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“There’s no chance of that happening.”

“Why is that?”

“You have to fall for me first.”

“How do you know I haven’t?”

“Is it possible to fall for someone when you’re still hung up on someone else?”

“Answering a question with another question. Not cool, baby.”

“Hey, that’s my line.”

“That so?”

“So.”

“Whatcha gonna do about it?”

I glance sidelong at him. He’s on his side, checking me out with a huge smile on his face.

“I dare you to do your worst, baby.”

“Are you sure about that?” I ask, unable to hide the smile in my words.

“More sure than I’ve been in a long time.”

“Okay, you asked for it.”

I pounce, and knocking him onto his back, I straddle his thighs and tickle him. At first, I surprised him. He raises his arms. It’s a defensive move I know well. Collins used to do that. Someone else did too. Someone more ticklish than Collins. A boy. No, he wasn’t a boy, but closer to becoming a man. His face is a fuzzy haze, and the shock that Granger’s theory about repressed memories could be true steals my breath and immobilizes me.

Maddox takes advantage, misreading my shock as a pause in what to me seems like foreplay. He gets me on my back in one fell swoop, keeping his weight off me with his arms alongside my head. I stare up into a face made of jagged lines hidden by shadows. He’s blocked my view of the stars and the moon. My breaths come out in spurts, and again, he misreads my shock as something else—passion.

He lowers his head. Strands of dark hair fall forward. This is how I find myself when I wake from the sedatives my kidnapper’s given me. The ski mask he wears stretches across his face, outlining his prominent cheekbones and the sharp jut of his chin.

He nuzzles my forehead and down the side of my face, his mouth cool on my skin, as though he’d come in from the outside. His clothes reek of cigarettes, but his breath is minty. He’s brushed his teeth. Does he want me to like the smell of him? It’s the question that runs through my mind.

He continues nuzzling my skin until his face presses into the crook of my neck. He bites, and the pain is excruciating, but I don’t cry out. If I do, he’ll bite so hard he draws blood, and I refuse to give him another taste of my family’s blood.

He hates my family. That’s what he ranted about over and over. Which one? The McCabes, my supposed real family? Or the Lexingtons, the one who stole me?

“I haven’t eaten meat since I was returned to my family.”

My confession is met with silence. How do I tell him, in the dark and in that pose, that he reminds me of my kidnapper without hurting his feelings? It’s better to be vulnerable and share a part of myself than to hurt someone with my words.

Maddox rolls off me and stares at the ceiling. In the moonlight, I catch the tense outline of his jaw.

“I’m sorry. That was too much, wasn’t it?” I edge away from his warmth and his body. “Maybe this reciprocating isn’t a good idea.”

And what I’ve known to be true is still true. I’m horrible with holding a decent conversation, tending to overshare or ask awkward or uncomfortable questions to fill the silence. I sigh.

“Can I tell something less morbid? I probably scared you off.”

“You didn’t. Knowing why you’re the way you are helps me understand you better. And it’s not morbid. What you went through is real. Reality is suffering and pain, and when I get ahold of the bastard, he’ll regret ever hurting you.”

Maddox’s words should give me comfort, but a small sliver of apprehension zips up and down my spine. What if Granger’s right and I know this guy so well I suppressed memories of him to keep from acknowledging how much someone I trusted hurt and betrayed me?

When his day of reckoning arrives at the hands of Maddox, can I condone whatever pain and suffering Maddox plans on inflicting? But does my kidnapper deserve mercy after the hell he put me through? Maddox is right and wrong. Reality is suffering and pain. But forgiveness is what will give me peace.