“You don’t like bacon,” he said simply. The sound of his voice was deep and gruff, something about it getting to me every time.
His words sunk in. “How do you know?”
He shrugged. “Could be the way you scrunch your nose.” Those lips curled into a cruel smirk. “Either shoot me, Liana, or sit down and eat.”
Something about his nonchalance pissed me off, and I fought the temptation to grab a pan off the stove—preferably still sizzling—and throw it at his head.
“I don’t want to eat.” I tightened my grip on the gun and glared at him. “I want to kill you.”
He lifted his shoulder, looking at me in an unnerving way. “That revolver has been sitting in the same spot for years and hasn’t been cleaned once.”
“Why would you have a revolver with only one bullet on your nightstand?”
“Maybe I wanted to end it all.” I gaped at him, unsure whether he was serious. Maybe he was toying with me. “Want me to save you the trouble?”
I pursed my lips at his comment. He knew I was teetering on the edge, yet all he did was egg me on. He raised his brow in challenge, and I glared at him as my senses sharpened.
“Then a game of Russian roulette,” I declared, pleased with my quick thinking. “Since you’re so eager to end it all.”
I saw something flicker in his eyes. He took a bite of his food and swallowed before replying. “You can sit down, enjoy the food, and play the game at the same time.”
He behaved like a distinguished gentleman one second and a savage criminal the next. It was confusing as fuck.
Gritting my teeth, I stomped my way to the table and sat down, still holding the revolver. I wouldn’t eat, but I’d let the man have his last meal. What could I say? That shower must’ve done wonders on my humanity.
“Here, happy?”
He reached for his glass and took a drink of his orange juice, then raised his eyebrow. “Hardly.”
He watched me intently, his lips twitching, but he didn’t smile. It was as if he knew something I didn’t. This man was as annoying as he was handsome, and I didn’t like it.
I stared at him as he ate, the smell of eggs triggering a pang of hunger. Again. I really needed to reevaluate my priorities.
He pushed his plate my way. “Here.”
“There’s a plate in front of me,” I snapped.
“Yes, and you haven’t touched it.”
“Well, maybe you poisoned it.” Agitation climbed up my spine. We both knew he’d scooped eggs from the same pan, although he didn’t point it out.
One point for the kidnapper.
I pushed both plates away with the tip of my gun, ignoring another protest from my stomach. “If you’re done, let’s play.”
“I love games.” His voice darkened, and something about it had me thinking all kinds of sinful, carnal things.
“And I hate hearing you talk.” He slid his intense gaze to me. “I want you to explain how you know so much about me.”
And my sister, I added silently.
Chapter 37Kingston
My brows pulled together at how enraged she sounded, leading me to one conclusion. Liana truly didn’t remember me. What else had she forgotten? And, more importantly, what secrets was she hiding?
I intended to unravel every single one of them, starting with her absurd desire to be taken back to Perez yesterday.
“I’m waiting,” she spoke again.
“I was your bodyguard once upon a time.”
I heard her sharp inhale. “You’re lying.”
“Your memory can’t be that bad,” I drawled while she scrutinized me.
“I guess you weren’t significant enough to remember.” Ouch. She waved the gun around, and it made my tongue feel like sandpaper. I’d seen firsthand the kind of skilled shooter she was, but like I said, it was a rusty piece. There wasn’t much stopping her from accidentally shooting herself. I decided to keep her distracted.
“You don’t think ten fucking years were significant?”
She winced as my words settled around her. After a few seconds of silence, she spoke again. “The years are. You’re not.”
Double fucking ouch.
“Or maybe someone brainwashed you,” I pointed out calmly. More doubt danced in her eyes. She was doing her best to hide it, but I’d spent years studying her and her sister’s expressions. Being observant was a matter of life and death for some.
“Please stop talking. The sound’s giving me a rash.”
Jesus Christ. I saved her, yet she’d been giving me nothing but grief. I rested my hands on the table and leaned back in my chair.
“Instead of throwing insults, you should be thanking me.”
If looks could kill, I’d have dropped dead on the spot. “I didn’t need a rescue, you… you… svoloch.” Luckily for me, her stuttered “asshole” rolled right off me. She’d called me worse—in English and Russian—though it was starting to appear she didn’t remember that either.
“What would you have liked me to do? Let you be sold in the auction to Cortes?”
She opened her mouth before immediately closing it, her lips thinning.
I placed my elbows over the edge of the table and rested my chin in my palm while I stared down the barrel of the gun. “My turn to ask a question,” I said with a calm I didn’t feel.
She scoffed. “I don’t think so.”
“I thought you knew how to play the game.” I reached for her just as she readied herself to bolt, forcing her back into the chair. My palm engulfed her small one holding the revolver, forcing her finger against the trigger. “Pull it,” I taunted as I spun the cylinder and then clicked it back into place.
“I will when I’m damn well ready,” she shot back, shooting daggers at me. “I have more questions.”
My hand wrapped around hers. Click.
She let out a wheeze, her eyes wide with shock as they darted back and forth between me and the gun. I removed my hand from hers, her glare burning a hole in my chest. So fucking odd. Nobody had ever had such an impact on me.
“My question,” I reminded her. “And I won’t even hold the gun to your head.”
She rolled her eyes, although the light tremor of her bottom lip didn’t escape me. “I’m not even holding it to your head.”
“Not literally,” I agreed, amused.
Her fingers twitched over the trigger, her nerves practically seeping through her pores. I waited several heartbeats before I went for the jugular.
“Where were you?”
She blinked, her expression filled with confusion, and after a second of drawn-out silence, she finally asked in a shaky breath, “Wh-what do you mean?”
“Louisa was going to run,” I said. “The only reason she didn’t follow through with it was because you never came.”
Tense silence filled the air. “You’re wrong,” she whispered. “The Tijuana cartel got her. Perez—” Her voice cracked as she shook her head, staring at me dumbly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We had a plan,” I gritted out.
I could feel her carefully built armor cracking, disintegrating into smoke.
“What plan?”
Had guilt gnawed at her to the point of impacting her memory? Was that the reason she willfully forgot the price her twin paid? Or was she play-acting?
“She wouldn’t leave without you. Not even for me.”
Her delicate brows pulled up in confusion.
“For you?” I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. Her confusion was grating on me. “What do you mean?”
Reliving this was a bitch. I felt responsible for not saving her. For not protecting her. Our secret love turned into a tragedy.
“She loved me. I loved her.”
I anticipated Liana’s move, but not the savagery in her eyes. She practically flung herself across the table. Pressing the barrel of the revolver against my forehead, her other hand wrapped around my throat, those golden eyes—so fucking familiar—glared at me.