Chapter 5
EDEN
I ’m going to kill him.
The second that bastard shows his face again, I have every intention of finding some way to bash his damn head in. He fucking kidnapped me, dragged me up the mountain, and locked me in what appears to be a guest room.
I’m still reeling with all that’s happening. The asshole— Kieran— acted as if he knew me, but I have no recollection of him. The only reason I’ve even been able to piece together what is happening is because of what Parker told me.
Kieran is the leader of the mafia. The source of all the evil in the city.
Do I believe Parker blindly? No. But there was something vaguely familiar about him, and I know from everything I was told in the rebel camp that no one comes up the mountain—except for the Elites themselves. Which makes me very uneasy about being here.
I fought as hard as I could to get free. I don’t know what they want with me, how they even know who I am, but I don’t want to find out. I refuse to be at the mercy of them.
I still didn’t feel settled at the camp, either. There was no intrinsic part of me that said I could trust anyone there. But they gave me more freedom than this. Not that I’d rush back there once I did get out of here.
But I’ll figure out where I’m going once I have a better escape plan.
I pace from one wall to another, adrenaline and anger roiling through me. I’ve already stripped the bed, inspected the bathroom and closet, and tested the window—with the annoyingly beautiful view that pulled at something in my chest. I’ve found no weapons, no cameras, and no escape route.
The door is sturdy, locked, and I’m certain guarded. If I could get through it, I’d be quickly overpowered, which has ruled out that plan of escape. At this point, I’m at a loss.
I pause at the window, chewing over what happened after he grabbed me in the woods.
I still haven’t made sense of what he called me— mo chuisle— or why he kept saying it’s me .
If I hadn’t been so insistent on getting away from him, I might have lingered on the way the words sounded almost anguished.
Now, looking back on the interaction, I’m starting to realize there was more that I didn’t pay attention to.
Kieran’s face had been nearly expressionless, but there was definitely a flicker of something in his eyes.
A softness in his voice. Things that I ignored when I told him that I didn’t know who he was—because I hadn’t remembered his name until I saw us go up the mountain—or tried to climb out of the car.
Now, little things weren’t adding up. A pet name. Him telling me we were home. Even the way he picked me up, held me. The way he tucked me against him felt like it wasn’t the first time.
None of it made sense.
Why would I have been that involved with the leader of the mafia if everyone in the rebel camp knew me? None of them had ever mentioned that I should know the Elites they were always telling me about.
Pain lances up my neck as I struggle to remember. I’m pushing myself harder than I normally would, but after Kieran set me on the bed and stalked out without another word, I need some way to get answers.
No matter how hard I try, though, nothing comes to mind. The closest I’ve gotten is the small, almost imperceptible pangs in my chest at the most random moments. The sunset. The mountain view. The soft way Kieran said my name.
Maybe I’m important enough to the rebel cause for him to take. Damian said I was injured at the cages. What if Kieran knows that and he’s behind the reason I was hurt? What if they are trying to use me, manipulate me, against the rebels?
I wish I had even the slightest inkling that could sway me one way or another. But neither this room nor the tents have felt remotely familiar, and at this point, I’m sick of being so uncertain. I want answers—only I don’t know if I can trust any of the ones I’ve been given.
That doesn’t mean I’ll sit here and wait to find out what they are planning to do with me.
Instead, I storm toward the door, trying to yank it open again. This isn’t about escape anymore. This is about making sense of what I’m doing here. I’d rather face whatever plans he has for me than sit around waiting for it.
When it doesn’t budge, I pound against the wood. “Where is Kieran?” I shout. I’m certain someone is on the other side. “I want to speak to him!”
There’s no response. I don’t even hear someone shifting. And that only makes me angrier.
“I know someone is out there!” I beat on the door harder, eyeing the frame.
The damn thing swings inward, which makes it harder for me to shove it open—some knowledge that is buried deep in me that I wonder if I got from experience.
“Tell Kieran I want to speak with him!” He should be thrilled about that information given how he wouldn’t shut up on the car ride up here.
When I’m met with more silence, I swing around, eyeing the basic furniture. I need a weapon, though I’m not sure how to make one out of anything I’m looking at. Still, I won’t wait around until someone decides to listen to me.
If they need a little push, I’ll gladly shove them off a cliff.
“A locked door isn’t going to keep me quiet!” I shout as I storm toward the bathroom. My eyes land on the mirror, and I grin. “I’ll get to him myself!”
Crossing to the bed, I yank the sheet from the mattress, wrapping it around my fist. At least this seems to be muscle memory, as if it’s not the first time I needed a makeshift blade.
In the bathroom, I brace myself, pulling my arm back as I prepare to shatter the mirror.
I’m still in the thin tank top, and I briefly consider if I should get something better to protect my exposed arms. But before I can move—either to grab a towel to shield my skin or break the mirror into shards I can use—the door clicks open.
My head whips to the side, and I’m shocked to see Kieran step inside.
His light green eyes—hard as stone but not as cold as I expected—sweep the room until they land on me.
I swear his lips twitch, like he finds the situation funny instead of being pissed that his prisoner is behaving in such a way.
“I heard you were already making threats.” Warmth floods my chest at the sound of his accented words, and I’m not sure what to make of it. Anger probably, having to face him again.
I slowly lower my hand, though I don’t drop the bed sheet. I could use it to strangle him if I needed. “I’d hardly call shouting through a door making threats.” My lips curl up into a sharp smile. “I was waiting until I had a weapon. I wouldn’t want to make promises I can’t keep.”
This time, his mouth does twitch up into a half smile. There’s a flash of something through his eyes that I can’t decipher.
“I’d expect nothing less.” It comes out so soft that I almost think he didn’t mean to say it.
I don’t know what he means by that, and I’m sick of having all these questions.
Crossing my arms, I lean a hip against the counter. “And what exactly do you expect?”
His eyes dip down quickly, tracking over my body, and then they flick back up to meet mine.
The heat in them is unmistakable, and I wonder if this is why he wanted me.
Did he choose to drag me up here because of some attraction?
He’s hot as fuck, but he’s mistaken if he thinks that will get him anywhere.
Gruffly, he answers, “For you to give me hell.”
There’s something to his tone, something begrudgingly amused and also reluctant. I’m not sure if he’s mocking me or if it was meant as a threat.
“I want to know why I’m here,” I tell him sternly.
At that, his gaze flicks away. The muscle in his jaw ticks, and he rubs a hand over the thick, dark scruff along his jaw.
Now that he’s not watching me, I let my gaze run over him. His forearms are on full display with his sleeves rolled up. His shirt is a button more undone than when we were in the car. And his hair is a mess, the wavy strands tousled like he’s been tugging at it.
It takes him a moment to gather himself. “Because this is your home, Eden.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it, and his voice is noticeably tight, lacking that playful edge that was just there.
So he expects me to stay here. Live here. With him.
The concept puts me on edge because I don’t know him. I know that he stormed into the camp, took me by force, and locked me in a guest room. If this is my home , then it’s not because I want it to be.
“I’d call myself a prisoner more than anything,” I snap back at him. My skin is starting to crawl with the confusing information I’ve been given. I might not remember much, but I know I don’t like holding so little control.
Kieran tips his head back with a sigh. He looks…tired. Not triumphant after forcing me into his home. Not angry that I’m fighting him. Just worn down.
“No one could keep you somewhere you don’t want to be.” With both hands stuffed in his pockets, he stares at the window. He’s anything but relaxed, despite the way he’s trying to seem. His whole body is lined with tension, and he still won’t look at me. “I know that better than anyone.”
There’s a strange part of me that wants to cross the room, to make him look at me. I want to study his face, to read him.
Because I need to understand my captor. It can’t be for any other reason.
“It seems like you are the only one trying to do that,” I bite out, forcing myself to stay still. I’m getting agitated by his confusing answers and the way my heart rate is increasing the longer I stare at him. I blame it on my body recognizing him for the predator he is.
He scoffs, and those green eyes snap to me. They are blazing now, and I realize that those words made his anger spike. “I’m the only person that has given you every opportunity you’ve ever wanted, wife . Don’t accuse me of something that couldn’t be further from the truth.”
My mouth goes dry as I stare at him, trying to cover up my shock. Wife ?
“What did you call me?” I croak out, unable to hide how affected I am.
Kieran’s eyes close briefly, his body growing even more taut.
He looks seconds from exploding when he flicks his gaze up to me.
“This is your home, Eden. It has been for almost a year.” He takes one slow step forward, and it seems like he’s holding onto his control by a thread.
“I don’t know what happened when you were at that camp ? —“
“What did you call me?” I interrupt, blood rushing in my ears.
“Wife.” It’s a whisper. “You are my wife.”
I’m shaking my head before he even gets the words out. “No. That doesn’t make sense?—“
“No!” Kieran finally explodes, taking another step closer as he throws his hands out. There’s a crack in his expression, the slightest glimmer of that same anguish I thought I saw in the car. He’s trying to mask it, but I still see it. “You know what doesn’t make sense?”
I don’t breathe as he stalks closer, chest heaving and eyes wild. My pulse pounds harder, heat spreading down my chest and pooling in my stomach. Which shouldn’t be my reaction. I should be trying to get away from him, especially now that he’s snapped.
But some instinct in the back of my mind is saying he won’t hurt me.
“What doesn’t make sense,” he continues, his voice dropping so low that he’s practically growling, “is how you are standing there, staring at me like I’m a stranger.
How you saw me in that rebel camp and didn’t ask for your knives so you could join the fun.
How you refused to enter a home you love.
” He swallows hard, and while each word drips with anger, I doubt that’s the main emotion driving him.
“None of this makes any fucking sense, Eden. But you being my wife? That is one truth you can’t take from me right now. ”
He’s crept so close, I could reach out and touch him. The air between us is charged, and I’m surprised that Kieran doesn’t take it all away.
Instead, he stands right in front of me, almost trembling as intensity pours off of him. And I think he’s waiting for an answer from me.
I was the one who demanded we talk. I had just expected a much simpler response. One I could wrap my head around.
Not that I’m married to a man I don’t recognize. One who is admittedly attractive and insanely dangerous. One I was ready to kill an hour ago.
“You’re lying,” I whisper, unable to come to any other conclusion. “You have to be lying?—“
He scoffs, the sound cutting through my words. He turns away, his jaw working, and I think he’s about to go completely over the edge. “I don’t know what the fuck happened, Eden, but if there’s one thing you should know, it’s that I’ve never been anything but honest with you.”
I don’t get a chance to answer before he’s crossing back to the door, wrenching it open, and slamming it closed behind him. I rush after him, but when I turn the knob, I find myself locked inside the room once again.
The fucking bastard.
He barely gives me any answers, tells me something that has to be a lie, and then locks me up again. And I’m supposed to believe he’s my husband ?
No.
I clearly need to find a way out of here.