Page 93 of Montana Memory

Johnson’s hand moved so fast I didn’t see it coming. The backhand snapped my head to the side, pain blooming across my cheek like fire. My split lip cracked open, and I tasted blood.

I blinked against the tears blurring my vision. I would not cry for them.

“I’m telling the truth,” I said through clenched teeth, even though I didn’t know if that was accurate. “Even if hehadgiven me anything…I wouldn’t know. I don’t remember.”

Kelly leaned forward. “Try harder.”

“He injected me with that drug,” I spat. “I don’t remember anything before this cabin about a month ago. Nothing. Do you get it? Nothing. If he gave me money, he took away my ability to remember where it is.”

Kelly’s eyes narrowed. “Good thing we have the antidote then, isn’t it?”

Shit. In everything else going on, I’d forgotten about the vial they had.

“That’s how we found you, you know. I was watching at Dr. Beckett’s place. Saw you show up there. If you hadn’t been with Hunter Everett, we would’ve grabbed you right then. This way worked out better anyway.”

Johnson pulled out the vial. “Let’s quit fucking around and do this.”

“Wait.” I held out a hand. “If you met Dr. Beckett, you know that the antidote doesn’t always work. It could kill me or make me mentally unstable like him. It’s not worth it.”

Kelly’s grin widened, cruel and calm. “I think we’re willing to take the risk.”

Of course they were. They weren’t the ones who had everything to lose.

Johnson clamped his hand around my wrist like a vise, dragging my arm up to the table. Then he yanked my sleeve up past my elbow.

“No,” I rasped. “Wait—just wait a second.”

Kelly was already crouched beside a duffel bag. I heard the soft clink of glass, the hiss of a seal breaking. He was prepping the antidote.

“You got sixty seconds,” Johnson growled.

“I’m just—just trying to understand,” I said, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts. “Why would Alan givemefive hundred thousand dollars?”

Kelly stood and flicked the syringe with his finger. Bubbles rose. He looked almost pleased.

“Because that was the deal.”

I blinked. “What deal?”

Johnson leaned in, mouth too close to my ear. “We got him out of prison.”

“Early parole,” Kelly added, strolling closer, the syringe steady in his hand. “He wasn’t supposed to get out for another two years. We greased the wheels. Worked some angles. Made things happen. He was supposed to hand it over the night he drugged you. But dumbass got rearrested instead. Screwed the whole timeline.”

I didn’t have any memory of it myself, but one thing I’d found out about Alan Ard—he was a liar and a manipulator. There probably had never actually been any money.

But these men weren’t going to believe me even if I told them that. If anything, knowing they’d been so openly duped was just going to make them angrier.

Kelly crouched in front of me, his face inches from mine, waving the syringe in my face. “We paid Alan a visit the day before he died. He told us everything. Said he’d given you the money but then panicked. Thought you might run off with it. So he used the memory drug. Said it was safer that way. Said once we got him out again, he’d make sure we got our payment.”

Johnson squeezed my arm until I cried out. “Then he up and got himself killed.”

Kelly straightened, the syringe glinting in the dusty light. “Lucky for us, we didn’t need him anymore. We just neededyouand a way to get you your memory back.”

I didn’t know if Alan had scammed them or not. Everything I’d found out about him over the past few weeks said he had. But maybe…maybeit was true. Maybe I had five hundred thousand dollars tucked away somewhere and didn’t even know it.

Either way, I was screwed. If the drug didn’t work, they’d kill me sooner. If it did work, and I had the money—abigif—they’d kill me after they got it.

Either way, the result was going to be the same. I would be dead.

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