Ruin & Rule

My hands stilled on his kneecap.

Name?

I closed my eyes, searching deep within for something. A headache bloomed, shoving me backward, slamming a locked door in my face.

Returning to cleaning, I whispered, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

I shrugged. “I don’t remember anything apart from waking up in the van before you tore my blindfold off.”

“Nothing?” His voice was part amazement, part incredulousness. “I thought you were making that shit up.”

I shook my head, once again cleaning out the cloth. The water was now grey and stained with crimson. “I wish, then I might have the answers I need and understand what I’m still doing here.”

Kill clenched his jaw. “Guess I have your crap memory to thank for being alive, then.”

Shifting to the other side of his body, I ran the material over his right leg, my eyes never leaving his tattoo. It looked old. Slightly faded in color but the lines were sharp and well drawn.

“What does it mean?”

He sucked in a breath, immediately going on the defensive. “What does yours mean?”

I sat back on my heels. “I just told you, I can’t remember anything.”

“Well, the price of knowing my ink is telling me the story of yours. And since that seems like a price you can’t pay…”

“You’re that protective of your design?”

“Aren’t you?”

We seethed.

My chest rose and fell beneath the T-shirt. Arthur’s muscles stood out, while blood blazed around his wound.

Finally, I bowed my head, resuming my cleaning. “Fine.”

“You have an accent. Do you remember if you lived overseas?” he pried, dispelling the animosity between us. It was odd to think that only an hour ago we’d threatened to kill each other. Now he was mostly naked and permitting me to wash him. In some ways, even though he would deny it, he trusted me. And in a way I couldn’t deny or explain, I trusted him.

“No,” I murmured, cleaning the last of the dirt from his chest. Rinsing the cloth, I hovered over his face. “May I?”

He tensed, then slowly nodded.

With infinitesimal gentleness, I pressed the cloth against his cheek, cleaning away the mud and blood and hints of battle. Small scratches were visible, now the grime had been removed. His cheek was split slightly from a punch to his face, and a small tear in his ear would heal. Apart from the stab wound in his shoulder, he looked surprisingly untouched.

I bit my lip, concentrating as I wiped carefully below his eyes and up to his forehead. His long hair stained the tiles and towel below.

“I need to be able to call you something,” he murmured as I ran the cloth ever so delicately along his jaw.

I looked up, entrapped by his grassy gaze. “Give me something. Something you want me to call you.”

Buttercup.

I instantly dismissed the idea. That was treasured with my father. If I couldn’t remember him, it was the only thing I had. I didn’t want a man who seemed caring and normal one minute, then tyrannical and monstrous the next to own it.

I shook my head. “I don’t have a suggestion. You choose.”

He chuckled. “I’m not exactly imaginative.”

I looked away, dropping the dirty face cloth into the water and moving to grab another towel. Arthur suddenly moved, grabbing my waist and pulling me on top of him.

He winced as my body sprawled on his, chest to chest, hips to hips. I felt so delicate and unsubstantial lying over his bulk. His muscles were hard, his skin warming up beneath me.

I squirmed.

He only held me tighter. “You do realize that every move you make flashes me. Seeing glimpses of your body, of places that should be hidden, is driving me fucking insane.” He cupped the nape of my neck, bringing me closer. “You’re not wearing underwear beneath my T-shirt, I’m concussed and blood-deprived, but it doesn’t stop my thoughts from thinking things I shouldn’t.”

Wait, his T-shirt?

I stopped moving. “You’re blaming me for making you uncomfortable? You made me strip. Remember?”

He smiled coldly. “I didn’t say anything about being uncomfortable.” His face hardened. “Having you stand in front of me naked was one thing—having it teased while you care for me is entirely another.”

My lungs stuck together.

His arm lashed from my waist to my hips, pressing me firmly against him.

I gasped at the hardness of his erection, digging into my belly. “It seems as though my body is making up lost blood rather rapidly.”

I couldn’t speak.

“Was this your plan all along? Make me think you cared about me, so I would let you go? Out of what… decency?” He cupped my chin, his eyes boring into mine. “Because if that’s your plan, Forgetful Girl, then you don’t know me at all.” His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “I don’t know the word ‘decent.’ Life beat that godforsaken word out of me, along with the knowledge of forgiveness, gentleness, and right and wrong.”

I shivered at the promise in his tone—it dripped with raw emotion… of truth.

Whatever happened in his past had scarred him as surely as my burns.

“I had no plan,” I whispered.

He thrust against me, bruising my clit with the rigidness of his cock. “You’ve won, though, haven’t you, Forgetful? I’m almost naked and in a makeshift bed of towels. Isn’t that what you wanted?”