Page 62 of Inked Desires
He starts asking questions: my name, my age, my parents’names. I can answer all of them without hesitation. Those things are still intact—except, of course, for my new last name. I only know it because he told me: Benton. I still can’t wrap my head around it.
“Good. You’re progressing well. But you’ll need to stay here a few more days. We want to keep monitoring your concussion. Also… the police would like to speak with you,” he says, finishing his exam.
“The police?” I murmur.
Where were my papers? Were they in order? Was I even supposed to be in the U.S.? How long have Jace and I been married? God, I hope we did everything right.
“You disappeared several weeks ago, Mr. Benton. Then you were found injured at New London station. The police have questions,” he explains, adjusting his glasses.“Also, you’ll need a report from the local police to cancel your death certificate.”
I nod slowly. That makes sense, but the thought of speaking to the police fills me with unease. Too many unknowns. If I was undocumented and Jace hid me, I could be deported. There’s no way I’m going back.
Run? Impossible. I’m hooked up to an IV, and if I pull the heart monitor leads off my chest, the alarm will blare. I couldn’t sneak out. Plus, I have no idea where my clothes are. Wandering the streets in a hospital gown would just land me in psych.
“Is my husband here yet?” I ask.
The words burn in my throat. It’s strange to imagine Jace as my husband. Saying it out loud feels even stranger.
“I want to see my husband!” a voice shouts in the hallway.
A smile lights up the doctor’s face.
“That must be him. I’ll go calm him down and send him in.”
My head snaps up. Every muscle in my body goes rigid. The air feels thinner. My fingers grip the blanket. My limbs won’t move.
Slowly, I realize—I’m having a panic attack.
But why?
Jace is here. I should be happy. I love him, don’t I?
Then he appears in the doorway. His stunning face is lit up with a smile, a single tear streaking down his cheek.
“Baby! You’re alive!” he cries, closing the door behind him.
But something feels off. Helooksgenuinely happy to see me. He walks toward me slowly, still smiling.
Usually, I love his smile. It used to radiate warmth, always accompanied by a teasing glint in his eyes. But this time, the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
He stops at the edge of my bed, and I finally understand.
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes because his eyes arecold. That blue used to shimmer with emotion. Now it’s icy. Lifeless.
He leans down. One hand slides behind my neck, gripping tight and lifting me slightly. Every muscle in my body tenses. The scar on my stomach aches, and the pressure in my head returns.
“I don’t buy your little act for a second, sweetheart. Amnesia? Really?” he growls.
“Jace?” I croak.
His smile vanishes. He leans in and presses his lips to mine—hard, fast, one second. He doesn’t give me time to respond.
His hand slides from my neck to my throat.
Tears fill my eyes.
“You’re scaring me,” I whisper.
“That’s the point, my pretty little traitor,” he hisses.“You stole from me. You ran away. And you fucked someone else. Because of you, the feds are tearing apart my business. You destroyed everything. Did I not treat you right? Didn’t I buy you the finest clothes? Feed you like a king? Fuck your tight little ass whenever I wanted? What the hell were you missing, huh? And youstillbetrayed me?”
