Fractured Memories (Broken City #1)

Chapter 1

EDEN

T he lights overhead flicker. It’s subtle enough, but given how on edge I already am, it draws my attention immediately. I’m not supposed to be at the cages right now. Shit, I’m not supposed to be this far down the mountain. Something I’ll surely hear about later.

I set my jaw as I level my gaze on the man in front of me, blood already dripping down his face. For such a large guy, he shouldn’t already be sagging against the restraints. “Don’t make me ask again.”

He coughs, blood dribbling down his chin, but doesn’t answer.

The lights flicker again, and it’s enough to pull my gaze away from him. I glance to the door, knowing my guard’s eyes are already on me. “What is that?”

“I don’t know.” I can read his face so well that I know he doesn’t want to admit it. “Maybe we should go up ? —”

We’re plunged into darkness as the lights go out altogether.

My stomach drops. I knew that it was a risk to be down here. I knew that it would get me into trouble—just not this kind. I thought that I would be fine, that everyone else was too paranoid.

I guess, just this once, I was wrong.

“We need to get you out of here.” The voice—the guard—is familiar. One I know I should trust. “I never should have brought you down here without ? —“

The door slams open, and I can’t see a thing. I react on instinct, pulling out my blade and sinking back, looking for the wall that should be at my back. But people are pouring in, the air choking me, and my senses are nearly blind now.

I know I take down a few bodies from the grunts and thuds, the slick warmth on my hand that I easily recognize as blood. I only have a flicker of worry that stabbing blindly will hurt the wrong people.

A low whistle catches my attention, directing me. It’s an easy way for us to communicate in case of situations exactly like this. I answer back with my own, trying to fight toward the noise. But he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t give me another guide.

Where the fuck is?—

“I got her.”

A low and gruff voice says right as a muscular forearm wraps around my throat, and I do everything to break free. But this guy is no amateur, and even stabbing my blade into his thigh only earns me a grunt.

Something cool and wet covers my face, sealing perfectly over my nose. I thrash more aggressively, not daring to breathe as I kick the handle of the knife, trying to get him to loosen his grip.

But he holds out longer than I can. His arm tightens on my throat, and my lungs are on fire. I have to breathe, despite knowing the chemicals I’m about to inhale.

I thrash and kick, but there’s no way out. Not when I’m lightheaded, and without even a conscious thought, my body overrides my mind, and I suck in a deep breath ? —

My body jolts awake, sucking in long, deep breaths. My mind is whirring, trying to make sense of what just happened. It felt so real , but as I glance around, noting I am in a darkened room of some kind, I realize that I must have been dreaming.

My lungs still burn as I fight to get my breathing under control. My eyes are quickly adjusting, and I don’t recognize where I am. Not one bit.

My head is throbbing, and when I try to remember what happened, a pain shoots through my skull. I clutch it in my hands, breathing through my nose as I fight off a groan and wave of nausea.

No idea where I am. No memory of how I got here. In no condition to fight. Just fucking great.

When I finally feel steady enough to move, I shift, taking in my surroundings. It’s not a room like I originally thought. It appears to be a large tent with minimal furniture inside.

Across from me is the flap, which is closed but not zipped shut.

Based on the light seeping through—which looks to be coming from a fire, not the sun—someone is outside of it.

Even without knowing where I am—or being able to make sense of the dream I just had—my body is screaming to tread carefully.

On silent feet, I climb out of the bed. I don’t like not having a weapon on me, but I can’t risk making a noise to go rummaging for one. Instead, I strain my ears, trying to hear anything.

“...should give us enough time.” The voice is deep and raspy, not one I’ve heard before.

A second, gruffer one answers, and there’s the slightest tinge of recognition when I hear it. “You really think that we’ll have that long? He’s probably looking for her now.”

I’m not certain, but it feels like they are talking about me.

While my mind is very spotty right now, a part of me wants to use the element of surprise to burst through the flap and jump one of them. They probably have a weapon, but the urge to fight is there nonetheless. Something I must be good at.

Please let me be good at it .

I force myself to hold still, wanting to glean as much information as I can. I’m hoping that the pounding in my head will subside and everything else will make sense.

“We spent months planning this, and you are questioning me now ? She’s here, isn’t she?”

They are definitely talking about me.

“We were supposed to get in and out. Instead, half the fucking mountain knew we were there because we had to cut the electricity?—”

“We had to improvise.” The raspier voice sounds like it would be accompanied by a shrug.

“And,” the other one continues, seething, “we lost their damn?—”

“Damian.” The man sighs. “I know it wasn’t ideal. But that isn’t the point. She is here now, and it’s important that we stick to the rest of the plan.”

Silence lapses for a moment, and I wonder if Damian—whoever the hell that is—is trying to rein his anger in. Finally, in a much calmer voice, he says, “She hasn’t woken up yet. Should I be concerned?”

“Give it a little longer. If she’s not up soon, I’ll grab Doc.”

Their feet shift, and I scramble back, realizing one of them is coming in here. I launch myself back as fast as I can, nearly falling on my ass as I drop to the edge of the bed just as the flap is pushed aside.

The man in the entrance pauses, tilting his head to the side. He’s backlit, but I can still make out the frown etched into his face and his shirt clinging to his large, muscular frame. He looks to be about my age, though life has definitely hardened him.

He huffs, running a hand through shaggy, sandy blond hair. “You’re awake.”

This is Damian, then. His voice still pulls at the back of my mind, but there’s nothing concrete to tell me how I should respond to him. All I know is that he seemed at least slightly worried about my state and said that someone was looking for me.

I’m already losing my grasp on the details of my dream, just vaguely remembering my lungs burning for air. Without any context, I’m not sure what I should do right now. Am I safe? Do I trust this man? Why does he seem both wary and relieved?

I have so many questions, but finding the answers feels like trying to hold water in my cupped hands. Everything is slipping away.

“I am,” I croak out, wincing as it makes pain lance up my neck and through the back of my head.

Damian’s dark eyes assess me before he turns and zips the tent shut. Then, he crosses the space, a slight limp to his right leg. He stops just shy of me, lifting a glass of water from the nightstand. “Drink.”

I take it from him, lifting the glass to my lips. But instead of immediately taking a sip, I inhale. Somewhere, in the recesses of my mind, it feels like instinct. I wonder if I know how to tell if something has been tampered with.

Either way, without those memories, I can’t smell anything at all.

Damian snorts out what might be an unamused chuckle. “It’s just water.”

I take a tentative sip, and when the taste doesn’t trigger another response—because I’m acting on pure instinct right now—I drink greedily.

I know Damian watches me the entire time, still standing a safe distance from me, and when I finish, I don’t set the glass down.

I’d rather smash it against the nightstand and use the jagged edges if need be.

Where I’ve honed this particular skill of turning ordinary items into a weapon, I don’t know. But it seems to be handy right now.

“How do you feel?” His arms cross as his eyes continue to bore into me. It feels like he’s trying to see right through my skull himself.

I roll my shoulders back and meet his gaze. “Fine.”

His nostrils flare a little, and I have a feeling that Damian doesn’t like to be challenged. Too bad I’m not going to admit my weaknesses to him.

“No pain?” He lifts a brow. “No soreness? Nothing?”

“Are you implying that I should feel something along those lines?” Give me something here. I don’t want to admit I have no clue where I am or who he is.

“Yes. I’d expect you’d have a long list of symptoms beyond a dry throat.”

I don’t flinch, even as a throb pulses at the base of my skull when I try to remember once again what happened to me before I woke up here.

Given the way he’s assessing me and what I heard them discussing outside the tent, something concerning enough happened to me.

Something that would require retrieving a doctor, which feels monumental in some distant memory.

Like it isn’t so easy to find access to one.

Needing more information, I push a little more with my next question. “Why is that?”

Damian scrubs his jaw as he looks away, and I don’t like that. It seems like he is debating how much to tell me, which only puts me on edge before he even speaks.

“Because I was told you suffered a brain injury.” The words come out almost reluctantly. “That we needed to be aware that you might have pain or headaches, among other things.”

I blink up at him, still feeling no connection to him. A brain injury? What was I doing that would have caused that?

He quirks one brow as he waits for my response, but I don’t give him one. I won’t be giving this stranger ammunition against me.

He shifts his weight off his right leg, crossing his arms across his broad chest without breaking our staring contest. “You aren’t going to make this easy on me, are you?”

No. No, I am not.

I don’t say that, though. Instead, I ask in a neutral tone, “Make what easy?”

His head tips back and he mutters something that sounds like, “Why did it have to be me?” I blink up at him as he regains his composure—that deep frown firmly in place—and he more barks than asks, “Are you having any symptoms?”

“Are you a doctor?”

Even in the dim light, I can see a muscle feather in his jaw. “I’m trying to help you,” he grits out.

I don’t quite believe him. But I can’t keep doing this all night—assuming it is night—and at some point, I’m going to need to rest. Which means I need to determine if I’m safe here or start fighting my way to somewhere that is.

“How about this?” I push up to my feet so that I don’t have to stare so far up at him. “You tell me what I want to know, and then I’ll tell you what you want to. Deal?”

Damian’s eyes narrow. “What do you want to know?”

“Your detailed account of how I ended up in this bed.” It’s more than I want to admit, but if I woke up with no recollection of making it here on my own, it probably doesn’t surprise him that I have no memory of it.

Hopefully, it’s enough to give me something to go on.

He’s very good at remaining expressionless as he mutters, “Deal.”

I flash him a not-so-sweet smile. “Not so hard. You go first.”

For someone who was so careful to choose his words up until now, I’m surprised at how quickly he strings together his explanation. “There was an attack at the cages, where you got hurt. I managed to get you and bring you back here.”

The cages. Something about those words scratches at the back of my mind.

But for some reason, my mouth has gone dry as I ask, “And where is here?”

He raises a brow like I should already know the answer. “The camp.” My heart kicks up, my body already pulsing with fear as he clarifies, “The rebel camp.”