Chapter 9
LIAM
My head is splitting, my scar itches, and all I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep. But how can I when Rowan is in my house and likely plotting how to kill me so she can escape?
Until she discovers there is no way out.
What the fuck am I doing?
I scrub a hand over my face. What’s the plan here, dickhead? Seeing her in that pub playing the innocent and pretending she doesn’t know me made me act on impulse. I never fucking act on impulse, but here we are.
What if… what if she does have amnesia? That she believes, deep down, that she’s this Erin person. If that’s true, then the woman I once loved is probably gone for good.
A harsh laugh escapes me. Who the fuck am I kidding? Even if she does have amnesia, that doesn’t change the fact she set me up. She betrayed me and what we had. She almost took my life.
I reach over to my bedside table, pick up my phone, and type “is amnesia permanent?” into a browser. Results filter in. I scroll past the fucking AI summary and click into an authoritative medical site. I read the opening line.
Bingo.
She’s a liar.
It says right here that people forgetting who they are is often used as a plot device in movies and books, but the truth is people with amnesia rarely forget who they are.
It’s either trouble learning new information or trouble recalling past events.
So, she might be telling the truth that she doesn’t remember who I am, but she is a hundred percent lying about who she is.
She fucking knows her name is Rowan Byrne.
The question I intend to get to the bottom of is why?
And even if she is suffering from amnesia, she wasn’t when she called me to beg for help, sending me into a spin because I thought she’d been beaten or raped.
She wasn’t when she sent me that letter.
She wasn’t when she taunted me with postcards and dropped phone calls and deliveries of my favorite chocolates.
It’s past time for some answers. Never did have that much patience.
I open the bottom drawer in my dresser and remove a folder.
Tucked away in between the last birthday card I received from Mam and Da before they died and my birth certificate is Rowan’s letter.
Reflexively, I run a hand over the rough scar covering the left-hand side of my face.
That letter was perfectly fucking timed.
I’d just got the news that I wasn’t going to need a kidney transplant after those bastards shanked me, that the surgery to stitch me back together had been a success. Then this arrived and the life the surgeons and I had fought to save turned meaningless.
Anger and my desire for vengeance are what saved me. Five years later, they’re about to save me again.
I stuff the letter in my pocket and yank open my bedroom door.
After marching down the hallway to Rowan’s room, I wrench the bolt back, the sound loud and ugly in the quiet.
I push open the door and flick on the overhead light.
Rowan launches upright in bed. Her left breast slips out of the nightgown I’m guessing belongs to Sorcha.
I stare and stare until she follows my gaze and, with a gasp, covers herself.
I’m fucking hard. Five seconds of looking at just one of her tits, and I’m housing a bat in my joggers.
A flash of fear whips across her face. “What… what do you want?”
I kick the door closed and prowl closer. She grabs the covers and pulls them up to her throat like they stand a chance of protecting her.
“Time for a little chat, Erin.”
She scuttles back a few more inches, until the headboard stops her pointless wriggling. Pulling her knees to her chest, she wraps her arms around them.
“So you believe me then?”
“About your name? Fuck, no. About your supposed amnesia? Possibly. We’ll see.”
She blinks about twenty times in succession, like she’s got something in her eye. “I-I don’t understand. I’m telling you the truth. My name is Erin, and I don’t know who you are. I just want to go home. Please. I have a cat. He’ll starve without me.”
I huff a laugh. “Cats rule the fucking world, Rebel. Your cat will be fine. They’ll soon pick a new owner.
But if you’re that worried, let me have your address, and I’ll send someone round to drop him off at a shelter.
” The cat is fake news. I can smell a lie a mile off, and this woman is spilling so many of them, she’s drowning in shite.
“That’s cruel!”
I throw my arms out to the side. “That’s me, princess.”
A swallow forces its way down her throat. “There’s no cat. I just want you to let me go.”
“No cat? So you can admit to a lie then. Great. One down. Several to go. Let’s start with why you’re calling yourself Erin.”
“Because it’s my name,” she whispers, eyes fixated on her drawn-up knees.
“See, here’s the problem with that little story.” I sit on the edge of her bed. She shuffles a few inches to the left. I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt that she flinches from me, but I can’t blame her either. Especially if it’s all part of her act.
She did take drama in high school after all.
“I looked up amnesia symptoms, and experts agree that while you can forget past events or people, it is highly unlikely that you forget who you are. So let’s speed this along, quit with the Erin bollocks, and admit you know that your name is Rowan Byrne.”
“I can’t, because it isn’t.”
I blow out an irritated breath. “Fine. Stick to your stupid story. It’ll trip you up sometime and, when it does, I’ll be there to witness it. And then you’ll face the consequences.”
Her chin wobbles. “Wh-what consequences?”
If I fucking knew I’d tell her. The problem is, I don’t know how far I’m willing to push this.
I took her without a goddamn plan, and now I’m facing the consequences of my choices.
Patrick’s question tonight keeps playing on a loop inside my head.
Can I kill a woman I once loved? I’ve killed plenty of people, but her…
The idea of watching the life bleed out of her is not something I think I can face.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t make her pay, and pay dearly. There are many ways to make people suffer. Sometimes death is the easy way out.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the letter. I toss it at her.
“What’s this?”
“A letter you wrote me confessing that you set me up. That you led me to believe I was meeting you when, in fact, a bunch of masked thugs waited for me. They beat me, stabbed me in the back, and as a parting gift, gave me this.” I draw my fingertip down my scar, temple to lip.
She tracks the movement, eyes wide, pupils dilated.
“I never wrote to you. I don’t know who you are.” She fists the sheets, knuckles white. “You have to believe me.”
“I don’t have to believe a lying word that comes out of your mouth.
I have fucking eyes, Rowan. I remember everything about you because I loved you once.
I remember your face, your body, how your pussy felt when I had my dick in you.
I remember how you smell, the groans you make when you come, the sound of your laugh.
I fucking remember everything. Are you really going to keep up this shite and continue to gaslight me? ”
“But… there are things called doppelg?ngers, right? That must be it. I’m this Rowan person’s doppelg?nger.”
I put both hands up to my face and scrub hard. “Jesus fucking Christ.” Steepling my fingers over my lips, I shake my head. “I will get the truth out of you.” I slide my gaze over her body, then slowly return my attention to her face. “One way or another.”
She hugs her knees tighter. “If you come near me, I’ll scream.”
“Go ahead. No one here will come to your rescue.” I get up from the bed and plant both hands on the headboard, trapping her between my arms. “I know you, Rowan Byrne. Intimately, intellectually, emotionally. I fucking know everything there is to know. You can’t hide forever.
Not now you’re here. This is my domain, and there’s no more hiding from the truth. ”
I straighten and blow her a kiss. “Think on it, Rebel. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“You forgot your letter.” She holds it out to me, her hands shaking.
“You keep it. Might help jog a few memories.” I smirk then wink. “Goodnight. Sleep well. Tomorrow, we begin breaking down those barriers you’ve erected. One by fucking one.”