My eyes fly open as the memory crashes into me with the force of a tidal wave. Kit’s voice in my ear, just before he left me in the woods. “Tell him I did it for Amara.”
Amara.
I sit bolt upright, sending Mochi scrambling away with an indignant meow. How could I have forgotten? In the chaos of those first days after my release, I never asked Roman about Amara. We never really sat down and talked about what happened during my captivity. I was too angry, to hurt, too focused on escaping the life that had nearly destroyed me.
But what if it matters? What if Amara is the key to understanding what’s happening now?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I throw back the covers and slide out of bed. Padding down the hallway to the living room, my heart pounds harder with each step. The house is silent except for the occasional creak of settling wood and the soft tick of the clock in the kitchen.
“Roman?” I whisper into the darkness, peering at the couch where I left him. “Are you awake?”
There‘s a grunt from somewhere, then Roman’s voice. “I am. Go back to bed, Sunshine. Get some rest.”
“I have a question,” I press, squinting into the darkness. I can barely make out the shape of the couch, but Roman doesn’t seem to be on it.
Another grunt, then, “I’m fine.”
The response doesn’t make any sense, which makes alarm bells start ringing in my head. “Wait, are you in the kitchen?”
“Just getting a snack,” he replies. “Go back to bed.”
“Why is the light off?” I take a step toward the kitchen.
“Got a headache,” Roman says quickly. “Look, Kayla, I really need you to go to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
His insistence only increases my suspicion. “No, this is important. I just remembered something Kit said to me, right before he let me go.” I take the final steps into the kitchen, my hand finding the light switch on the wall. “Who is—“
Light floods the room, momentarily blinding me. I blink a few times and then freeze, my question dying on my lips. Roman is on the floor, shirtless, his powerful body pinning someone beneath him. A gun is pressed to the captive’s temple. But it’s the flash of golden-blonde hair that makes my breath catch, that makes the world tilt sideways for a moment.
Kit. He’s here, in my kitchen. The man who kidnapped me two years ago is lying on my kitchen floor with Roman’s gun against his head.
“—Amara?” I finish, the name coming out as a gasp.
Kit groans from his position on the floor, his green-gold eyes rolling up to meet mine with that familiar mocking glint. “Really, plant lady, really? All you had to do was pass on the message.”
“Kayla, get my phone,” Roman barks, not taking his eyes off Kit, the gun steady in his hand. “It’s in my pocket. Call Dragon.” His body is tense, muscles coiled as if he’s ready to snap at any moment. Kit just lies there beneath him, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth despite the weapon pressed against his temple. The whole scene feels surreal, like I’ve stepped into a nightmare.
I hesitate, suddenly very aware that Roman isn’t wearing a shirt. In the harsh kitchen light, his torso gleams golden, all hard planes and defined muscle. The broad shoulders I used to cling to on the back of his motorcycle. The strong arms that once held me through countless nights.
“Kayla,” Roman’s voice cuts through my inappropriate reverie. “Phone. Now.”
I approach cautiously, my bare feet cold against the kitchen tile. Roman’s jeans are slung low on his hips, and I have to kneel beside him to reach into his pocket. The heat radiating from his skin makes my fingers tingle as they brush against his thigh through the denim.
“Back left,” he instructs, voice tight.
As I slide my hand into his pocket, I actually look at the tattoos on his back and my breath catches. The Devil’s Rejects’ grinning skull, the tattoo that once dominated his skin, has been transformed. The skull is still there, but now it’s encircled by a snarling dragon, its claws tearing into the design. And above that, something new: a blazing sun, its rays reaching across his shoulder blades.
A sun. Sunshine. Me.
“Anytime now would be good,” Roman says, jerking me back to reality.
I realize I’ve been staring, my hand frozen halfway into his pocket. Quickly, I retrieve the phone, my cheeks burning. The screen lights up at my touch, revealing a photo I wasn’t prepared for: me. A candid photo of me working in the garden of the old house, one I wasn’t even aware Roman had taken.
“Password’s 0428,” Roman says, his eyes still fixed on Kit.
My birthday. After everything, he still uses my birthday.
I punch in the numbers and open his contacts, finding Dragon’s name near the top of his recent calls. The phone rings three times before a man answers, his deep voice sharp with irritation.