Several photographers greet us with flashes and coy smiles while I back my car out the garage.

“What the hell?” Trick jerks his head away from their intrusive lenses just inches from my windows.

“Countdown to the polls. The campaigns are making their official shift from throwing sand at the playground to digging their opponent’s grave.”

“Why take our picture? What are we?”

I give Trick a sidelong glance. “Dirt.”

“Am I going to be an issue?”

I chuckle. “God, I hope so.”

“Why would you say that?” There’s an iciness to his words. “Are you using me to rebel? Slumming with the homeless guy?”

He’s taking the defensive like he did shortly after we met. I was ten percent angry and ninety percent turned on then, but now it flat out pisses me off that he would think that about me. I get he has trust issues, but I’d hoped by now they wouldn’t be with me.

“Thanks for the trust, but no, I’m not using you to rebel.” I sigh. “Rachel visited me the other day and basically told me to stop seeing you. She fears you have too many ‘skeletons’ in your closet that could destroy my father’s chance for re-election.”

Trick’s eyes stay focused on the road ahead.

“She also thinks you’re going to crush my heart and that you’re incapable of loving me.” I expect a response. I need a response, but he’s still a statue—no response, no emotion.

“So if you define rebelling as giving my father and his wife the proverbial finger by not allowing them to decide who I choose to love, then maybe I am a rebel. But if the issue here is you not trusting me, then maybe Rachel’s right. Maybe you’re going to crush my heart.”

Still nothing.

My heart knows him, of that much I am certain—my head, not so much. Trick would never hurt me on purpose, but broken is broken. This heart of mine won’t care how it happened; the pain will feel the same.

His door opens as I push my newly programmed button. I put my car in park but I don’t shut off the engine.

I will not be Darby the Doormat!

He reaches over, shutting off the car. I stare at him, waiting, because he’s going to have to give me a good reason to open my door. I fight the urge to melt into his hand as he caresses his palm against my cheek.

“I’d never forgive myself if I crushed your heart.” Releasing a slow breath, he closes his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry for what I said. You might be the only person I completely trust … including myself.”

My lips pull into a sad smile as I cover his hand with mine and lean into his touch. “That’s what BFFs are for.”

That earns me a lip twitch, but I know he’s fighting the full-on smile.

“Come.” He gets out and so do I—because I want to, not because he told me.

He pushes the button to lower the door and then flips several other switches. I’d suspected this garage or warehouse space expanded farther than what I’ve ever been able to see with the limited lighting from the one set of fluorescents or the natural light from the large door. What I didn’t expect was the massive amount of stuff.

“What is all this? Is it yours?” There’s more than just the one covered automobile, four to be exact. At a quick glance I see three more motorcycles, a set of jet skis, stacks of boxes, and at the very back there are more covered objects that look like his artwork that had been upstairs.

“This…” he points to the partially covered black Audi SUV “…is Grady’s. But the rest is supposedly mine.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and watches me as I take slow steps deeper into the maze of everything.

“It’s from your missing past?”

“Yes.”

“Where was it?” I lift the edge of another car cover. It’s a lime green Lamborghini.

“A warehouse in Queens, much like this one.”

“Your place?”

“Yes. I don’t remember living there, but it was the address on my license and the building was purchased in my name and completely paid for just like everything in it … everything here.”

“Did you have a roommate?” I flip open the lid to a box. It’s filled with gaming equipment.

“Not that I know of. Word on the street was that I lived alone.”

“Were you a dealer?”

“I don’t think so, yet it’s the only logical explanation. Nobody I talked to knew me as a dealer, just an addict.”

I knock on the top of a safe that’s had the lock busted on it. “What was in here?”

“Money.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

“Where is it now?”

“I donated most of it to an outreach program for the homeless.”

I nod. “So why keep everything else? Why transfer it to a similar warehouse here in Chicago?”

“I couldn’t stay in New York for a number of reasons, but Grady and Tamsen thought recreating my living environment, including all of my stuff, might help bring back my memory. The upstairs is almost identical as well, same furniture, lighting, even the appliances are identical.”

“Why couldn’t you stay in New York?” I peek in another large box. It’s filled with framed artwork. No one I recognize; they’re all numbered prints.

“Grady needed me in Chicago, but also it wasn’t safe for me to stay. I was at a disadvantage; there were too many people who knew me, but I didn’t know them. I didn’t know who I could trust, and apparently I didn’t hang with the crowd that was welcoming me with open arms ready to fill in the blanks of my past.”

Taking my time, peeking in a few more boxes here and there, I worm my way to the far end. Trick follows me, keeping a consistent distance between us. It’s as if he’s giving me space … space to look through everything … space to process everything.

The mix of belongings is odd. I’m not sure I can see Trick having purchased all this stuff with drug money. Something tells me these things were gifts. I want to ask him if he’s sure his parents were his real parents, but that’s a subject I don’t think I can broach. It’s just that everything around me feels familiar, not the stuff itself, more the feeling of it all. I grew up with people giving me stuff; for wealthy people it’s easier to give money than it is time. My father showered me with gifts, but never his attention. Even Nana did it on a rare occasion.

Was someone giving Trick one thing because they couldn’t give him another?

I stop where there feels like an invisible line. Everything before here is randomly scattered around. What I assume to be Trick’s artwork is organized and carefully draped. I think I have his unspoken permission to continue, but this feels personal. Before I was browsing at things like I would at an auction, but touching what’s in front of me would feel like snooping, an invasion of his privacy.

I look back at him. He leans against a steel support beam, hands crossed over his chest. “Go ahead.” He nods.

My gaze falters for a moment before meeting his again. “Will you show me?”

Pushing off the beam, he moves without hesitation, like he knows exactly what he wants to show me first. As he pulls away the sheet, my heart surges upward, strangling my throat. I can’t breathe. It’s a photograph of a homeless couple slouched against each other sleeping. They’re dressed in tattered layers, sitting on flattened cardboard boxes against a brick building backdrop. Their hands are gloved but their fingers are intertwined. It’s heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time.

“My parents.”

I nod, biting my lips together while taking in a shaky breath. “You took this picture?”

Trick shakes his head. “I drew it.”

What?

Squinting, I step closer, leaning so my face is within inches of it. The shadows, the exactness of detail, every wrinkle, every eyelash, skin peeling from their dry lips … my God it’s not possible. The realism is indescribable. I was brought to my knees in awe when I thought it was a photograph, but this … “Trick, where did you learn to do this?”

“I don’t know, I mean … I didn’t. I’ve never been able to explain it other than my hands are good at recreating what my eyes have seen.” He removes another sheet, and another, and another until I feel dizzy. My head cannot make sense of this. They’re all people or parts of their body. Hands holding a book, toes curling in grass, lips sipping from a drinking fountain. Unbelievable! The water from the fountain looks so real I swear it would feel wet if I touched it.

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe your money came from selling your art?”

He chuckles. “Maybe when I’ve been dead for a century.”

“I’m serious, Trick. These could easily go for thousands of dollars—conservatively.”

“So you think during the five missing years of my life, at least some of which I was strung out on drugs, I was selling my sketches, which can take up to two hundred hours to complete one, for…” he gestures to everything else in the room “…hundreds of thousands of dollars?”

I shrug. “Maybe you have a rich uncle … maybe you won the lottery. How much money was in your checking account after the accident?”

“Less than two hundred dollars.” He nods toward the safe. “Apparently I paid for things in cash.”

“So aside from the pastor, you didn’t question friends, neighbors … anyone?”

“Just like here, I didn’t have neighbors to question. The only friends I can remember are from high school but they were long gone by then, and according to my bills, I owned a cell phone but it was never found. I’m sure the numbers under a contact list would have been helpful. Grady had a friend check into my phone records, but most of the calls were to private numbers. Probably drug dealers. I don’t know.” He sighs, running his hands through his hair. “It’s all so fucked-up.”

“Do you want to know?”

His brow tenses. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you had all that cash. Why didn’t you hire a private investigator to dig into your past, fill in the blanks?”

He shrugs. “Once Grady and Tamsen got me through rehab, they convinced me to leave that part of my life behind. I don’t know, like my memory loss was a blessing of sorts. It’s not that they didn’t want my memory to come back. Obviously they went to a lot of work to make this place a reminder of my past. They just want it to be all or nothing. They want me to remember it … not figure it out.”

“Is that what you want? Do you believe it’s a blessing that you don’t remember?”

He scratches his neck, eyes fixed in contemplation. “I think it’s a blessing that I’m clean and sober because I’m not sure I would be had I not lost my memory. But feeling like something or someone from those missing five years could come back to haunt me is the part that feels more like a curse.

“What could haunt you?”

Trick takes slow steps toward me; a wrinkling of worry distorts his handsome face. “Anything that could take you away from me.” With a whisper touch he glides his fingers along my cheeks and down my neck.

I rest my hands on his forearms, closing my eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“What if I’ve fathered a dozen children?”

I smile, fluttering my eyes open, a laugh escaping. “Then you’ll have to sell some of this stuff to get paid up on child support.”

“I’m serious. You’re not the first woman I’ve been with.”

I laugh again. “Well, you’re not the first man I’ve been with … not even close.” I pull away from him and start covering up his sketches.

“What if I killed someone?”

I swallow hard but keep my hands busy so he doesn’t see me flinch. “Then I’ll hope the court grants us conjugal visits.” I reply, controlling my nerves and censoring my reaction.

“You’re saying this because you don’t think it’s true. But what if it were?” It’s not always a look, with Trick it’s often just a feeling. Maybe it’s something only I can feel. I used to think it was a challenge, part of his take-me-or-leave-me personality. But as of lately that feeling holds a hint of fear … insecurity.

“What if I die tomorrow? What if you do? What if terrorists attack our city?” I deflate; there really are no words of comfort. “I choose to love you now because there’s no future in what ifs, there’s only now.”

Eyes. On. Me. God, he has the most commanding gaze, a predatory look, that hunted feeling of being cornered where surrender is the only way to survive. “Come.”

Naked under a blanket on the couch with Trick, sipping cocoa after incredible sex, it can’t possibly get any better than this.

“When did you first realize your talent?” I lean back against his chest and sip my chocolate bliss.

“The beginning of my sophomore year in high school. Alicia Watson, she was a senior and had the biggest rack I’d ever seen. She was experienced and I told her I was too, but it was actually my first time. Rumors of my skills, all true of course, spread like wild fire within days.”

I twist my body toward him. “What are you talking about?”

He takes a sip, using his mug to hide his smirk. “My talent. After what just happened … you know, the screaming and begging … I assumed you were referring to my sexual talent.”

“Oh my God!” I turn back around and elbow him in the gut, almost spilling my cocoa. “The only thing that could have spread like wild fire is your ego. And they’re breasts not a rack!”

He continues to chuckle as his free hand slides up to my breast. “These are breasts…” he circles his thumb over my nipple “…Alicia had a rack, and for the record, I’m a breast guy.” I feel his erection push against my back.

My eyelids grow heavy as Trick sets his drink down and mine next to it. He uses both hands to caress my breasts, bringing my nipples to firm peaks. Arching my back to his touch, I moan. My eyes flutter open. “What is that?” I squint.

He sucks my earlobe into his mouth, teasing it with his teeth. “What’s what?” he mumbles, dragging his tongue down my neck.

I place my hands over his, stopping his motion. “Attached to the electrical conduit pipe. Is that a …”

“Camera.” He starts to squeeze my breasts again, his breath hot in my ear.

“Camera?”

“For security. Don’t worry, I’m the only one who can look at the footage.”

“Oh my God! Is it always recording?”

“It’s motion-activated.” He nips and sucks at my neck some more while his right hand slides down my abdomen.

He moans and I feel a bead of moisture against my back as his hips rock up, his firm erection sliding against my skin. “Fuck, Darby … your body is so damn sexy.” His middle finger pushes over my clit between my slick folds.

Everything is such a blur when he touches me, but it doesn’t stop my eyes from trying to focus on the camera. We have a blanket over us, but is it really masking our movements?

Are we being recorded? Do I care? Oh hell!

Trick tosses the blanket off us with one hand while his other slides down farther. An uncontrolled moan escapes as his finger slides into me. “I want to see you come, sexy.”

The camera …

“Spread your legs wider …”

I spread them and his finger slides the rest of the way in.

“That’s it.” His words … his voice … it turns me on as much as his touch. “Look at yourself … every peak…” he pinches my nipple “…every valley…” he rubs his palm against my clit as he finger fucks me into oblivion “…every curve…” his hand slides from my breast to my hip, and clenching it hard he pulls me back against him, his erection finding more friction against my back “…you’re just. So. Fucking. Beautiful.”

I rock my pelvis into his hand, arch my back, and reach behind, clenching his hair. “Trick, oh my God …”

The camera …

“I’m so close, d-don’t stop …”

The camera … the camera … Oh FUCK! The camera!

It hits me so hard I could die right here on the spot. The camera has been haunting me, but not because it’s recording what’s happening now or even the numerous times we’ve had sex before today.

“Oh God!”

“Let it go, sexy.” Trick’s voice grits next to my ear.

Shoving his hand away while thrashing my body like a trapped animal, I leap from the couch with frantic urgency. I grab the blanket off the floor and wrap it around my body.

“What the hell?” Trick yells with wide-eyed confusion.

“You have to erase everything that’s been recorded on the camera since you met me. Please, I’m begging you. Don’t ask questions, don’t watch it, just erase it. Promise me, Trick, promise me you’ll just do this for me. If you love me, you’ll just say yes. Okay?” I don’t think I’ve ever felt so desperate in my life. My heart pounds with anxiety, fueled by every nerve in my body firing with blood curdling fear.

Trick looks at me like I’ve transformed into an alien and maybe I have.

“PLEASE!” I drop to my knees. I actually … Drop. To. My. Knees.

Trick sits up and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. The cockiest smirk I have ever seen pulls at his lips. “Darby Lucille Carmichael, what the fuck has got you worked up into such a frenzy?” His gaze drops to my hands and so does mine.

I didn’t think it was possible to look or sound any more pathetic. I was wrong. My fingers are interlaced and white knuckled at my chest. I’ve been stripped of my dignity, robbed of my self-respect, and put on display in the town square with a noose around my neck. At this point I don’t know if I prefer the stay of execution or the floor to fall out from under my feet.

My phone rings and I manage to deflate even more. I crawl, yes crawl, over to the table because I’m not done begging. I answer it, keeping my eyes on Trick’s as one of the nurses from the hospital informs me of a multiple injury accident requiring extra staff. After a clipped response, I press End.

Sitting back on my heels, blanket lost along the way, I rub my hands over my face.

“You have to go?” Trick asks.

I nod, blown away by the timing. Some idiot was probably preoccupied on their cell phone causing a huge accident riddled with casualties. I should take this opportunity to count my blessings and realize my issue is nothing compared to the victims on their way to the hospital. But I’m human and a very selfish part of me feels like one of the casualties today.

“We can continue this intriguing conversation later.” Trick stands, pulling on a gray pair of sweat pants while I dress with swift moves.

“If you don’t erase it or if you watch it, we’re over.” I pull on my shirt and shove my phone into my handbag.

Trick grabs my waist and jerks me into his bare chest. “We’re never over.” He nips at my pouty bottom lip.

I shove his chest and head to the elevator. “We are if you don’t do what I ask. If you watch that I swear I will hate you forever!”

I turn and shut the elevator gate, a stern warning on my face.

“Yeah, well I’ve been the recipient of your so-called hate before, and I think it’s kinda hot.” He wets his lips. “Besides, I was here. Is there a particular performance you’re not proud of?”

I press the down button, scowling as he disappears.

Yes, Trick! I’m not particularly proud of the “performance” where I masturbated while watching you shower … more than once!