Page 77 of Executing Malice

Alia.

Is that my name? Nothing about it feels familiar. There are no flashes of memory or unexpected bursts of realization like they show in movies as I replay the name in my head. Still, my heart escalates its beating, growing louder between my ears as I realize he’s from before. He knew me. Knows where I come from, who I was.

“Who are you?”

His arms fold over his chest. “Let me check your head.”

I purse my lips. “Was I stupid in my past life that you think I would fall for that?”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “You were pretty stupid,” his grin widens when I sputter in outrage, “for wanting anything to do with someone like me.”

I continue to scowl at him. “So, who are you? Who am I?”

His shoulders lift with the deep inhale. He seems to be bracing for whatever devastating revelation he’s about to make.

“Alia Rivers. You were seventeen when you ... when you went missing.” His chin lowers like the guilt of those words aretoo much to bear. “Last time I saw you, you were headed to school.”

The knife wavers in my grip. The sudden weight of it feels infinite, but I don’t let it lower.

“Who areyou?”I ask again for what feels like the hundredth time. “How do I know you?”

His head tips just a notch, just high enough that he’s peering up through his thick, dark lashes at me. “That is not an easy answer.”

I roll my eyes. “Dude, I asked for your name, not the square root of pie.”

He sighs and straightens. His hands vanish into his pockets.

“Dante.”

Nothing.

Not a flicker.

Not a tingle.

Any hope I may have had that his name held the key to my memory crumbles to ashes. It sits in my throat, thick and gritty.

And the entire time, he’s watching me with the kind of hope that makes my stomach hurt.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

His gaze drops with the drooping of his shoulders. “What happened?”

Against my better judgment, maybe because he looks so devastated, but I put the knife down on the counter. I fold my arms across my belly like I can somehow hold him together.

“I woke up in the woods. Evan was there telling me to stay still. That’s all I remember.”

He draws in a slow, calming breath. “But how did you get here? We lived two provinces over.”

Provinces?

Sheriff Brewer and even my parents all assumed I was from one of the towns around Jefferson. That makes sense why no one claimed me. The news didn’t spread past Pinecrest. No one would be looking for me there.

“Where?’ I take a step closer, emotions rising up my throat like the pressure in a bottle of wine. “Where did I come from? How did I get here? Who are you? Not just your name,” I cut him off when he opens his mouth, “who are you to me? How do you know me?”

I don’t pull away when his hands touches my face. He seems to need the contact as much as I do.

“You were my world. The reason I woke up every morning.” He tips my chin up gently. “Still are.”