I’ve never felt aroused before, so I barely even recognize the sensation coursing through me. But I think… I think I might be getting turned on. That’s new, and entirely unwelcome.
“Into my eyes, Flame.”
Flame. The nickname is vaguely familiar.He’svaguely familiar, but I can’t place him. Still, I force myself to look in his face. Look into his eyes.
They’re beautiful.
“You really don’t remember me?” he asks quietly, sounding strangely… disappointed.
“You don’t have a memorable face,” I quip flatly.
His lips tug up into a devastating smirk. “Alright. We’ll get to that later. First question; what the fuck are you doing with Dagon?”
“Indentured servitude,” I deadpan. “I have a life-sentence, unfortunately. One I should really be getting back to.”
“Nope,” he responds lightly. “You’re never seeing that motherfucker again. He’s a dead man walking.”
I squint at him. “You’re not the first man to claim as much. I’ve been sent to kill many of the others.”
“Huh. So, Little Flame turned into a big, bad assassin.” Max grins. “We’re going to get alongsplendidly.”
“I’m going to kill you the first chance I get.” He might as well know that up front.
He cocks his head to the side. “Why? If you don’t know me, what’d motivate you to kill me?”
I lift a shoulder. No harm in divulging some information to a soon-to-be dead man. “Dagon will order me to kill you next time I see him. If I preemptively bring him your head, I might even avoid a beating that’ll leave me with a few broken bones. It’s nothing personal.”
Something flits across Max’s expression. It seems sad, almost…devastated.“Ember,” he says softly. “What happened to you?”
A lot of torture, a head injury, and a collection of scars. I sum it up by saying, “Life.”
He rubs his thumb over my bottom lip. I pull my head away, but in the span of a heartbeat, he fists a hand in my hair, holding me steady. Then, he rubs his thumb over my bottom lip again, slow and deliberate, all while holding my gaze.
I feel trapped. Powerless, but not in the way I’m used to. This is different. There’s a sort of care behind Max’s touch that makes it meaningful and intentional. It’s not like when Dagon touches me—it’s more… manageable.
“What happened to make you forget me?” he releases my lip but keeps a hand in my hair.
I blink slowly. “Cracked my head open, forgot a whole lot. Again, nothing personal.”
“How?”
Dagon threw me out of a fourth-story window. That’s something I wish I forgot after bleeding out on the pavement, but unfortunately, the memory stuck. Most of the memoriesbeforethat were affected to some degree.
“I’m clumsy.”
“You always were,” Max says, nodding mildly. “Is there any chance you’ll ever regain your memories?”
Yes, but it’s highly unlikely. It’d take therapy, hypnosis, and a world of pain for me to even scratch the surface, and I don’t know if I want to.
I don’t remember who I wasbefore, but I know that the detritus of that girl was weak. There’s nothing about me that’s weak anymore.
“No,” I saysimply.
“That’s a lie, which brings us up to thirty.”
30. Dagon used to count every time I said something that displeased him, too. After a while and more scars than I can remember, I mostly stopped talking.
My gaze runs around the room. There are no whips, so Max is probably planning to use his belt to get me to talk, or to punish me for trying to kill him and then trying to run.
