Denial (Careless Whispers #1)(24)

I wake with a gasp and shoot forward, grabbing the dash, panting. The car isn’t moving. There is no rain and there appears to be a wall in front of the car.

“Easy, Ella.”

Looking right, I find a strange man with brown hair and eyes kneeling at the open passenger door. “Who are you and where is Kayden?” I ask.

“I’m here,” Kayden says, replacing the stranger by my side. “That was Nathan. He’s a friend and a doctor. You were grabbing your head and rocking back and forth. I pulled over and you passed out.”

“I passed out?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, you did. You scared the shit out of me. Nathan just gave you something for the pain.”

The man appears above Kayden’s shoulder. “And something to help you sleep. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong with me? I feel like someone is hammering in my head. I can’t remember who I am and now I passed out?”

“I saw your medical records,” the man says. “You have a very bad concussion, and from what I understand you weren’t kind to yourself tonight. You need to rest.”

“I’m not even going to ask how he got my medical records.”

“Matteo,” Kayden says, taking my hand. “The hacker who’s trying to find you by your first name. This is his house. We’re staying here until we’re ready to deal with Gallo.”

“Okay. I don’t think I want to know what that means either right about now.”

The doctor, Nathan, I guess his name is, says something to Kayden in Italian, and I’ve given up fighting over speaking English. At least for tonight. Kayden kisses my hand, a gentle, intimate gesture that does funny things to my stomach. “Give me a minute and we’ll get you someplace where you can lie down.”

He stands and faces Nathan, and I don’t even try to listen to their conversation. My pain eases, but I feel kind of floaty and weird now, and I don’t like it. In fact, it’s freaking me out to have this little control over everything, including my own body.

Kayden squats back down beside me. “Ready to go upstairs?”

“I feel weird.”

“It’s the drugs, sweetheart.” He slides his arms under me. “I’ve got you.”

He lifts me, and I don’t fight him. In fact, I’m getting kind of used to this man carrying me around everywhere. I sink against him, my head spinning with every footstep and sway of our bodies as he exits the garage and starts up a stairwell.

We enter the main house, and I manage a barely there look at the giant, modern-looking living room with light wood floors and stainless-steel railings before we’re walking up another staircase, this one a dizzying, winding nightmare for my head and stomach. Finally, at the top, there is a door. In a few long strides, Kayden carries me over the threshold, my gaze doing a sweeping inspection of a loft-like bedroom, with the same light hardwood floor as the lower level, several corner pillars running from the floor to the ceiling, brick walls, and a giant bed with a high-backed gray headboard. That bed is the blast of reality I don’t want but need, and the magnitude of what is happening hits me with a force ten times that of the storm I ran through to escape him. I’m in a bedroom, alone with Kayden with no hospital staff, or Gallo, to intervene, after having a flashback about being tied to a bed, followed by one of him kissing me.

“Let me down,” I demand. “Let me down, Kayden! Let me—”

He sits me on the end of the bed, planting his hands on either side of my hips. “What part of you have a concussion do you not understand?”

“I know I have a concussion. Believe me, I know. It just won’t go away.” A wave of dizziness washes over me. “Oh wow.” I press my palm to my forehead. “I’m not feeling so good.” I fall back against the mattress. “What’s happening?” I try to lift my hand from my face and can’t. “I can’t move my hand. Kayden, I can’t move my hand!”

“You’re okay,” Kayden promises, lying down next to me.

“I can’t—”

“I’ve got it,” he says, removing my hand and holding it between us. “Nathan gave you some powerful medicine to make sure you rest. You’re just reacting to it. How’s your pain?”

“No pain. I just feel weird. Really weird.” My lashes lower, and unbidden, I am instantly transported back to another bedroom. To that night. To his bed. Deep inside the memory, I’m living it, feeling it.

Naked. Cold. I keep watching the clock, willing him to return. Two hours have passed, and the man I thought was my protector now feels like my captor. He is my captor. The doors he’d shut open, and he stands there, still fully dressed, sauntering slowly toward me. I try to see his face. Why can’t I see his face? He stops at the end of the bed, and I am angry with him. I am hurt. He undresses, and when I would normally watch him, reveling in every delicious inch of his body, I turn my head, every second that passes more punishment. And when his hands come down on my ankles, and he demands, “Look at me,” I don’t. I won’t.

My eyes fly open, and Kayden is still lying next to me, and when I look at him, I see a protector. I see passion. But I am certain he looked at me just as Kayden does now. Before that night. “Please don’t be him,” I whisper, and the darkness follows.