worked things out with Niccolo. There is no imminent threat.”

“Until Neuville shows up.”

“Neuville will not step in Niccolo's territory. Niccolo is the stronger brother, which is why Neuville wants the money that necklace represents, and why Niccolo doesn't want him to have it.”

“I'm done fearing unknown monsters that are about to jump out at me from around every corner, Kayden. I want my enemy to have a face and a name.”

He hesitates and then reaches behind me, removing a folder from his jacket. “We're going to do this slowly.”

“I don't want to go slowly,” I object. “Just show me the asshole's photo.”

He hands me a photo of an expensive-looking gray stone building. “What is this place?”

“His home,” I bite out. “In Paris. There's a view of the Eiffel Tower outside his bedroom window.”

He replaces that shot with one of a black Mercedes, and I say, “One of his cars. Kayden—”

“Who is this man?” he asks, handing me a photo of a dark-haired, athletic-looking man.

“I don't know him.” I glance at Kayden. “Should I?”

“He's been showing a photo of a red-haired woman around Paris.”

“He's looking for me.”

“It would seem that way, which means he'll know who you are. I'm trying to find him.”

“Ferguson,” I whisper, the name coming to me from out of nowhere.

Kayden's brow furrows. “The man is Ferguson?”

“No. That's my last name. But there are tons of Fergusons, and my identity has been wiped out.”

“We will find you with that last name. I promise you.”

I give a choppy nod. “Let's go on.”

He studies me a moment, seeming to weigh my state of mind based on “just bad” or “too bad,” and “just bad” must win, because he slips another photo in front of me. I inhale with the image of a man's wrist and a watch that looks just like Kayden's. “Neuville's watch,” I murmur.

“That I made the unfortunate decision to buy for myself, and will be donating mine to charity.”

I set all of the photos aside. “Just show me his photo, Kayden. Stop softening the blow. It's going to suck, and that isn't going to change by leading up to it.”

“I have more than his photo, Ella. Matteo hacked a few security cameras in areas he frequents.”

My hand goes to my throat. “You have photos of me with him.”

“I do, and I can show you one of just him, or I can show you all of them. Or we can just get naked, make love, and forget this until tomorrow.”

I grab the folder from him and open it, sucking in air as I stare down at a man who is devastatingly handsome, with thick, slicked-back dark hair. “Neuville,” I whisper, and my stupid hand starts to tremble. I grab it and will it to stop, forcing myself to look at the photo again. Images flit through my mind: Him kissing me. Him touching me. Him staring at me with brutally sexy eyes.

“Bastard,” I hiss, flipping to the next photo, my spine stiffening at the sight of me sitting across from him at a table in a café. Laughing. God, I was laughing. “What a fool I was,” I whisper.

Kayden's hands slide around my calves. “Ella.”

I look up at him, into eyes that are a hundred times sexier than Neuville's, but just as brutal. Kayden can kill. Kayden can be cold. But there's a kindness and fairness in him that made me fall in love with him. “Just so you know, I never loved him. I had this hero complex when he rescued me.”

“How did he rescue you?”

“David disappeared, I think. I'm not sure yet. I know he's dead, but at the time, he'd just disappeared. All I know is that he was gone and I had no money or passport. Neuville rescued me. Only . . . I think I found out that he had arranged for me to end up with no money or passport. Yes. I don't know how I know this, but he arranged it all.”

Eager for more to come to me, I refocus on the photos, flipping to yet another image, this one of me getting into the Mercedes, with Neuville's hand intimately placed at my back. I flip to the next and I'm trembling, inside and out. It's me and Neuville sitting at a table in a highly exclusive restaurant, with a woman standing at the table talking to us. And that woman is
the
woman. My trembling becomes shaking, and suddenly I'm back in time, reliving a memory, but with far more detail than before.

He is angry. He is always angry. He is also at my back, stalking me as we walk down a hallway in a club he says I'll soon enjoy as he does. There was a time when he would have said such a thing to me and I'd have believed him. That time has passed. The hallway ends and he punches a code into the door panel. An odd thing in a club, but of course he wouldn't frequent anyplace that isn't exclusive in every possible way. The door buzzes open and I enter what looks like a small, round coliseum, stepping past two huge pillars to find a naked woman with long, dark hair resting on her knees, her arms tied to some sort of posts. I gasp and turn to leave, but he steps in front of me. “Where do you think you're going?”

“I don't want to be here.”

“You need to see what happens if you disobey me again.”

“I already promised I'd listen from now on.”

He caresses my cheek and I cringe. He notices and is not pleased, his fingers digging into my arm as he turns me to face forward. “You watch. You learn. If you move right now, you will become her.” He shoves me to my knees, his legs at my spine, and my gaze meets the woman waiting for whatever punishment is soon to be hers. But she isn't afraid
, as I am. She welcomes it. She wants it. A door opens to the left, and a beautiful blond woman in leather holding a whip enters the room.

“No!” I stand and face him. “No. No. No.”

He grabs my hair and drags me toward the two women, glancing over my shoulder to say, “She goes first.”

I inhale and try to pull myself out of the memory right here, where it normally stops, but I can't.

“Ella,” I hear Kayden say, and on some level I am aware of being in his arms, but I still can't get back to him. I am back in the past.

Both of my arms are tied to the posts, stretched wide, and my back burns with the punishment it has taken. “Please stop.” And it does stop. There is silence. So much silence, and then Neuville is in front of me, cupping my face, his thumb stroking over my lips. “You are so fucking perfect.”

He kisses me and rage rises inside me, and every part of me that has faked it with him disappears. I bite his tongue, hard and fast, and he yelps, pulling back to glare at me. “You little bitch!” he says, fury filling his eyes before he slaps me
. The pain radiates in my temples, and everything goes black.

The next thing I remember, I'm in a bed, lying on my stomach, and that woman is stroking my hair. I moan and she kneels on the edge of the bed beside me. “You cannot ever cross him again. He's going to come in here. He's going to want an apology. You must give it to him. Give it to him.”